There’s something beautifully fitting about watching underground hip-hop flourish in a city that knows a thing or two about artistic rebellion. Thursday night at Fairmount Theatre proved that Montreal’s appetite for cerebral rap runs deep, even if the evening’s headliner couldn’t quite sustain his initial magic through to the final bow.
Mike Shabb kicked things off with the kind of hometown energy that makes you remember why local openers matter. The young Montrealer has clearly absorbed lessons from sharing stages with heavyweights like Playboi Carti, commanding attention with a versatility that shifts effortlessly between melodic crooning and razor-sharp bars. His stage presence radiated the confidence of someone who’s earned his stripes in mosh pits across Quebec. Unfortunately, whoever decided to unleash a videographer with the subtlety of a nature documentary crew clearly missed the memo about this being a hip hop show, not a behind-the-scenes special. Watching the videographer shadow Shabb’s every move was extremely distracting – a masterclass in how content creation can cannibalize the very art it’s meant to capture.
Navy Blue followed with a set that felt like receiving a handwritten letter in an age of text messages. Sage Elsesser’s approach to hip-hop strips away the performative bluster that often defines the genre, leaving behind something rawer and more essential. His deeply personal storytelling reached its emotional peak during a tribute to his late brother, where tears became part of the performance rather than a distraction from it. The moment he paused to embrace his DJ and acknowledge the crowd’s support – joking that his brother would probably roast him for crying on stage – captured the kind of genuine vulnerability that separates artists from entertainers.
When MIKE finally emerged, Michael Jordan Bonema transformed the room with the ease of someone born to work a crowd. His reputation for monotone delivery might suggest stoicism, but live, his personality explodes outward like champagne from a shaken bottle. The Brooklyn-based rapper encouraged spontaneous dance battles, dove into the audience himself, and generally conducted the evening like a benevolent chaos coordinator. His wordplay landed with the precision of a seasoned comedian, proving that intelligence and accessibility aren’t mutually exclusive. Early tracks from recent efforts like Showbiz! and Burning Desire felt lived-in and immediate, benefiting from the kind of crowd energy that transforms good songs into shared experiences.
But somewhere around the halfway mark, the spell began to break. Perhaps it was fatigue, perhaps the natural ebb of adrenaline, but MIKE’s commanding presence gradually dimmed to something more workmanlike. The songs remained solid – his catalogue runs too deep for genuine duds – but the room’s electricity started leaking out like air from a punctured balloon. Where earlier moments had felt spontaneous and electric, the final stretch played out with the mechanical precision of obligation rather than inspiration.
The evening concluded not with a bang but with MIKE manning the DJ booth, spinning tracks for a slowly dispersing crowd. It felt oddly deflating after what had been building toward something transcendent. Still, for most of the night, we witnessed why underground hip-hop continues thriving in 2025 – artists like MIKE, Navy Blue, and Mike Shabb understand that the genre’s future lies not in manufactured spectacle but in the ancient art of moving people through words and rhythm.
Sometimes the best nights are the imperfect ones that leave you wanting more.
Review & photos – Steve Gerrard
