The vibes were quite classy at the Beanfield Theatre on that beautiful, hot evening in Montreal. Smooth instrumental pieces were heard playing from the speakers as we all waited patiently, and everyone seemed relaxed as they chatted with their friends and family seated next to them. Relaxed, yet surely eager for the show to begin.
Polite clapping, and some cheering, were produced by the audience once the house lights went dark, indicating that it was time for the night’s opening act to make an appearance. Red and blue lighting softly illuminated the stage in front of us, with one single spotlight pointed at the microphone stand at the front of the stage. Joan Shelley soon walked into said spotlight, smiling warmly as she received the welcome that the audience offered her.
With nothing but an acoustic guitar, she began her set. Shelley’s angelic voice travelled throughout the venue, smooth as silk to our ears as she sang words that felt truly heartfelt. The crowd was respectful and stayed completely silent, careful not to miss a single note.
Shelley addressed her audience while she tuned her guitar between songs. She shared brief thoughts about her hometown in Louisville, Kentucky—about the weather and the people she knows—how they inspire a lot of her songwriting.
She mentioned that it was her first time in Montreal and that she witnessed a man nearly get his bike stolen! She described how he fought back and how the unsuccessful thief ran off after their tussle. Her charm made it easy for the crowd to connect with her. She brought laughter out of her audience with only a few words, and I loved hearing her speak.
The flow of her set felt incredibly natural. It never once felt awkward to me, even if she had to tune her instrument between nearly every song. It never felt like she had to cut her thoughts short so she could continue; she kinda just knew exactly where to leave off before beginning to play her guitar once again.
Before playing another song from her yet-to-be-released album, Shelley brought the crowd’s attention to Gaza and the inhumane destruction—the genocide—that’s happening there as she spoke. She urged her audience to continue talking about the injustices happening, to do all they can to help the families trapped there that desperately need the attention of the rest of the world.
She described this new song as her most earnest writing yet, and it certainly was. Shelley wrote it as a dedication to the children who are suffering from unimaginable horrors in Gaza. Each lyric was careful and honest—it was heartbreakingly beautiful. One could hope that it would offer comfort to the children of Gaza if they could only hear it.
Her set ended on the following song, another mellow track. Shelley encouraged her audience to sing along to the hook with her. It was easily picked up by those willing to share their voices with her, and it sounded divine. Such a warm moment to end her lovely set with. The cheering that the crowd sent her way as she left was a clear display of affection, and it was certainly deserved. Joan Shelley’s kind soul shone brightly, and I very much fell in love with her music. I enjoyed every moment of her set.
The audience broke out of conversation to cheer once more when the venue grew dark again. They cheered as each member of The Weather Station took their places on stage, and the room fell totally silent in anticipation for the show to begin. The stage was enveloped in near-complete darkness, three stone-like pillars glowing softly behind the band. The glowing markings reminded me of quartz.
As their set started, soft blue lighting shone down from the ceiling, and flowing lights and images were projected onto the three pillars. Vocalist Tamara Lindeman stood before us all and began pouring her heart out through her voice. I immediately felt chills run through my spine, and I’m still confident it wasn’t from the air conditioning blowing down on me. I was totally drawn in, enamoured with the stunning performance I was witnessing.
The band’s complex sound never washed out Lindeman’s voice—it amplified it. Each sound belonged with the other, perfectly capturing feelings and emotions through their compositions. My jaw was wide open. I honestly could not believe my ears. They sounded incredible and had my full attention for their entire set.
I was clinging onto every note played like my life depended on it. Each member’s talents brought something unique and special to each song. Tamara Lindeman’s vocals and guitar playing, to me, were clearly The Weather Station’s brain and subconscious. Ben Boye’s keys and synth felt like the many emotions that run through the band’s body and mind. Dominic Billett’s drumming acted as the blood running through their veins. Karen Ng’s unbelievable capabilities with a saxophone and flute felt like their lungs—sure and steady at times, then strained and desperate the next. And Ben Whiteley’s bass playing was certainly their legs—strong and ready for anything.
All their talents are to the extreme and stood out from one another, but came together to create a beautiful amalgamation of raw human experience that shook me to my very core nonstop. I wouldn’t dare tear my eyes away. I could never give The Weather Station anything less than my full, open-hearted attention.
Their set was very clearly and carefully thought out. Each track and the order they were played in made perfect sense. This wasn’t just a concert—it was an experience. It was a performance piece. Everything about it was substantial.
Lindeman didn’t speak much during the show. The setlist was quite tight and flowed into itself beautifully, but when she did speak to us, it was careful. Her voice was kind yet firm as she spoke about her beliefs, and her understanding and experiences of the pains and excitements from living as a human being. I believed her as she spoke about the process of regaining connection to the world around her. She meant it when she warned that it takes softness and vulnerability to do so. I still find myself clinging to her words, both spoken and sung.
The majority of songs played during their set came from their latest album, “Humanhood,” released this year, 2025. It explores many complexities of exactly what it’s named after: humanhood. It’s a confronting listen—especially when it is being performed before your eyes. Their performance gave me genuine hope for the future. It really felt like a reassurance that everything will work out, that I’ll be okay.
Immediately after the last song on their setlist was performed, the audience broke their silence and erupted in cheers. All of us were brought to our feet, offering The Weather Station a standing ovation for their magnificent performance. It did not take them long to return to the stage for one last song.
Before beginning the true ending of their set, Lindeman spoke to her audience once more and let us know how much she appreciates and respects Quebec for taking a “slightly less capitalistic route.” She described the change in feeling she gets on the train when she crosses from Ontario over to Quebec—how much she admires Quebecers for their stance on climate change. Of course, there are Quebecers who couldn’t care less about the subject, but she described feelings of confusion and worry about the world around us that I’m sure most can agree with.
Lindeman let us know that their closing song is her favourite from the “Humanhood” album, called “Sewing.” It was an exceptional choice for a closer. It started off very soft and felt as though it gently cradled me as it went on, only for the build to push me into the void of my subconscious. Like I was forced out of comfort, only to slowly find it once again within myself. When Tamara Lindeman’s voice eased back into the air, I felt a chilling yet blissful release of tension.
Myself and the rest of the audience had been dreading the end of their set, but all great things must eventually come to an end. I’m honestly grateful to have been able to witness such a masterful performance—to see The Weather Station put on a show that was unimaginably beautiful. I’m still in complete awe. I look forward to their next project, but “Humanhood” will definitely be a heavy part of my rotation. Shows like theirs remind me just how much I love live performances, and I already cannot wait to go see them the next time they end up in Montreal.
Review – Jamie Siddall
Photos – Steve Gerrard
