If I’m gonna talk about my childhood — and don’t worry, I’m not diving into my entire life story here — it’s gotta be through the lens of music. Because for me, growing up in Quebec in the early 2000s, music was everywhere. You couldn’t avoid it if you tried. It was in the air, in the stores, in the streets — and most importantly, on the TV.

As a second, third, maybe even fourth grader, I was always wondering what the hell was going on in the music world. What’s hot on the charts? Who’s that singer? And more importantly — what are they even singing about?! Those are the questions you ask yourself when music starts clicking for the first time. You’re curious. You’re wide-eyed. You’re just trying to figure it all out.

Back then, Quebec was alive with music culture. Sure, there were record stores — still a holy place to this day — but we also had spots like Music World, Archambault, and HMV. (Side note: I worked at HMV for a hot minute. And then a few months later — boom — the place shuts down. Perfect timing, right? Just my f**king luck…)

Canadian friends, tell me you remember Music World! That logo. That smell of new CDs. And Archambault’s still kicking, but let’s be honest — it doesn’t hit like it used to. But as much as I loved buying CDs — unwrapping the plastic, cracking the jewel case open, hearing that first track — for me, the real magic happened on music television.

Before all the reality TV junk took over, we had real music TV. Our friends in the U.S. had MTV. Over in Toronto, they had MuchMusic. But here in Quebec? We had Musique Plus. And let me tell you — it was more than just a channel. It was a ritual.

Musique Plus was the hub. The go-to. The “turn-on-the-TV-and-see-what’s-happening” place. Music videos, interviews, live performances, countdowns — it had everything. And it wasn’t just about what was popular — it was about discovering new sounds, new artists, new scenes. You’d turn it on and instantly feel plugged in.

Claude Rajotte’s legendary record “destroys”? Oh yeah — those were brutal, and usually spot-on. The Top Anglo and Top Franco countdowns? Unmissable. And the visuals! Anyone remember that intro with muscle cars racing before cutting to the next video? That stuff was iconic.

I still remember seeing videos for songs like “Someday” by The Strokes, or “Qui de Nous Deux” by -M- (Mathieu Chedid). That mix of French and English culture, local and international, made Musique Plus feel like ours. It was bilingual, bold, and unapologetically Quebecois.

And the VJs — man, those VJs were legends. Not just faces on TV, but real people you felt like you knew. Izabelle Desjardins. Nabi. Rej. Claude Rajotte. They weren’t putting on a show — they were themselves. On camera, off camera, same vibe. That authenticity made everything better.

Musique Plus didn’t just show you what was out there — it brought music here, to Montreal, to your living room. If an artist came to town, you’d see them live on the channel. And the best part? The studio was right on St-Catherine and Bleury, street level. So if someone big was in town? Forget it. You had fans crowding the windows, screaming, cameras flashing — they even had to shut down parts of the street when it got wild. One Direction. Backstreet Boys. You name it. It was a happening.

Even the building itself was a vibe. That glowing marquee scrolling announcements across its face — no flashy graphics, just old-school lit-up letters that made you stop, read, and go, “Yo, that’s tonight? I’m tuning in.”

It’s kinda wild to think how things have changed. Youtube came in, attention spans shrunk, and suddenly no one wanted to wait 30 minutes just to catch one music video. I get it. But we lost something real.

In 2019, Musique Plus went off the air for good.

It hurt. Still does.

But even now, late at night, I’ll find myself deep-diving on YouTube — watching old Musique Plus clips, interviews, VJ moments. I’ll hear Rajotte break down a record like it’s a philosophy lecture. I’ll see a young artist perform for a crowd gathered outside in the Montreal cold. And I’ll remember.

I’ll remember how we used to discover music not just with our ears, but with our eyes. How we used to wait for that video to come on. How music was communal, a happening. Musique Plus gave my generation that feeling — like we were all on the same page, watching the same screen, falling in love with the same songs at the same time.

Ask any of us early 2000s kids — we’ll tell you. That’s how we rolled.