Even if you don’t speak French, it’s easy to get lost in the emotional intensity of Les Louanges songs like “GODDAMN!;” to feel Vincent Roberge’s fervour and passion as his voice rises above reverb-drenched guitars and retro synth stabs.
“It’s cathartic to have an outlet to just fucking scream at the top of your lungs,” Roberge tells The Grind. “With music, you can have a great time and get that stuff out, too.”
Inspired by 80s-era Leonard Cohen and Talking Heads, Alouette! arrived six years after the last Les Lounages album, and feels like a state of union address for one of Montreal’s most beloved auteurs.
“It’s trying to paint a picture of what it means to be a young Quebecer today, someone who’s moving through life, through loss and [navigating] their changing society,” Roberge says. “There’s a vast array of emotions, but all with a little groove.”
Here’s the rest of our conversation, lightly edited for length and clarity.
Congrats on your nomination. This is your second time landing on the Polaris shortlist. [Les Louanges La nuit est une panthère was nominated in 2019.] How does it feel?
It brings out a bunch of emotions for me. I don’t think I’m the same guy [as last time], so I’m really appreciative of it. We’ll see what it brings, but just being there will feel great, and means that I haven’t lost the plot yet [laughs]. And being recognized within the Anglo world is always a good sign, too.
Some people have described Alouette! a sort of comeback album, after a few years away from the spotlight. You’ve talked about how you used this time to look inward. How have you changed since we last heard from you?
During the making of this album, I ended up falling in love with an American girl who was living in Montreal. She’s a Canadian, now — she has her passport and is already picking up on Keb slang. But yeah, I was trying to look inward and find answers about what it means to be a Quebecker, and I ended up falling for someone who — though this is not how I refer to her — was part of the “others,” someone who doesn’t have the same background.
She was also alone, taking care of her dad who had dementia, and I ended up becoming a kind of a second-in-charge caregiver. That really shifted my vision, and expanded my understanding of this inward quest of discovering myself, on both a micro and macro level. At the same time, taking care of somebody that never really understood who I was, and who was losing the sense of oneself at the same time — that threw me into quite a meta state of mind. You know, that was a real job, compared to being a musician. In a way I found absolution by taking action, and by acting in this totally selfless way.
Tell me a bit more about the album, and why you think it’s connecting with listeners.
[In Quebec] right now, there’s been a big cultural revival among the youth, a surge of love for their own culture. Simultaneously, there’s this new momentum for the Parti Québécois, which has been shifting to the right, like basically everything in the West. So you have this, almost, contrary movement, where the older generation is becoming more intolerant, while the younger generation is saying that we want to be proud of who we are, we want to celebrate who we are but also invite other people to the party. We understand that the situation is complicated. One of my goals for the album was to speak to people rather than just telling them about myself. And I think that’s why people connected with it. I’ve never had this much response for an album, and that includes néo-Québécois [immigrants and newcomers] who are finding a safe space in the music, or things that they can relate to.
In other words, you want to celebrate Quebec culture, but at the same time resist how that culture is sometimes weaponized by nationalists for political ends?
Yeah there’s this contradiction, but for me it’s a labor of love to be able to spot what is great, but also point out what is wrong.
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Can you explain the inspiration behind the title?
I could go on a long essay about this, but basically, you know the kids’ song, “Alouette,” which translates to “lark” — [sings] Alouette, gentille alouette (tr: lark, gentle lark) — this was actually the first French-Canadian song to ever be recorded on paper. But it’s also a reference to [songwriter, poet and activist] Félix Leclerc, who is one of the founding fathers of modern Quebec music. Leclerc had a song in the 1970s called “L’alouette en colère,” which means “the mad alouette,” or “the angry alouette,” and this was his first song that was kind of political and incisive. So I’m stealing this iconic image, and trying to make it mine, and trying to actualize it into 2026.
I find that it’s difficult to describe this album in terms of genre. It really does feel like a unique blend of styles. How do you describe it?
In my day-to-day life, I like to just say “pop,” and then my girlfriend’s like, “No, but baby, they’re gonna think you’re like doing Shawn Mendes stuff” [laughs]. I come from a background of R&B and soul, but as I was working on this album, I was listening to a bunch of old dudes. I couldn’t get enough of Montreal’s own Leonard Cohen, especially his 80s period. And Bruce Springsteen. I’d never listened to him before, and was like, oh he’s not a meathead! He’s a pretty rad artist! And also, right as I was putting the album out, they released a re-mastered version of [Talking Heads’ concert film] Stop Making Sense, and so I had a lot of fun getting back into them. And of course it’s 2026, and I love a Dijon or Mk.gee album. I think it’s all these things coming together.
But also, I brought back the guitar, even the acoustic guitar! That’s something I vowed to never do. At this point, it felt exotic to me.
Do you have a personal favorite track on this album?
I would go with “La journée va être chaude.” I think it’s a great point of entry that you can enjoy even if you don’t speak French. It’s fun, and almost feels like we’re in Peter Gabriel territory at this point. The lyrics translate to “tomorrow’s going to be hot,” but it’s about climate change and the rise of fascism. Like every song on the album, it’s a bit of a Trojan horse.
If you were a Polaris juror, what album would you champion?
There is a group called Divinely Guided, and they put out an album called Divinement guidé (tr: Divinely guided). It’s influenced by Lil Uzi Vert and its kind of vanguard trap adjacent, but it’s just weird, and its insanely Keb, and it fucking slaps. They don’t even have a team or anything, but I can’t get enough of it.
Richie Assaly is one of the 200+ music experts who make up the Polaris Prize Jury.
