The telephone has several options, each however leads to an answering machine suggesting I leave a general message. I do, but also sense it probably not different than what physics departments teach as a black hole. College radio, at least in theory, is accessible, the democratic microphone, the promise that music in all its shapes finds welcome. But reality a tad je n’ai sais quoi. The young curators often like guards at a hidden archive. There is generosity in some of them, but aloofness in others, like protecting the mysteries rather than sharing. You come carrying new music, but it can be as though pressing them against glass, watching never entering. Perhaps that is part of the charm. The sense that what is given is a secret, and secrets must be earned. I reached out to CKUT, Montreal’s college station at McGill, to see if we might do a live recording when our tour arrives there in December. I see online they have regular live recordings. La Sala Rossa awaits – a room that’s always seemed like reaching the top of a mountain in a city I always wished I could successfully climb. Montreal is a kind of riddle: façades that hint at whole histories I never get to know as well as good friends but bet I could/ would if I lived there some months or years. The email comes back telling me to contact Alex but they do not add who is Alex or what is Alex’s email. But it’s ok, I’m a detective, I have a lead, I’ll pursue.