Skip to main content

TORONTO’S YOUTH CULTURE THROUGH OUR MUSIC SCENE

Step 1

How Toronto's youth connects through music — and how that's changing

An attendee crowd surfing during New Friends Fest at Toronto’s Lithuanian House on Aug. 4, 2024.📸 Lucas Bustinski for The Green Line.
Adele Lukusa

If you want to understand Toronto, you’ve got to understand its music scene. 

From Joni Mitchell and The Band to Kardinal Offishall and k-os, many artists who’ve hit it big across the nation — and even internationally — have Toronto to thank for being a launch pad.

And what’s synonymous with music? Young people.

It was true in the ’60s when Yorkville was a haven for working-class, bohemian singer-songwriters, and again in the late ’90s/early ’00s when artists like Jelleestone and Choclair were cutting their teeth in the suburban rap scenes of the city.

When my mom immigrated from Kinshasa to Kitchener in the late ’90s, figuring out how to relate to her peers through music was a breeze. Whether it was through the radio, MuchMusic’s Top 10 segments or CDs she bought at Zellers, she had many accessible ways to understand mainstream Canadian teen culture. 

If you wanted to go to an R&B show, you’d go to The BamBoo. If you wanted to mosh with your fellow goths, you’d go to Sanctuary. If you wanted to dance all night, then The Guvernment Complex had you covered.

But for Gen Z like me and younger generations? It’s not as simple to figure out where to find your people through music.

Since lockdowns during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, 13 per cent of Toronto’s music venues shut their doors permanently — all of these were licensed clubs or grassroots venues under 300 capacity.

Most remaining venues today are non-denominational. Many don’t foster real community — and of course, the audience attending concerts is different.

I spent my youth dreaming of going to concerts in the city and having the time of my life. I was expecting a communal, unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience — but the reality is
unpredictable, to say the least.

In late 2022, I secured tickets to two of my favourite alternative artists, Kelela and serpentwithfeet. Both are rooted in a love for R&B, have undeniable vocals and are beloved amongst music critics. Despite going solo, I left Kelela’s show feeling as energized as I would after a catch-up session with friends. The passion of the crowd, their unapologetic dancing and expressive singing reminded me why concerts are worth it.

Sadly, serpentwithfeet’s show was the opposite, of no fault of his own. The audience sat still, no one bothering to even sway to the songs. It was so quiet that I could hear my off-key singing in a room of hundreds of strangers. I’d heard about the gamble of modern Toronto concerts and aloof audiences, but hadn’t experienced it until then. I left feeling awkward, disappointed and most importantly, lonely.

When it comes to Gen Z, loneliness is seemingly inescapable. We’ve been talking about it since last November through our community-focused Action Journeys. In its 2023 “Vital Signs” report, the Toronto Foundation found that 37 per cent of Torontonians are lonely three to four days of the week. Last year, a nation-wide study by Leo Burnett found that 77 per cent of Canada’s Gen Zers are lonely.

It’s hard enough feeling disconnected from others in general, but at a concert venue where you expected a communal experience with like-minded folks? A whole other beast.

What’s more, the cost of living is making it harder and harder to afford concerts in the first place.

Inflation has hit the resale market and made nabbing tickets for your favourite artist immeasurably harder. Even regular hangouts at bars are on the decline as nighttime spending dipped in 2024, according to data by Square, a business technology platform. According to the report, 62 per cent of people surveyed across Canada say, “Even with Happy Hour discounts, it’s still too expensive to go out.”

A band performs during OssFest 2025.
📾: Anthony Lippa-Hardy/The Green Line.

If you can afford it, where do you go?

The Queen Street West strip is no longer the cool hub it used to be — a place where you could chill at cafĂ©s decorated in local queer, punk art and glimpse celebrities on their way to an interview at MuchMusic.

You can Google or search TikTok, Reddit and Instagram for Torontonian artists and cheap venues, but that doesn’t stop the new class of gatekeepers from desperately trying to hide their musical safe space from the limelight.

Subcultures didn’t disappear, but they’re harder to pinpoint. The monocultures that once united folks across generations have come to pass, and in its place is an individualization of every aspect of our lives, including listening to music.

Yet Toronto’s youth music scene continues to thrive in spite of it all. Gen Z still makes do, and they do it in style. Through DIY venues, tiered or PWYC tickets and nights filled with the sound of vinyl records and the snap of digicams, today’s youth have found their own way into crafting a thriving music scene.

How can you tap into it? Check out our feature to learn more about how fans, artists and organizers are building their musical communities.

Want to learn more about what shaped Toronto’s music identity? Read our Action Journey about MuchMusic.

CHECK OUT THE MUCHMUSIC ISSUE

With files from Anthony Lippa-Hardy.

Continue readingStep 2: Feature

Join the conversation

Add your comment

A free Kennedy account lets you comment, save stories, and follow neighbourhoods you care about.

A free Kennedy account is needed to post — sign in or create one.