This is DL Jones, a man who appeared out of nowhere to dominate a certain cadre of Montreal nightlife in the mid 2000s. Peer Pressure. That was the name of DL’s promotional mechanism, and it was a name that came to symbolize a certain kind of party. Heavy beats, sweaty rooms, and young girls. (A few of my friends found their teenage girlfriends at Peer Pressure parties.) When DL threw a party, which was often, we usually went. He was always a gracious host, incredibly friendly and relatable, and willing to share. Maybe it’s because we got older or the crowds got younger, but eventually a backlash formed. Some of my friends didn’t want to go to Peer Pressure parties anymore. They actively avoided them. DL became a symbol for what was wrong (and terribly right) with Montreal: it was a place where for many, partying was not only a lifestyle, but a career. I had to get out. Today, DL is still there, doing his thing. Respect that.

This is DL Jones, a man who appeared out of nowhere to dominate a certain cadre of Montreal nightlife in the mid 2000s. Peer Pressure. That was the name of DL’s promotional mechanism, and it was a name that came to symbolize a certain kind of party. Heavy beats, sweaty rooms, and young girls. (A few of my friends found their teenage girlfriends at Peer Pressure parties.) When DL threw a party, which was often, we usually went. He was always a gracious host, incredibly friendly and relatable, and willing to share. Maybe it’s because we got older or the crowds got younger, but eventually a backlash formed. Some of my friends didn’t want to go to Peer Pressure parties anymore. They actively avoided them. DL became a symbol for what was wrong (and terribly right) with Montreal: it was a place where for many, partying was not only a lifestyle, but a career. I had to get out. Today, DL is still there, doing his thing. Respect that.