If The Sisters of Mercy and Joy Division eloped to Turkey, She Past Away would be their lovechild. For those of us who came of age in Montreal’s dimly lit sanctuaries like Passeport and Saphir, this band is muscle memory, equal parts black eyeliner and existential dread, and it brings us back to nights under red lights, wrapped in fog, where the bassline thrummed like a pulse beneath the skin, and the dance floor was the only place we belonged. Those nights are long behind me now, but hearing She Past Away’s post-punk sounds in my father tongue feels like a homecoming.