“Björk dares. No drums, guitar or bass can be detected on the stage of the sold-out Halles de Schaerbeek.” With these words, journalist Gunter Joye captured the essence of the enigmatic Icelandic artist’s performance back in 1997 in national newspaper Het Belang van Limburg. Nearly a decade later, in 2006, his colleague Philippe Manche wrote in Le Soir: “It was the rock event of the year’s end. Sonic Youth, alternative rock's finest, took over Les Halles de Schaerbeek.” And back in 1988, also in Le Soir, Thierry Coljon covered Fela Kuti’s legendary appearance in the same venue.
The list goes on—Cypress Hill, Arcade Fire, Nitzer Ebb, Chris & Cosey, Philip Glass, Moby, Patti Smith... Yet somehow, Les Halles de Schaerbeek doesn’t always spring to mind among Brussels’ iconic live music spaces. It’s always been an outlier, and it still is today. But thanks to the efforts of the current team, music is reclaiming its place at the heart of the venue. And we, at Listen Festival, are more than happy to contribute—by programming the legendary British duo Leftfield in the hall’s grand room on Friday 07.11. Another surprise event at Les Halles will be unveiled in September, and trust us this will be a big one..
Time for a conversation with Artistic Director Matthieu Goeury and Anouk Grimaud, who, as assistant to the Technical Director, also oversees safety at the venue.
Hi Matthieu, first off, we’d love to hear your take on what Les Halles de Schaerbeek stands for.
Matthieu: First of all, it's a historical project. It’s been around for over 50 years now. It started as a squatted space, literally occupied by a group of hippies. The key figures were Jo Dekmine and Philippe Grombeer, well-known personalities in the 1970s, deeply rooted in the pacifist, anti-nuclear activist movement. They were involved in launching several cultural venues across Brussels.
This particular building was being used as a storage facility and parking lot by the municipality of Schaerbeek. But they saw its potential and said, ‘This place is incredible, it needs to be reopened.’ It was in very poor condition, and for a long time they ran small, self-funded events here and there. Eventually, it was bought and renovated in the 1990s, and slowly started receiving public subsidies.
It’s only since January 1st, 2024, that we’ve been officially recognized as a centre scénique—a 'Kunstencentrum' in Dutch—by the Wallonia-Brussels Federation. That means stable, indexed funding under the arts decree. Finally, some proper stability after decades of development.
After all these years, what's the unique identity of the venue?
Matthieu: There was definitely a long struggle here between the team and policymakers, let’s say, to maintain a certain independence, to stay a bit on the fringe. That’s part of the Halles’ identity: it’s a space that remains politically engaged. We’re not a theatre, we’re not a concert hall, we try to carve out a unique profile.
We’ve kicked off a new chapter over the past two seasons. It’s still very early days, but one of the major shifts is the return of music, a presence that had been missing for nearly 15 or even 20 years. And this place has hosted some major gigs in the past.
Music is now one of our three main disciplines, alongside dance and circus. We also host what we like to call the 'minor arts': stand-up comedy, a bit of cabaret, smaller side projects. And we also throw parties, which, to me, are absolutely part of our music programming. Even if it’s labeled a party, it’s still a music-driven project, because DJs are artists too.
That activist side, which is part of your history, is it something that also comes from Schaerbeek itself? Is there a strong activist spirit in the neighborhood?
Matthieu: That activist spirit is very much part of our DNA. And it’s also tied to Schaerbeek’s own history. There was a time, back in the '80s, when Roger Nols, a far-right mayor, was in power here. During his administration, pretty much all funding for culture and social work was cut. So, in response, the cultural and community sector here became very self-organized. A whole network of youth centres, associations, grassroots initiatives sprang up. It’s honestly incredible how rich and diverse that ecosystem still is.
And now, at a moment when the neighborhood is rapidly gentrifying, one of the big questions is how to hold onto that associative, community-driven spirit. That’s actually one of our three core missions. We support artistic creation, we’re committed to local engagement—activating the city, so to speak—and we take a clear political stance. Staying active on major societal issues is essential to who we are—whether that’s Palestine, which we’ve long been vocal about, or questions around gender, identity, and beyond.
How does this reflect in your events?
Anouk: We co-organize for instance an event called Back to the Roots. It’s a Pride event that aims to reconnect with the political roots of Pride. We do it in collaboration with Crazy Circle, the lesbian bar in Brussels, along with Merhaba and Queef. We joined to support a project that was already in motion.
During the Brussels Pride weekend, we block off the entire street in front of Crazy Circle, and fill it with workshops, community organization stands, concerts, and live shows. The idea is to return to the core values and history of Pride, while still keeping it visible and celebratory.
You take care of security at Les Halles de Schaerbeek, Anouk. How do you deal with this?
Anouk: We try to create a space where people feel comfortable and if something goes wrong, they know there’s someone from the venue they can turn to. We work closely with the collective Osmose. Everyone in our team is involved, our security staff, the front desk team, the bar crew, the box office, the technicians… It’s a collective effort to keep an eye on what’s happening and be present.
We also draw from everything that’s already been done, from feminist activists, from broader social movements. We pay particular attention to issues around sexist and sexual violence in nightlife settings, but also to other forms of discrimination. We learn something new with every event. Personally, I don’t think any venue can ever claim to be fully ‘safe’, that’s just not realistic. But what we can do is make sure people don’t feel alone, and that they know they can always reach out to someone on site.
Matthieu: I don’t actually think it’s that interesting for a cultural venue to aim for totally 'safe' events. What we do is create encounters between artworks and audiences. And of course that stirs up emotions. You don’t want to control that. We actively create those situations. Friction is part of the deal and I think it’s part of the job of an art space to embrace that.
At a party, you’re in the night, there are substances, there’s alcohol, and everything that comes with that. So for me, the point isn’t to sanitize everything, but rather to figure out how we can manage the tensions that might arise, how to respond quickly and responsibly, so people can have meaningful, even intense experiences.
There’s a large Turkish community in this neighborhood, right? How do you position yourselves in relation to that local reality?
Matthieu: At the moment, we’re not really positioned there yet. It’s complicated, because the Turkish community here is quite self-sufficient and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but there hasn’t been much interaction between us so far. That said, I do regularly go out and meet people, share what we’re doing, and try to slowly build relationships. For instance, there’s a conversation happening with a local real estate agent who wants to organize concerts here, that’s one possible entry point into the neighborhood.
We also just wrapped up a project called Le Grand Marché, which was very outward-facing, aimed at opening up toward the neighborhood. And little by little, you can feel interest growing. People are starting to pay attention. But it’s going to be a long process.
It’s important to acknowledge that Les Halles was quite closed-off for a good decade or more—partly due to COVID, but also because of a programming approach that catered mostly to a white, culturally inclined audience.
So for us, there’s a big task ahead in rebuilding trust—not just with the Turkish community, but with the neighborhood in general. It’s about saying: this place exists, it’s open, there’s a lot going on—and it’s for you too. That’s also one of the reasons I believe music needs to come back here in a big way. Because music is immediate, it connects directly.
