The needle drops, and there’s no introductory sweaty handshake. Fangus doesn’t care for niceties; they’re ready to get down to brass-knuckle business. With their debut full-length, Emerald Dream, the Montreal quintet has exhumed a sound that feels less like a tribute to the early '70s and more like a master tape found rotting in a damp basement behind a stack of Atomic Rooster and Deep Purple LPs— adorned with the remnants of blotters and a rolled-up one-dollar bill.
While most modern "retro" acts are busy polishing their boutique pedalboards to achieve a pristine fuzz, Fangus sounds like they’re playing through gear that’s actively dying, and doing so gloriously. This is proto-metal that hasn’t been sterilized by a digital workstation. It’s thick with the smell of stale beer and lingering clouds of Turkish hash.
The record is anchored by Chub’s Hammond organ,which don't just sit in the mix—they haunt it-Boo!. On tracks like "Pyre Of Love," the keys provide a churning, rhythmic floor that allows Alex Bigras to lay down riffs that feel primal and urgent. There’s a distinct lack of the "80s-ing" that ruins so many archival-leaning projects; the drums, courtesy of Snake St-Louis, have a dry, thumping woodiness (think Woody Woodpecker on Ludes) that feels like a 1973 rehearsal room rather than a gated-reverb stadium.
Jim Laflamme’s vocals are the real grit in the grinding gears. He avoids the high-pitched operatics common in the genre( ya know the Dio my tights are too snug falsetto), opting instead for a rough-around-the-edges, "dirty" delivery that feels humbly human. When he sings about psychoactive plants and "the green labyrinth," it doesn’t sound forced—it sounds like a guy who’s actually spent too much time wandering through the tall grass of the subconscious. Welcome to the crevasses of my mind where you may get lost and never return- Bye Bye!
"Quest For Fire" and the title track, "Emerald Dream," showcase the band’s "hard prog" DNA. These aren't just three-chord stompers; they are sprawling, hallucinogenic, double-barreled microdot journeys. It’s "freak rock" in its purest form—unpredictable, slightly menacing, and deeply visceral. Get your freak flag out, mofo.
What makes Emerald Dream stand out in the current landscape is its refusal to be " squeaky clean." By handling the mixing internally, the band (specifically Chub) has protected the record from the artificial sheen that usually kills this kind of vibe- No Debbie Downers. It’s an initiation into a very specific, dark corner of the underground deep down in Gollum territory. For those of us who prefer our music with a bit of dirt under the fingernails that hold the sacred ring—the kind of record that feels like an artifact exhumed from a bin of vintage silk-screened '60s flyers — this is the real deal. Shit those flyers are worth bucks chump.
100% bathtub grit.. Put it on, turn it up, tune in, and drop out. Be Leary of LSD and let the roots take hold. Prepare for takeoff! This is your drunk captain speaking.
