Alright, let’s dive into this forgotten gem from the dusty corners of Belgian folk history—Fais Le Gilles by Carlo Deman. Released in 1977 on Hebra Records, this album doesn’t mess around when it comes to raw emotion and unpolished charm. It’s Folk, World, and Country all mashed together like some weird cultural stew that somehow just works. If you’re looking for slick production or polished perfection, look elsewhere. This record is rough around the edges, but damn if those edges don’t cut deep.
First up, “La Chanson Du Gondolier.” Man, this track hits different. The melody drifts along like a lazy river, but there’s something haunting about it too. Maybe it’s Carlo’s voice—gravelly, kinda tired-sounding—or maybe it’s how the strings swell in and out like they can’t decide whether to comfort you or freak you out. Whatever it is, it sticks with ya. You’ll find yourself humming it hours later, even though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s not happy, it’s not sad—it’s just… there, lingering in your brain like an old memory you didn’t know you had.
Then there’s the title track, “Fais Le Gilles.” Holy crap, does this one slap. It’s got this driving rhythm that feels more like a dare than a song. Like, Carlo’s daring you to sit still while he belts his guts out over these clanging acoustic guitars. There’s no holding back here; it’s messy, loud, and borderline unhinged—but isn’t that what makes it so good? By the time the chorus kicks in, you’re ready to grab a tambourine (or whatever’s handy) and join the chaos. It’s the kind of track that makes you wanna stomp around your living room until your neighbors call the cops.
So yeah, Fais Le Gilles might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Hell, it might not even be most people’s cup of tea. But if you’ve got a soft spot for music that feels alive—if you want something that sounds like it was recorded in someone’s kitchen at 3 AM after way too much wine—then this is your jam. And honestly? That’s kinda beautiful.
Now here’s the kicker: I couldn’t stop thinking about how albums like this get lost in time. Back in ’77, who was listening to this? Some farmer in Belgium, sipping cheap beer and staring at cows? Or maybe some kid dreaming of escape while spinning this record on repeat? Either way, Carlo Deman poured his soul into this thing, and now it’s just sitting here waiting for someone to rediscover it. So go ahead—be that person.
