Crazy how a blow to the head can change someone. We had heard about Adam many times. His album was recommended to us, deliciously retro psychedelic, the type of music you would have loved to discover one evening during the summer of 1969, that works just as well for this summer. We were told that he was the nicest guy in Montreal, that he was funny, full of ideas, enthusiastic.

But Adam was in another place. Like coming out of a long hallucinatory dream. The day before, with three friends, he had been in a car crash, scary but thankfully without any major injuries; the car had rolled like a barrel. He had a big bruise on his temple, a vague smile. Yet despite it all, he was willing to do the shoot.

And his state of mind rubbed off on our short journey. Gentle and dreamy, beginning with a sunset on the hills, meeting a taxi about which we improvised a song, and finishing like a strange dream. Canada had just lost to Philadelphia in a hockey game. The neighborhood emptied out, and there was this big road closed for work, empty, a space out of time, out of geography in the middle of lights. Adam and his Amethysts were sitting there. Yet we were elsewhere. We were in the dreamy visions of the nicest guy in Montreal.

Text by Chryde
Images & Edit by Mitch Fillion
Sounds & Mix by François Clos

blackxslivesound.com
takeawayshows.com
myspace.com/theamethysts
southernsouls.ca

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