The Gourds

The Gourds

Cow Fish Fowl or Pig

Sugar Hill

On this, The Gourds’ sixth release, the Austin-based band achieves a satisfying synthesis of old time acoustic music and contemporary rock, with their :unique” word play and left of center worldview. Kev Russell and Jimmy Smith use…

Eh, wait a minute… somebody’s at the door.

Hey man, how ya doing…

Familiar sound of a cheap convenience store lighter flicking. Inhalation of breath. Slow exhale.

Thanks dude. Check ya later. Oh, that’s The Gourds’ new one playin’. Cool, ain’t it? Ok, I’ll come by for a beer later. Thanks for sharing.

Ok, sorry for the interruption. Where was I? Oh yeah. “Satisfying synthesis,” blah blah blah. Shit, ain’t no use for such lofty language when remarking on this record. It’s a Gourds record. A damn fine Gourds record. The only problem is, not enough of you goofs know what the hell that means. It means greasy rock and roll (“Bottle & a Dime”) or soaring acoustic moments that leave the Down From the Mountain folks sitting on the tour bus, calling People magazine. This is music that removes that annoying stick out’cher butt. Loose, people. Get loose. Let The Gourds into your head and your feet. Let “My Name is Jorge” cause you to ponder the fates of the lowly fruit seller. Let the comforting humanity of “First In Line” fill your brackish heart with joy. Listen to “Ham-Fisted Box of Gloves” and imagine how this song sounds tailor-made for Levon Helm. Hell, adjust your mood by whatever method and just listen. Let your soul soar. Let your feet tapdance. Kiss somebody. Get Gourds crazy.

The Gourds:

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