GASHCAT

From the outset, Louisiana-based Gashcat’s sound explodes with an awakened energy. The transitions are seamless, alternating between quiet guitar/vocal confessions and powerful, all-out jams. Gashcat is very reminiscent of bands such as Neutral Milk Hotel and Bright Eyes, but the emotion singer/songwriter Kyle Craft puts into the delivery of each word is something that cannot be fabricated. Although this is the last show of Gashcat’s first tour, he shows no signs of fatigue. Craft heard about Astroland through word of mouth, which is the main source of promotion for Astroland.

“By far this looked like the best place to play in Boulder. There are intimate shows and there are bar shows, and we really like the intimate ones like this,” Craft says. “It almost feels like it should be more intimidating, but its not, because the audience is there with you.” - Boulder Weekly

Album Rating: 10/10
I haven't spun any lasses in a circle by the elbow in so long, I've almost forgotten the adolescent squee involved in such an innocent expression of glee.

I haven't taken my shoes and socks off and walked up to the river's edge in longer than I can remember. (I have no beach, for I am midwestern)

I haven't sat on wet grass without preparing it to meet my ass dry since leaving college for good.

I haven't left the house without my wallet in years.

I haven't felt the need to fucking forget what commonly fucking concerns me in fucking years.

I'm as chill as they come, but even I am obsessed with being prepared at all times. I have a wallet, a cell phone, Chapstick, two pocket knives, two bandanas, at least 4 guitar picks of different thicknesses, and maybe even a piece of Uncle Fuzzy's venison jerky on me at all times.

I'm never not thinking about what I'll need somewhere down the line.

But Gashcat.

Gashcat makes me want to turn in the direction of the music and just walk towards it. It's outdoor. It's loud. It's what I remember watching The Adventures of Pete & Pete on Nickelodeon felt like.

It's not thinking, it's smiling at something.

It's smiling at the way a puddle drains into another puddle.
It's smiling at the way my son shits his pants when he finally blows more than one fucking bubble.
It's smiling at the way I sneeze and make an MTV logo on the inside of my elbow, but I didn't want to show you anyway.

It's recognizing smiles begat smiles begat smiles .

Gashcat hit US up.

Gashcat sent US their fucking music.

And here I am completely fucking addicted to the seemingly effortless way this shit just fucking pours into my ears. It's fucking ice cold sun tea in me belly bitch.

I want to sit in the fucking grass barefoot and wave my feet back and forth like a 5 year old.
I want to run through the sprinklers with a suit on and throw my government issue blackberry into the shitter and flush.
I want to fucking throw a ping pong ball into the horn player's's's horns's's just for the Fuck of it.

THIS IS OUTSIDE.
THIS IS 85 DEGREES FARENHEIT AT 11:30 PM.
THIS IS YOUR FRIEND'S BROTHER'S COUSIN'S BAND PLAYING AT A BONFIRE AND YOU shitTING YOUR PANTS AT HOW MUCH YOU fucking LOVE IT.

I love it too.

More than anything I never expected to hear ever fucking ever.

GASHCAT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THE Fuck YOU CAME FROM BUT I THANK YOU!

P.S. Fuzz Folk sounds like a porn movie. - SYFFAL.com