Music for the unwashed and the well-read, from a sloppy hilltop near Austin, Texas! Many have attempted to personify labelfy, quantify, verbalize and sanctify the concoction of musical quilts these here gourds have somehow knit together. In a saucepan of slow roasts they have conjured tempos, tangos, waltzes, zydeco, old timey, two step, low-grooved, long winded, short tailed, tiny, phat, stompin’ gizmos of tunes tripped out of lonely, solid teeth and wet green earth. Bugs all bedazzled with this comic tear soaked golden throated close harmony caved in a corner with hat drippin' rain. With obscure references to everything from Desmond Dekker, black adder, folk mythology, Oregon motels, baby gramps, Curtis Mayfield songs, Spanish poetry, U.S. currency, leadbelly, isopropyl alcohol, various controlled substances, food, arachnids, insects, archetypal psychology, NFL, liquid gold, Sufis, preachers, old testament bible stories, mud, and betrayals, The Gourds seem to let their music fry just long enough before they turn it over and brown it on the other side.