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Greška

Loosen your suspenders, tighten your shoelaces and get ready to flap your extremities. Greška is a five piece neo-gypsy/klezmer ensemble not unlike a chipotle and cocaine kebab: you’re not sure where it’s from, but it sure knocks you off your tits. A torn canvas of Romanian gypsy dons a filthy smear of western metal, jazz-funk and classical-arrangement. Greshka are like the excitement of stubbing your toe on a wad of cash you forgot about; it didn't hurt, it was unexpected and you were a bit angry at first, but then remembered how much you feel like buying a really expensive bottle of wine to go with your petrol station steak-and-mushroom pie. This is a band who are alike jumping on the 412, missing your stop and somehow ending up in the Jewish province of Sweden; you didn't know it existed but now you're here you might as well buy a nice hat. Greshka play music which sounds like the contents of Humphrey Bears suitcase as he departs for a bush doof with his boyfriend. When you attend a Greshka gig you leave with the same feeling as having read a bio which is entirely unrelated to what you wanted to hear, but it was kind of funny and you had a great pie even though the wine was a bit too fruity for your liking.

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