The Gris Gris have arrived. A child is born, created out of the embers of all the distortion blissed-out feedback the devil birthed in Texas circa 1967. Roller coasting from the surreal goodness of Ashley's Medicine Fuck Dream to Can-flavored head-bobbing environments, to that particular corner of garage rock that testified to the Detroit losers in the guise of BACK FROM THE GRAVE and NUGGETS compilations?the Gris Gris' debut on Birmdan is a rock and roll ride that will save some and rattle the rest. The live show is breathtaking as Ashley screams with his guitar over one of the most solid, undulating rhythm sections ever put together.
With his solo debut album on Birdman, Medicine Fuck Dream, the world of Houston-turned-Oakland psych master Greg Ashley was entered and the seeds were planted. Like fellow Texan-bred Roky Erickson and Mayo Thompson, infused with a little Syd Barret and Skip Spence (and maybe even a little Jeff Mangum from Neutral Milk Hotel), Ashley creates atmospheric pop meanderings that are filled with sentimental purpose and dark fuzzy edges. On par with the workings of the mightily enigmatic Brother JT, Ashley recorded his solo album all himself, played it all himself, and sang it all himself, except for one song by his friend John.
Now with a full band, Greg Ashley's world explodes and curious vacationers everywhere can take the trip directly into the center of his mind this summer with THE GRIS GRIS -- 40 minutes and 16 seconds of truly organic psychedelic BLISS.