From the astral glamour of Gregory Pike
Sackville, New Brunswick
used to be a soporific, folk guitar-addled college town where dreamy lullabies
made kids sway back and forth like the reeds of their breezy marshes. But Astral Gunk
are not the chaste marsh children of yesteryear; they are creatures from the freshly unshackled swamp
. And at night, through the fog and gale-force Maritime gusts, they emerge only to find refuge in a desolate railroad-side jam shack on the outskirts of town, there submerging themselves in noise and gnarlitude. I wish there had been more bands like this back when I did my undergrad there.