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. It’s rumoured the UN hired Greshka to diffuse a war-threatening conflict between Brazil and Sirbia; they succeeded because both countries heard a resemblance of their folk music and were soon headbanging in their underwear. 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.