Formed in Toronto by an ugly child and his crippled dog, The Holy Gasp is not concerned with your entertainment; it is concerned with the ways in which you engage yourself–the ways in which you surrender to the Community of Sound, and drain the black tar from your heart. They look a bit like a jazz sextet. They sound a bit like a bunch of junkies singing Surfin’ Bird with a bad case of the shits. Dig that. No more questions. Y’know?