Gold Dust spins out gossamer trails of folk rock, a whipped cream daydream of cosmic cowboy reveries that may remind you of the Beachwood Sparks or Garcia Peoples, depending how hard Stephen Pierce happens to be knocking it out just then. A veteran of the Western Mass musical universe, these are wistful, effervescent clouds of misty sunshine, pierced at times by Beatles-psych twang (not a sitar, but maybe wishes it were) and grounded, often, by surprisingly heavy, dirge-y thwacks on the fours . . .
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