It’s rock, pop and folk punk, sometimes all at once, the kind of outing that will have listeners pogoing in the mosh pit of their minds one moment and swaying side to side in their car seats the next. If you’re one who doesn’t pay attention to lyrics, there’s much on Greetings from Echo Park to enjoy; some songs unfurl fast and furious, with infectious melodies swirling from the speakers as if flags rippling in the wind, while others drift from the netherworld that is the collective unconscious. If, by chance, lyrics also matter to you, there’s even more here to love. It’s raucous and wild, but also introspective and insightful, capturing the full spectrum of life, its worries and concerns, circa 2025.
In some respects, the cover art—which pays homage to Bruce Springsteen’s iconic debut, Greetings from Asbury Park—is a solid indicator of the album’s music. It’s bright and colorful yet bordered by darkness. The opening “I Feel Like Throwing Up,” which I featured a while back, is a good example. As with other tracks, it was partially inspired by Ryan Cassata’s bouts with an autoimmune disease and Lyme Disease, but turns that battle into a metaphor for the need to be seen.
The confessional “A Knack for Overthinking” delves into the anxiety that plagues many of us, while “If You Ever Leave Long Island” channels Cassata’s inner Oasis. “Scriptures, Scripts, & Bottles” slows things down a tad while relating how repeated ER visits over a mystery illness left him falling off the edge. The acoustic “My Body’s My Home” continues in the same vein, while “He’s My Man” ups the blues quotient.
“If You’re Not Dead Yet, Will You Be My Friend” recaps what sounds like a hellacious tour through the Bible Belt, while “Bad Things” and “Wants & Needs” find him embracing AutoTune pop, with the latter adding a sinewy element. “QUEER american DREAM,” on the other hand, ditches pop for bluesy rock sharing the unsettling truth of today’s unsettled political landscape: “I spent hours and hours thinking of oppressors in power/Like when will I be free?/I been preaching since I was a teen/But when you’re queer, there’s no American dream.”
“HOWL (Protest Song)” is a pointed confessional, political message, and good time rolled into a rollicking tune that’s sure to have most listeners dancing in place. “Queer Love Outlaw” slows things down while digging into the ugly lies and labels tossed at those who are simply living their lives. The album closes with the heartfelt “Halfway House,” which finds him contemplating mortality in the Narcan age: “Will any of my friends be left when I grow old?/Well, I don’t know, well, I don’t know/God’s been taking them all one by one/There must be some big job up there that needs to get done.”
In every respect, the album is a testament to Cassata’s resilience in the face of both illness and narrow-mindedness. He brings us into his world with a series of songs that only he could have written. Their conversational tone reminds me of the poet Frank O’Hara’s dispatches, which routinely blend the personal with the observational. To quote from his “Poem V (F) W”: “among the relics of postwar hysterical pleasures/I see my vices/lying like abandoned works of art/which I created so eagerly/to be worldly and modern/and with it/what I can’t remember/I see them with your eyes.” Swap out “postwar” for “post-Covid” and you have Greetings. It’s a remarkable outing.
The Old Grey Cat 
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