super taranta-ta! at the 9:30 club with gogol bordello

Shirtless, sweaty and sporting more facial than I've accumulated in my entire life, Gogol Bordello frontman Eugene Hutz sighed as he prepared to drop some knowledge on his faithful audience.

"The economy is down," he frowned and huffed, "But good music is up."

With that he shrugged his shoulders and blitzed into another fierce gypsy punk masterpiece with his band. The audience, ever faithful and devoted, jumped, danced and slammed along as they did to every number the band played that night. One would never have known to look at them as the doors opened earlier that evening.

Congregated towards the front of the stage, the hardcore fans waited patiently for the band to take the stage. Looking around the rest of the club, one could find everything from teenyboppers decked out in the latest mall wear to club kids resembling those of the ska-daze of yore. Even the demographic of a certain age were going to be accounted for as evidenced by the guy to my right discussing his organic diet with his date. Looking to the back of the club, one could even find the sound guy, looking bored in his fuzzy Elmer Fudd headwear.

Eventually, a dj takes the stage and starts to mix dub for the patient and the faithful. The audience mills about in some sort of half appreciation. Because tonight is Gogol Bordello's night and they create their own unique brand of ruckus; a heady dub that owes as much to the Clash as it does traditional Romany music. Most of the audience seems curious, at best. But if Gogol Bordello's reputation for chaotic and unpredictable live shows is to be believed, one can rest assured, that won't last long.

And as the dj leaves the stage, one can feel the audience start to catalyze. It's like the tension on a rubber band as its strained to its breaking point. Draped over the stage is a large Gogol Bordello banner adorned with the black and yellow logo of a slingshot and its hard to imagine a better metaphor for this increasingly impatient audience: they need to shoot and they need to shoot now.

Fortunately, Eugene Hutz (clad in a Ramones 3/4 tee) and Gogol Bordello takes the stage, acknowledges the audience and the proceeds to rip directly into Sally, the opener from their first album, Gypsy Punk. Nothing less than completely and totally psyched, the audience starts to dance as Hutz starts with his scat and is then followed in by the violin and guitar work. What follows can be described as nothing less than a molotov cocktail of a show. The audience sings along with every chorus, pogoing and slamming as they go. Refusing to lose momentum, the band rips into Not a Crime as they keep the audience moving like an unstable gas molecule.

The danger of forcing Gogol Bordello upon those closest to you is one of misconception; that somehow Eugene Hutz' thick Ukranian brogue and lunatic demeanor is played up for commodity, for gimmick. But watching this band play live should allay all those fears. For those that only know Hutz as that guy from Everything is Illuminated or that guy that hangs out with Madonna, have no doubt, this is a BAND. And what a band they are.

There is, of course, the typical constraints of a modern rock band: the singer with his guitar, the underappreciated guitarist off to the side working dutifully as he lays down the real monster riffs of the show, the bassist who moves as fluidly as his basslines and the drummer holding it all together in the back. But Gogol Bordello is not a modern rock band. They also keep both a violinist and accordian player who bring the more traditional elements of their music to the band. And then there's the percussionist, a delightful suprise to anyone who hasn't seen the band live. Acting as a true Flava Flav hype man to Hutz' Chuck D, he jumps to the front of the stage to supply backing vocals as well as toasting the audience when the song calls for it. A true showman, one can tell that if he weren't so busy keeping Hutz on his toes, he'd easily be fronting his own band and killing at will. Some are born for the stage and in a strange way, he balances Hutz' goofy aloofness with an indomitable force of will to just have fun, man.

And then there are the dancers. At times, they seem like the most gimmicky aspect of Gogol Bordello but their connection and appreciation for the audience is never in question as they bang their cymbals and drum. In fact, few bands have ever come off as more grateful in front of the crowd. At more than one point, everyone save the drummer could be seen at the front of the stage connecting with the audience.

And how the audience responded in kind. Through every number, they jumped when the song called for it and slammed knowingly as the songs kicked into high gear. They danced when the band decided to bring it down a bit and play the instrumental number Mishto! And by bringing it down, I mean making every ass in the house shake. When the chanting parts of the songs came up, every fist in the house pumped the air as voices shouted along.

Taking the stage for their encore, Hutz appeared in a big fuzzy bear hat as the band strolled through the opening chords of Start Wearing Purple. Teasing the opening of the song (and not for the first time that evening), they stretched it out into one long gypsy punk jam. Eventually tearing into the song, voices carried as everyone in the audience sang along. To finish the evening, they lauched into the opening chords of Think Locally/Fuck Globally, but instead Hutz and his hypeman chose to exchange toasting verses in what eventually became a cover of Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall. With that madness done, they really launched into Think Locally as the audience clapped along with every overpunctuated beat. Whipping up a maelstrom of a ruckus at the end the song, Hutz put his trademark fire bucket on top of his mike and drummed out his own little solo. Building to crescendo, Hutz removed the bucket and held it out over the audience as the band teased out the end of the song. Reaching out to the audience, Hutz mimed the action of picking as he plucked energy from the audience to fill his bucket with. Adding a dash of red wine and the microphone, he ended the show much like his music starts- taking a little bit of everything he likes and shaking, not stirring.

your bitchin' mixtape (setlist)

sally
not a crime
supertheory of supereverything/immigrant punk
dogs were barking
wanderlust king
mishto!
60 revolutions
american wedding
ultimate
tribal connection
santa marinella
oh no?/sally/underdog world strike/forces of victory
Intermission
start wearing purple
? (feat. another brick in the wall)
think locally/fuck globally