Once dubbed the breadbasket of the USSR, the Ukraine has been loathe to offer up any musical hors-d'oeuvres to the dinner table, since the maps changed some fifteen years ago. All change with the emergence of Gogol Bordello.
Gogol are an eccentric breed; part gypsy folk, part Afro-beat, part punk rock. They posses the macabre intensity of the Birthday Party, whilst their sonic variety resembles PiL at their most disparate, dipping into elements of dub and reggae without over peppering the mix.
‘Funeral Underground’ sounds like some kind of Balkan Eurovision entry hijacked by Captain Beefheart; ‘Start Wearing Purple’ is delivered with a typically infectious stomp. Singer Eugene Hutz’s lyrics are dosed heavily in irony. Crumble is rhymed with 'disconbumble', tapering the edges of the bands pseudo-political leanings.
Hutz is every inch the front man: a high-octane performer in the Freddie Mercury mould, had Mercury been born in Kiev, rather than Zanzibar. Handsomely moustachioed, Hutz’s gleaming torso appears to be malnourished in all the right ways, his trousers are improbably low down and God knows what is preserving his modesty.
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By the close of the set, there appear to be more people on stage than in the crowd. This owes more to the band's free for all attitude rather than any early exodus. On the contrary, the band have the crowd in the palms of their many hands. By now Hutz has mounted a bass drum, which is being held aloft by an exultant front row, a theatrical gesture resplendent of a flamboyant outfit on the up.
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