» Gogol Bordello in Sydney – Review/Photos Something You Said

Gogol Bordello in Sydney – Review/Photos

March 23, 2018

‘Last Monday, I watched a group of forty-something drunk, dad-bodded Ukranian New Yorker hippies serenade me with vaguely sea-shanty-eque rock in the dark of treacly-floored Sydney dance hall, and I had a pretty good bloody time,’ may sound, to some, a bit of an obvious statement. Gogol Bordello, however, are a far from obvious rock band in mostly every sense, and actually, that’s one of the reasons why, before going to actually see them, I really didn’t enjoy their breed of gypsy-rock in the least.

Okay, here me out, here me out, alright. I’m no purist. My tastes are eclectic. Pry the headphones off my head any day of the week and I’m just as likely to be listening to Madonna, as I am to Aphex Twin, as I am to Zeppelin, as I am to just about bloody anything*, it’s just that honestly, having discovered to Gogol Bordello in the early 2000s, shortly after their 1999 formation, I’d concluded that the lead singer, Eugene Hutz’s, heavily accented tones and comedic punky lyrics, really grated my earlobes up the wrong way.

Not one to poop a party though, especially on a Monday, when things can’t really get much worse anyway, I put on my big boots and dutifully clunked off to the Metro with my eyebrows down (ie, ready to be raised, judgementally). Imagine their (my eyebrows’) surprise, through when upon entering the venue they immediately transported to the ceiling in quiet reverence at the jovial frivolity of the turnout. Although arguably a pretty old band now in 2018, thanks to their prolific out-churning of 9 albums, all of which I had been successful in completely ignoring up to this point, they’d garnered quite the following and the venue was packed, show goers jostling merrily at the bar as comfortably and happily as if they were all back on the pirate ships, where I could only assume, by looking at them, they all lived. I was lost in thought for a full 10 minutes trying to calculate the probable sheer number of dreadlocks per square foot.

Bordello were a bit late coming to stage, but as a fair person, I was all ready to give them the benefit of the doubt. The two drumkits, complete with with multiple cow-bells and bongos, must have been really heavy to drag onstage, thought I. One of the members had probably done their back in and in need of a little lie down before the show…. but then BAM.

BAM. BAM, BAM!!! Member after funky-uncle-looking GB member leapt out onstage, assaulting my senses with the opening bars of their many flailing instruments and aforementioned elaborate percussive ensemble, with wide-eyed stares and cheeky snarls powerful enough to make my tap water vibrate inside it’s plastic cup. Wait… was this about to be fun?

The bars of the opening number (Break into Your Higher Self) had succeeded in setting the pirate punters into a nice, stompy, swashbucklly, jig-dance, and pretty much everyone in the crowd seemed to be shouting the words. After checking and realising that this tune had come from their latest album, ‘Seekers and Finders’, I was impressed: it’s not usual that a band with such a big back catalog can get a good reception for newer stuff, often having to resort to old favourites to get the dancing started. As the music rollocked on, though, it became clear that everyone in the building was there for a good old knees up, all of them the fun-slaves to ringleader Eugene’s on-stage escapades. These japes included having a big old bash on a giant drum, which he then proceeded to chuck, pretty dangerously I thought, into the mosh pit, diving in after it, then emerging, singing away, 10 minutes later, slathered with sweat and clutching for his second bottle of wine. The other members, too, had larger than life on stage personalities of their own, each taking their owed turn to get up at the front and do their thing; there were fiddle solos, accordion ditties, and bongo monologues (bongolologues?) peppering the faster numbers Ultimate and Wanderlust King, whilst a curvy, unidentified beauty guest soloed on some of the more sultry slowies.

Despite my skepticism, after half an hour, I couldn’t help smiling, and after 25 minutes, I was swaying along happily with everyone else. And, wahey, their last song, I actually knew! 1999’s anti-establishment anthem ‘Start Wearing Purple’ injected the last shot of crazy into the crowd, and, watching them up there, all backlit appropriately with purple stage lights, I had to admit they’d been a total treat to behold.

The Yiddish-English dictionary defines the commonly appropriated term ‘Chutzpah’ standing for ‘Courage, determination, daring; also audacity, effrontery… similar in meaning to English slang guts, balls, or nerve’. And I’d find it pretty hard to stamp a better summary on what I witnessed in GB at the Metro. L’chaim boys!!