I knew there would be a mosh pit. There were too many Doc Martins, black newsboy caps, and folks inching forward bouncing up and down before there was any music, for there to NOT be a mosh pit. But gypsy punk is much more than getting excited to shift from the juicy, slow almost reggae-polka fusion segments to the triple-time "punk" timing (although I admit this switch is quite the rush). It's about squishing all together with people of all ages, to see oximoronic, trans-cultural, genre fusion at it's ironic best. From striped sock-wearing high school students, to yoga moms with a nice purple tank top, to those of us somewhere in between, there was no age too young or too old to appreciate Gogol Bordello's energetic performance. Perhaps the most hilarious moment was when a woman clearly in her later 50s or 60s came pummeling through the packed crowd, finding her place at the front of the stage, demagnetizing linked people by placing an ice cold water bottle on people's arms and backs as she giggled, saying, "haha, see this is my secret weapon" and pushed on through. Although she had the most conservative head of little white curls and reading glasses, everyone's jaws dropped by her tatoo covered back and forceful shoves when it did come time for the mosh pit to ignite.
We shouted for almost an hour, waiting for the swift roadies and tuner-folks to do their thing on stage. And then they came out. One by one, each band member entirely unique in clothing style, performance purpose, and stage dynamic. I had become a fan of the band back in 2006 from rad friends and from being involved in the aerial circus dance scene, but I had never seen them live, and admit only really knowing the song, "Start wearing Purple" and a few others. But I saw them now.
The main performer, Eugene Hutz, with his trademark swoopy mustache, ignited the stage as soon as his heavily accented Ukraine accent spoke into the microphone. He was so skinny that I didn't think he could bounce up and down and strum that acoustic guitar as much as he did, but he did. and did. and did. anddidanddidandid. As soon as they began their first few songs the crowd began lifting off the ground, more or less in sync with one another, feeding Eugene's energy from the start. They even have a girl who's main vocalist duty appeared to egg on the crowd with her loud, "hey's," with the scowl/badass attitude of a runway model or soldier. Sergey Ryabtsev on violin and vocals (both with 300% power and executed at the same time) may have been a pirate in another life. That's all i can say. The bassist--he was big. And his bass was big. And although he towered over everyone in his height and volume, he somehow glided around the stage with an ironically graceful ease. And it was a BIG stage. The Mayan theater was created to mimic an old Mayan temple, with wood cut decorated ceilings, mud colored walls, and big gong-looking circles just waiting to be smacked with a building-size drum stick. A theatrical space to say the least.
Right away I noticed the variations of musical styles--from polka folk songs, to accordion melodic sweeps, to thumping bass drums reminiscent of Afrobrazilian samba reggae drum lines, to jazzy violin riffs, to classical guitar solos... Musically, there was something in it for everyone.
But the energy. The INSANITY of frontman Eugene. WHAT performers. It was the most unbelievable negotiation as the performers interacted with the audience who egged on the performers, who roared with one another and back again. And boy oh boy did the audience give back. Everyone was frantic and jumping around. Sweaty skin next to sweaty tshirt next to sweaty skin. Shirts were flying off onto stage. My friends and I started in the middle of the mosh pit and slowly got knocked around so much that we ended up--without any intention or effort--eventually sifting out to the sides. My toes were hurt, but it was worth the pain. And I felt better when an elbow jabber dropped his new tshirt and continued actively pushing everyone, and I picked it up and put it in my pocket.
When they began to play Start Wearing Purple, which I immediately recognized by the first two chords, I may have actually had (well, my parents might be reading this)... let's just say I felt really really good at that moment. Everyone knew that song. Everyone came together to hear that song. No video capture could even fit into the screen, as sound maxed out, and there was just too much of a frenzy.
The encore performance lasted about 20 minutes. Incredible. As my friend Mathew said, that's why he's so skinny. He burns thousands of calories up on stage.
If anyone reads this, you simply must go experience it for yourself tonight for their final show. And if this blog post seemed to peter out... it's because I simply don't want to give everything away. Go have the gypsy punk experience yourself, hurt a pinky toe, yell some "hey's," and think about the color purple.
