If this isn’t already a familiar sight, then you’ve got to get it together and make it so. For me, a Gogol Bordello gig is a cherished tradition spanning four years. Seriously, they never stop touring. This year they made a great new album, with the help of one Rick Rubin their most professional yet, and they played a bad-ass ACL set. For the average American festival goer, Eugene Hutz provides their only whiff of the post-USSR diaspora. He’s the only ambassador we have. Far from mainstream, true, but in cooler circles a hero and sex symbol (complete with the sallow complexion, busted nose and terrible posture endemic of Eastern European men). Even among the coolest circles, the hippest hipsters still don’t get the joke. You don’t need anything but a set of ears and mad stamina to enjoy Gogol Bordello’s euphoric live sets. But to fully understand their music, you have to be one of us. Russian FUBU, if you will. The appeal of gypsy music is close to universal. The little steals and jokes in the songs are nods to those fans who Mama is Анархия.
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