“Of course we immigrants wanna sing all night long, don’t you know the singing soothes a troubled soul?“
As if that last one from Gogol Bordello wasn’t anthemic enough, we have this. This should be a cultural revolution, a movement, an army. Instead it’s illuminating to a very small subculture of young punx washed up from Eastern Europe and a fringe of mustache aficionados. Well, Gogol Bordello was never meant to be anything other than an acquired taste. In fact it’s rather shocking how much popular traction they have gained, given the extreme narrowness of their target audience. Not that there’s anything wrong with a little expansion. Even the highly esoteric can have a broad appeal, if it’s fabulous enough. I can’t say that people who get a kick out of Gogol Bordello for their overall attitude, or their showmanship or whatever, without having the vaguest hint of what it’s really all about shouldn’t continue to do so. But – and stop me if you’ve heard this one too many times from me – it’s some kind of hilarious that they’re playing to audiences who don’t know what a bordello is, let alone Gogol. By all means, mustache-appreciating hipster chicks, carry on the party, it’s ok that you don’t get any of the jokes.
Another one that I’ve put before you before yet still bears much repeating. Gogol Bordello is one of the hardest working bands in show business, but somehow they’ve been slacking off lately. By which I mean that although they tour constantly, they haven’t found their way to my locale in the past year. I was getting worried, but lo! There’s a new album on the way and presumably a lot more touring. I’m excited, obviously, because of course their live shows are to die for, but more than that, Gogol Bordello fills a small and necessary musical niche that without their output basically ceases to exist. I suppose there are other groups who’ve sprung out of and celebrate a trans-continental diaspora, but Gogol Bordello is the biggest and the greatest. They invented – or at least thoroughly defined – a fuck-assimilation joyful multicultural approach to music and identity. No shortage of great art has come directly from the immigrant experience – it’s one of the classic American narratives and never ceases to be relevant. Nor does immigration itself ever cease to be a political hot potato, and right now it’s a particularly rancid one. I suppose that conservative lawmakers pushing blatantly racist policies under a thin guise of ‘patriotism’ is nothing new, but the narratives we’re hearing about right now are especially depressing. It’s all racial profiling, child labor, people left to die in the Arizona desert and other human rights abuses that should not be taking place in the supposedly enlightened 21st century. So it’s not only nice, but necessary, to see and hear a happy, empowered and empowering immigrant identity.
I wish I could instantly communicate to you what an insane experience a Gogol Bordello show is. I don’t know if I can do it justice. The first time I went to one of their shows the mosh was so crazy I was actually pinned with my feet off the ground for a while. I found a fat guy in front of me and held on to his belt to prevent myself being swept away. There was an extremely petite girl right in front of the stage who didn’t make it through the second song. I think somebody bodily dragged her away. So I took her spot. I remember violently elbowing anyone who tried to wedge in beside me. Another time at ACL, there were two tall dudes hogging the best spot, waiting for some other band to come on and group of girls ganged up to punch them in the kidneys. I might have got a few jabs in myself. That’s the last time those two get in between Gogol Bordello and their fans. Not to mention how Eugene Hutz and the girls routinely stage dive (on a huge drum no less), pour wine on the audience, throw things, and generally spray sweat and saliva everywhere. They’re also known for playing tirelessly, doing encore after encore long after the fire marshal has come to declare curfew. Also, hosting crazy afterparties. It’s just something you need to see for yourself. I go to a lot of shows, dozens every year. I’ve seen nearly everyone, from Liza Minnelli to Iggy Pop, and I can solemnly declare that Gogol Bordello is the best live band. I have never seen anything approaching their energy, or the energy of their audiences. Nobody else makes a crowd pulse up and down, screaming along and pumping their fists, the way Gogol Bordello does. Not for the faint of heart.
Gogol Bordello’s second-best love song, though not a love song at all. More like an ode to a dysfunctional, codependent, stuck-on-each-other ruin of a love story. Eugene Hutz is certainly no sentimental type. The sweetest love song he can come up with is for the bottle. It’s slightly out of character for him to be this down-tempo. I don’t know who the girl singing is, but it’s a passionate duet. They sound exactly like two people who hate each other but remain trapped together for whatever sad reason. Which is a sad but true situation. If you can’t recognize that you’re either very young or very lucky. Nearly every silly love story will, in time, degenerate into bitching and bitterness, though that’s rarely mentioned in song. Breakup songs are plentiful, but they’re just as unrealistic as their happy counterparts. Epic heartbreak has its place, but most of us don’t get to have legendary love. Breakup songs exist to make the mundane humiliations of ending an affair seem grandiose, and extension of the romantic story we’re telling ourselves about our lives. In reality, breaking up isn’t grand. Breakups are usually preceded by months or years of increasing mutual rancor, with both sides miserable and in the wrong. But when you’re writing about your broken heart, it’s hard to admit you were wrong too, or that maybe it’s for the best or maybe you were secretly sabotaging yourself all along. If you’ve ever been through the death throes of a relationship and want to hear a realistic song about it, this one’s for you.
So it’s time again to take stock of the year past and take in some of the highlights. 2010 was a very good year. It was the first year in a long, long time that I could afford to buy food at Central Market instead of Wal-Mart. I could purchase lingerie at Victoria’s Secret instead of Wal-Mart. I did my holiday shopping at real boutiques instead of Wal-Mart. You get the general idea here, I think. In short, I earned a living wage, went to a lot of shows, ate a lot of food, drank a lot of wine, traveled, dated intensively, learned a lot and generally enjoyed a high caliber quality of life.
Highlights include in no particular order… getting thrown out of an English Beat show for, um, I don’t remember what, but probably fighting. Not getting thrown out of an encore English Beat show. Making out with a cute stranger at a Valentine’s Day Nouvelle Vague show. Having a Dead Weather roadie tell me my outfit is “very Karen O.” Getting dumped for the second time in my life and not crying about it. Many instances of drinking myself into a rolling blackout. Free wiener-on-a-stick at ACL courtesy of my parent company. Groping M.I.A.’s ass at ACL. Getting to see the full Cremaster Cycle on the big screen courtesy of the now defunct Dobie Cinemas. Going overseas, including a flyover glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Meeting family members I didn’t know existed. Seeing A Night At The Opera, and also seeing a night at the opera. Getting certain bad influences out of my life once and for all. Getting my first tattoo, courtesy of the lovely and gracious Dresden Dolls. Completing my self-appointed Year of Living (for lack of a better term) SATCily. Seeing the old one out in, not exactly style, but definitely with a sense of achievement. I just can’t wait to fall right into my next big mistake.
Now, musicwise…What a good year! So many great records streaming in! In fact, there’s been so many good ones that I won’t limit myself to just ten. Because there’s more than ten albums I’ve been listening to this year. There was a disappointment or two, sure. The Knife put out a virtually unlistenable opera based on the works of Charles Darwin. Vampire Weekend is still insufferable. Matt & Kim aren’t as great as everyone says they are. Broken Bells literally made me fall asleep standing up (not that their album was bad or anything). And as usual, the top forty was an orgy of the bland, the talentless and the downright terrible. But on the bright side, I’ve found so much to love. Here’s the ones I couldn’t stop playing…
Sea of Cowards – The Dead Weather
Here Lies Love - David Byrne & Fatboy Slim
The Ghost Who Walks – Karen Elson
This Is Happening – LCD Soundsystem
Treats – Sleigh Bells
Trans-Continental Hustle – Gogol Bordello
/\/\/\Y/\ – M.I.A.
Olympia – Bryan Ferry
Congratulations – MGMT
Body Talk – Robyn
Soldier of Love – Sade
Endlessly – Duffy
I Learned The Hard Way – Sharon Jones &The Dap-Kings
If you’ve been reading for any amount of time, my feelings about Jack White must be known to you. I think the man is a god-put-on-earth. He can do no wrong. He has vision. He makes me want to find my demon. Plus, he’s a really nice guy. The first Dead Weather album was pretty great (it was on my list last year) but it was just an appetizer. It’s a feast of dirty, sexy, crazy energy. The collaboration between Jack and the incredible Alison Mosshart has fully blossomed at last. The difference is that unlike the other Jack projects, this one is dripping with female energy. Isn’t it tiresome that it’s always the boys who’re getting their rocks off? Not anymore.
Leave it to David Byrne to do something completely random and make it so brilliant it starts to make sense. A collaboration between the polyglot Byrne and master DJ Fatboy Slim was sure to yield interesting results. Byrne reached into his bag of ideas and out comes a two-disc concept album rescuing Imelda Marcos from the joke-bins of history. If anyone remembered her at all, it was as a symbol of vulgar consumption in the face of poverty – she owns thousands of shoes. Thousands! Whatever her crimes, Mrs. Marcos is still a person; an aspiring singer and beauty queen who married into wealth and power, felt shame about her poor education and less-than-lavish upbringing, endured exile and her husband’s infidelities and found a late-life political career of her own. All this and more you’ll learn, all complete with Fatboy beats, Byrne’s dry wit, and perfomances from an A-list parade of singers. I’ve heard that Marcos herself gave the project her blessing and even wanted a chance to sing something.
I’ve admired Karen Elson’s modeling career since circa 1997 – that’s more than a decade, centuries in model years. I loved her look, her fiery red hair, her porcelain whiteness, her eyebrow shaving boldness. When she started to talk about going into music I wanted to see her succeed. Then she scored a real coup in her personal life – you know of what I am speaking – and it looked like the music dreams would be shelved forever. After all, nobody wants to be seen as the talentless spouse riding her man’s coat-tails towards her own ambitions. But guess what! She finally made a record and it’s incredible any way you slice it and she is incredibly talented. Her voice is as beautiful as her visage, and her songs are beautiful too. Songs she wrote, literally, in the closet. Where any number of model-slash-whatevers have fallen flat on their face, Karen nailed it. Besides being a great singer, she has her own distinct sound, a kind of goth-folk with strains of Nashville and maybe just a hint of whatever planet Tom Waits is broadcasting from.
Ok, this is something I downloaded on a whim because the buzz on it was so good. (I think some reviewer evoked the mythical Berlin Trilogy founding fathers as influences.) And guess what! The buzz was all true. I love to dance and I love dance music and I love electronica and great beats and blippy sound effects and all that. But it’s hard to know where the good stuff is. Because so much dance/electronic music is utter rubbish. It’s what the old folks say; any idiot with a keyboard can cue up a beat, add some pings to it and a loop of someone chanting nonsense, and there’s your big dance single. I’ve tried randomly downloading electronica that I’d been told was good and just thinking “this is a brainless waste of gigabytes”. For example, the much hyped Deadmau5 record I found simply mind-numbing. So here’s something with brains you can dance to. And even harder to find on the dance floor, it’s got heart. Starring James Murphy, a doughy aging hipster smart enough to know he’s doughy and aging, and to write an album about it.
This might be the authentic sound of now. Or not. I believe they’re calling it ‘noise pop’. That’s not a terribly appealing name, but I guess the point is to scare off the oldsters. To me Sleigh Bells sound so fresh. Alexis Krauss has a lovely voice, and the ‘ah ah ah’s and ‘oh oh oh’s she emits in every song are straight from some long-lost girl group from the pre-Fab sixties. The lovely’s hidden underneath a storm of feedback, so you may not notice it at first. However it makes a balance – lovely vs loud, sugary vs dirty. Beauty and noise.
Gogol Bordello are looking to go widespread. Hence a record sleeve of Eugene Hutz looking almost presentable and production courtesy of Rick Rubin. They sound professional for the first time, and it’s good. Their earlier albums, brilliantly alive though they are, didn’t have the highest production values. Also, they suffered from energy overkill, or rather they didn’t suffer but some listeners might have. This is their most accessible record, but don’t say they’ve sold out. (Or maybe they have – Eugene is on speaking terms with Madonna. If that’s not selling out I don’t know what is.) You can still shake a leg to it, or more likely your booty. This time around there’s more room for Eugene’s thoughtfuller side. He’s always had thoughts, sure, but sometimes they got a little lost underneath all the PARTY! If you thought the more lyrical songs where the highlights of Super Taranta! you’ll appreciate how much more autobiographical and open-hearted Eugene’s songwriting has become. Or maybe it’s always been that way but everybody was too drunk to notice.
Alright, M.I.A. was never for everybody to begin with. So it’s not big shock when nothing on her new album was as easily accessible as Paper Planes or Boyz some armchair judges decided she wasn’t cool anymore. No, she’s still cool. Maybe she’s cooler than ever because she more interested in pursuing her interests than being fun or accessible. Yeah, the album is built on noise, and there’s liberal dollops of weird autotune, and cryptic lyrics as usual. The lady holds true to her convictions, whatever they are. And really, it’s almost admirable – it’s her most high profile, hotly anticipated release yet, and still it sounds like she threw it together in a basement with a box of tapes.
The new Bryan Ferry album sounds exactly like a Bryan Ferry album. That’s kind of the point.
Again, not so much with the big hit singles ready for chart domination. But a more sophisticated moving on up the ladder. I was a bit leery of MGMT at first – they have been such hipster darlings and what’s cool isn’t cool. But hey, guess what! They’ve only gotten smarter, and more melodic with relative age. And anyone who writes a rapturous ode to Brian Eno (Brian Eno) gets mega super bonus cool points. Apropos of god knows what, but the more I listen to this album the more I suspect these boys may have, at some point listened to the works of the Brothers Mael. I don’t know why I think that…
It’s been a long cold winter since the last Lady Gaga record came out and you’re needing something to fill the void. You need some dancefloor crazy, euphoric, slightly guilty pure sugary rush of pop music. See, bubblegum doesn’t have to suck. Sometimes the purest sugary fluff is just what the doctor ordered. As far as fluffy pop songs go, too, Robyn’s are surprisingly thoughtful, at least sometimes. How many times have you heard the words ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ while grinding it out on the floor? That’s what I thought.
The new Sade album sounds just like…a new Sade album. Not unlike Ferry, Sade has found the sound that works and she’s polished and perfected it over the years. So what if every Sade album sounds the same. There aren’t that many of them to go around. Her eponymous band works like a smooth operating machine, the lady’s voice still sounds like sex and honey, and she hasn’t aged a day. She’s still writing inscrutable love songs. Still showing the young girls how it’s done.
I’ve decided I do quite like the new, marginally modernized Duffy. She’s strayed across the street from her regular crystal ball evocation of sixties Stax girl-group-iness, adding exciting elements like faster tempos. So maybe Endlessly isn’t the glossy beast the first album was, but it’s ok, it’s still fun. I’m waiting with baited breath for some Disney executive to have a Eureka moment and ask Duffy to voice some singing cartoon frog princess. She’s got a cartoony voice, does she not? She even looks a bit like a sassy cartoon kitty. You know what would be cool? A Duffy musical cartoon series. She’d definitely be a kitty, and it would be set in the swinging sixties and she’d ride a Vespa, and sing and solve crimes.
Sharon Jones is keeping old-school r’n'b music alive. Not that dumb crap they file under r’n'b nowadays. None of them ‘guest raps’ here. If the best part of your song is a sample from someone else’s song, that’s cheating. None of that here. No drum machines, either. Absolutely none of that damn auto-tune. Real musicians don’t need those props. Sharon and the Dap-Kings belong at the top of the top of the pops, real soul music should be topping the forty, but the world isn’t fair like that, and that’s what Sharon Jones is talking about.
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.
I usually don’t post pictures of myself, but that’s me up there. I’m the one without the mustache. I finally did get to briefly meet Eugene Hutz last year. He was drunk. Forgive me, but I’ve always imagined him smelling like, oh I don’t know, pickled herring or something. But he does not and his Russian as far as I can tell is impeccable. He also answers to Zhenya. I learned all this at Lovejoys, where Gogol Bordello hosted an intimate end-of-tour afterparty for everyone who attended their show at Stubbs. So, I did party with Gogol Bordello, that’s one item off the old bucket list. I do confess, shamefaced, that I didn’t stay to see what happened at the end of the end. I got very distracted by someone with quiffular hair. Stupid, I know.
Meanwhile, the gang did put out a new album this spring. It is their best so far. It’s hard to call besties, but it’s definitely their most solid. For one thing, it’s the first GB album that doesn’t sound like it was recorded live in a barn. For that we have to thank Rick Rubin, I presume. The main problem with the previous albums is a phenomenon called ‘fun exhaustion’. They’re so cranked up and high energy that by halfway through you’ve already danced your legs down to the knees and it all starts to blur together in a hazy manner somewhat akin to becoming progressively drunker. The new album is decidedly more low-key, with a higher-than-usual incidence of ballads. Eugene shows that he has some thoughts in his head besides screaming “PARTY!” at top volume. (Although it wouldn’t be a proper Gogol Bordello album without someone screaming “PARTY!”) Since they’ve long ago proven themselves to be the ultimate “PARTY!” band, it’s nice to hear them display their musicianship in a wider selection of tempos. This one might even win over some non-believers, I hope. Anyhow, I can’t wait to hear them play the new stuff at ACL come October.
An anthem from my favorite live band! Yes Eugene, I hate American weddings too!
Gogol Bordello is a unique entity in the music world. For one thing they are one of a handful of artists, including M.I.A., who make music that reflects a modern diaspora. They are the only band I know of who speak from a Russian/Ukrainian/Eastern Eurapean diaspora. Their music is different from world music or folk music. The music of artists like Cesaria Evora or Bebel Gilberto or Ali Farka Toure, no matter how popular or bestselling still remain in their own ‘ghetto’, classified strictly as ‘ethnic music’, meant to represent ‘exotic’ cultures and have a transportive effect. The diasporic music of Gogol Bordello is outside convention. It incorporates traditional themes, cultural references, and instruments, but it is modern, polyglot, young and multicultural. It is music by, and about and for immigrants, children of immigrants, young people who bridge multiple cultures. It is a new genre – Punk Folk. (Not so new, really, remember The Poques invented Punk Folk back in the 70s).
Although technically, Eugene Hutz is Ukrainian/American, I’m going to refer to him as a Russian, because to differentiate between Russianness and Ukrainianness is to draw a line that isn’t there. The two cultures are so close, with such a long history together that to find differences is to nitpick. That said…Hutz is the first and at this point only figure in popular culture who speaks from a uniqely Russian perspective. Only a Russian would think to write a love song to his good friend alcohol. Only a Russian would take pride in being a disgusting, dirty drunk – ‘a dirty, old and useless clown’. It takes a Russian audience to even begin to fully appreciate his music. Even the name Gogol Bordello is joke that mainstream listeners don’t get (probably not meant to get). Half the lyrics are in Russian, and there are many references that are aimed not just at Russians, but at very specific Russians – it is true that most Russians would not get the Zvuki Mu reference, and it proves once and for all that Eugene is one of us. For us, by us.
Video:Bonnaroo 2008. You can’t see me, but i’m out there.
Gogol Bordello are best known for their high energy live shows. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing them twice now, and I’m sure I’ll see them many more times.
I saw them at The Lyric theatre in Blacksburg in Oct 2007. It was a fantastic, sold out show. It was the most intense concert experience I’ve ever had. The crowd was wild. There were moments when in the crush my feet weren’t touching the floor. Luckily there was a fat guy in front of me and I held on to his belt. Eventually I fought my way to the front, where I could be thoroughly sweated upon by the band, and groped Eugene’s ankles to my heart’s delight. The downside to being in the front row is that the sound quality suffers. I could barely tell what song they were playing. Before the show several band members came to eat at the restaurant where I was working and I served them. At first I didn’t realize who they were, and then I couldn’t remember their names, so I pretended not to know who they were. Unfortunately Eugene wasn’t there. Pamela, Elizabeth, Pedro, Eliot, Yuri and a couple of roadies had an early dinner, and were all very nice. The girls asked about good places to shop – I told them to go to Goodwill. After the show, my friend and I talked to some of the roadies, and they tipped us off to the afterparty. It turned out to be at a frat house. The atmosphere was really sleazy, and not in a good way either, so we went home. Someday we will party with Gogol Bordello.
I wonder how they liked that party. How does it feel to play to an audience that doesn’t know what a Bordello is, let alone Gogol? It must suck to end up at a skanky frat house in Buttfuck, Nowhereland surrounded by a bunch of idiots who don’t know who you are.
I saw them play again at Bonnaroo, 2008. They gave a great performance, as usual, but the intimacy was lacking. There were barricades to keep fans away from the stage, it was midafternoon, and boiling hot. On the other hand, the sound was a lot better, and there was some crowdsurfing going on, so again I got to grope Eugene’s ankles. There were two douchebags in front staking out Ben Folds, and they would not budge. Everyone was trying to elbow and kick them. I bet that’s the last time those douches get between Gogol Bordello and their fans. GB was the only act at Bonnaroo that actually got some hardcore mosh action going.
Gogol Bordello is touring the world this fall. They have three shows in NYC at Webster Hall Dec 27, 29 & 30, two shows in D.C. Jan 2 and 3 and Philly Dec 31. Don’t miss it!
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