Last summer, I dug a copy of Gogol Bordello Vs. Tamir Muskat by J.U.F. out of the promo box. (Or was it J.U.F. by Gogol Bordello Vs. Tamir Muskat? These pomo remixing shenanigans are hell on attribution.) I was vaguely familiar with Gogol Boredello-- a kind of fire-spitting punk cabaret troupe with traditional gypsy elements (or so I thought) outta NYC-- but this was something else entirely.
There were beats, for starters-- dancehall, hip-hop, jigs and reels, thumping drum machines-- and samples (or was it all being played live?) of guitars, horns, and accordions. The vocals were declaimed in a style somewhere between uppity Balkan cabbie and ragga toaster, heavy on the nasal. The lyrics were about Spanish car service drivers and "supernatural and infantile" little spies. In other words, it sounded pretty much like my Sunday morning walk to get the paper when I lived in Queens.
I later found out Gogol Bordello frontman Eugene Hutz DJs regularly in NYC, and his playlists sound like a dream: Dancehall, klezmer, rai, jungle, old Polish jazz-- all played at warp speed for a stupid-drunk audience of revelers to spit beer on each other and hump legs. The J.U.F. record was itself a mash-up of Gogol's live band punk gymboree and the "play the best bits" genrefuck of Hutz' DJ sets.
So I was a little apprehensive about hearing the real Gogol for the first time. Given my personal biases-- DJ culture over live band, etc.-- how could it live up to such a perfectly formed little nubbin of modern eclecticism kulture? Especially when it was-- gasp!-- produced by Steve Albini! You can't mike a drum machine for maximum live-room sound.
But, you know, it's great. The first thing I thought was "the Ex" and the second thing I thought was "this is pretty fucking unique, really." Like the Ex, they trade in "world rhythms" occasionally but don't make a big deal out of it. And there's a bit of the same guitar tone and scrabbling, scratching playing style (on violin as well) in there too. But whereas the vocals in the Ex can be passionate but kind of stilted, Hutz is pure sleaze, a long tongue down your mama's ear. "Think Globally, Fuck Locally", a song title and a catchphrase, one so obviously ripe for mass dissemination that Hutz wears it down his shirtsleeves.
It also has a drum-break purportedly played on a overturned fire bucket, but I gotta admit it's a pretty well-miked fire bucket. There's also some bestially played guitar and sawed-off fiddlin', strangled cascades of notes that goes well with the loosely tethered drumming. Like a ton of the best rock, Gogol sounds like it's often on the verge of total chaos. Which is not to say they don't groove; the tension of near-collapse makes them swing even harder. "Trouble Friends" plays slashing guitar against a heavy one-drop reggae groove, a dubbed-out perversion of the one-drop roots sound that's all over dancehall this year. "60 Revolutions (Per Minute)" rescues the accordion from kitsch, mostly by speeding everything up to polka-punk tempo and throwing a little Latin rap in because they can. "Immigrant Punk" pairs another reggae groove against Morricone guitar and Hutz frothing about being eyeballed by small-minded townies just because he looks like he fell down at a Jo-Ann Fabrics store.
In many ways, the fact that they ooze the same kind of stinky, trash-soaked, Greek-pizza-joint-coffee-tastin, Canal Street-on-a-high-summer-afternoon aroma through just a band in a room is even more amazing than the cut-and-paste J.U.F. record. (If not quite as thrilling.) Gogol don't play funk, but they sure are funky. And no one, not even Greg Norton, has a better mustache in rock than Hutz.
