Thursday, March 05, 2015

Going to a bordello....


So, Tuesday night at the Music Farm, I looked forward to an Eastern Europe/Gypsy Punk band.

The Gogol Bordello had the near capacity crowd in the palm of their 8-person band's collective hands.

They shouted and the crowd shouted back.

Foot-stomping, body surfing and an extremely active mosh pit defined that this was a PUNK evening.

Security made sure there were no incidents of stage diving.

I was not even tempted!

Actually I worked my way from the Ann Street entrance, through the arm-raising, shouting, singing mob scene

I zig-zagged around the crowded, busy bar and headed up to the balcony on the left.

I had a railing to lean on in my crowded but cozy aerie and used my 25 mm to 500 mm zoom lens to get in close.

I marveled at the way the band controlled all these clapping, smiling, sing-along, gyrating fans without any English being spoken or rather, screamed.


The  balcony has comfortable chairs placed against the brick wall and a nice little bar to go along with a terrific view high above the din and dancing dervish..

I watched the sound and lights guys in their booth down on the floor working their magic.

They were an agile team of pros making the colorful spotlights change and dance with the beat and rhythms.

Eugene Hutz, the leader of the band, has some lengthy quotes (here) that pretty well sets the tone. and path he has followed in the decade since they started.

He is from the Ukraine and hand-picked his band members to create an international groove with musicians of all ages, races and cultures.

The bassist is from Ethiopia, the Russian violinist is from Moscow, and a percussionist is from Ecuador

The young lady beating the big bass drum is Elizabeth Sun from China and Scotland.

Looking across the room, over the heads of the stomping, clapping, shouting revelers, I spotted the Farm's sign advertising tonight's event.

I had posted a shot earlier of the constantly shuttling musicians as they rushed to the front and hit the crowd with furious vocals, swaying to the off-center rhythm and bold stomping.

The mosh pit area was a sea of writhing bodies, waving arms and enthusiastic singing.

One body surfer, held aloft over the heads of the masses was dropped -  or he fell - into the "no fly zone" between the crowd fence and the stage.
 Security quickly swooped in and herded him back among the surging fans.

The professional ear plugs I usually have with me at musical events and when exposed to thunderous jet engines, did a good job of letting me hear a reduced volume.

(Click on the photos for more details.)

The Russian poet Yevtushanko said "political borders are scars on the face of the planet." The experimental energy accumulated by this group by years of intense world travel was loud and evident. They were battering down any barriers.

Play on!






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