Enough insanity for all of us
Gogol Bordello, La Phaze @ Salzhaus
27th November, 2007Salt
Salt
Finally a gig in Switzerland without the Swiss politeness. Which, on sober (slightly drunk?) reflection, as I caught the third tiny Swiss girl thrown wildly towards me by the rampaging idiots next to me and stopped her from smacking her head on the pole, I decided that I missed. The mosh pit was the most violent I'd seen since Franz Ferdinand played in Winterthur a couple of years ago. And this before the music even started!
I must confess, I'm not the guy who strips to the waist and finishes the gig either bruised all over or in an ambulance. I moshed out the pit for as long as I could, flying miniature Swiss aside (who appeared to be enjoying it), but opted out once the nearest rampaging idiot started punching a front-rail-grabber in the kidneys. Time for me to join the two curly-haired girls at the bar.
Salzhaus is a nice venue; a good size (ie smallish), but with a very thoughtful projection screen near the bar so that the old, tired and thirsty could also enjoy the gig.
La Phaze - straight punk. I can appreciate the aesthetic, even if punk doesn't turn my crank.
Gogol Bordello - unclassifiable. Gypsy punk comes close. No words can describe the pure eastern European energy they pump into a room. Along with his two ululating, drum-wielding gypsy support girls, Eugene Hütz whipped the crowd with barbed songs and screams. In true rock tradition, Eugene progressively shed items of clothing until clad only in the tightest pair of orange jeans it has ever been my dubious pleasure to see. Sweat streaming from his very impressive moustache, they inched orangely down his hips as he screamed into a bucket. (The microphone was also in the bucket.)
Like at a train-crash, no-one could look away. We stood entranced. Slowly, slowly they slid earthward. Dark hairy shadows began to appear. Would they last the gig before blinding us all with the horrors beneath? He tempted fate by playing a loooong encore... and then whisked off-stage, his pants clinging gamely to his thighs, his dignity intact.
We stood outside in the cold Winterthur night, watching the steam pour from the mosh-patrons as they emerged from the club, 40,000 watt smiles on every face.