I had known only three things about Gogol Bordello before seeing them live: they make for excellent driving music when you get tired on a long highway, their lyrics are largely comprised of “Hey! Hey!” and “Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa da dadadadadada da da,” and apparently they put on a mind-blowing live show. And there’s this whole multi-cultural aspect, punk upon layers of traditional Slavic dance, reggae, mariachi, whatever the guys in the band come up with when they’re taking meth or something. But just how mind-blowing is the live show? That I had yet to determine.

When I arrived at the venue with my party, the place not even as big as a usual House of Blues, the insides were already teeming with people and there was a line wrapped around the front of the parking lot. People without tickets desperately asked for favors. People at the entrance asked for wristband swaps so that their friends could arrive. I hadn’t seen so many people hyped up for a show (and in South Florida, no less) in a long time.

Upon entering the venue, it became clear that this was a “get here early, stake out your spot, and DO NOT MOVE” kind of show. I hadn’t been to the likes of which in years. People were ready to go and hardcore fans who had staked out the floor, presumably for hours, were not to be fucked with. So we made our way to the balcony, where it was still packed and there was still no hope to move around and mingle if you wanted to see the show at all.

After a multi-piece opening band, who instead of whipping the crowd into a wild punk frenzy played a CCR cover, there was a very long set-up break filled in by a DJ. I didn’t get a close enough look from where I was, but I would later put the pieces together and figure out he was in GB as well. Annnnnnd we waited. And I thought to myself, “Maybe this live act is over-hyped. Maybe they will disappoint. Maybe…” and then frontman Eugene Hutz pranced out, with legs that took up half of his body, wrapped tight in neon yellow and black striped pants. He would lose all other clothing aside from said pants by the end of the night.

My first impression was that Hutz reminded me less of Iggy Pop, or even any of the guys from Flogging Molly, to whom GB is often compared, and more of Freddie Mercury. Yes – Freddie Mercury as some sort of neon-sporting gypsy madman. With a giant moustache. He had a presence from the second he came into view and you literally could not take your eyes off of him. He was swinging around a bottle of wine and chugging, welcoming all of us mother-fuckers or whatever to the show. And then began two hours of the sweaty, frenetic, ridiculous, audience members somersaulting over the monitors and onto the stage circus that is Gogol Bordello.

People started stomping down on the older, wooden balcony so hard that I thought the building would collapse at first. It was neat though, to get a perspective on the mohawked, tattooed madness down below. And then there was the band onstage. Each of their members contributed to the madness. At one point, they all leaned over the very edge of the stage and nearly joined the crowd, as audience members reached out their hands. There was jumping, there was crowd surfing, there was stage diving (and a seemingly not qualified security team that could not stop the deluge of folks getting onto the stage and dancing with the band), and there was certainly moshing. But it seemed that every time a pit broke out a few feet back from the stage, rather than continue to kick and shoulder check each other, people just started to put their arms around each other and jumped up and down in a circle. It was strange. There were a bunch of all-black wearing, nose-pierced would-be angry kids who would have started beating each other up violently at any other show. But here they seemed…happy?

This was a theme throughout the whole performance. GB made their audience, well, happy. More happy than violent. One of the crowd surfers who made it onto the stage did a series of Russian kicks as opposed to destroying stuff. I honestly couldn’t tell many of the songs apart, although the “daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah da da da da dadadahh” from that American wedding song is still ringing in my head. Some girl on the balcony near me started bouncing uncontrollably to that. People went apeshit for the more straightforward anthem, “Wanderlust King”. People similarly went nuts for the fully involved ensemble number, “Start Wearing Purple.”

Along these lines, it wasn’t just Hutz who whipped them into a frenzy. The old dude playing electric violin was one of the happiest performers I’ve ever seen onstage, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen an accordion rocked quite so hard. Eat your heart out, Weird Al. And just when I thought, “This is bizarre to have a large group like this and no females in the band…most bands include the token girl on melodica or something…” OUT COME THE SPANDEX AND GREEN-SEQUINED-CLAD BACKUP SINGERS. These two Asian women, wearing eye makeup straight from a Duran Duran video, ran out, scowled at the audience, and skittered from microphone to microphone to shout out words along with the other band members. By the end of the show, we’d see them through at least two more costume changes, serving somewhat as background singers in between fits of musical hysteria. And then, when you think things can’t get any more insane, they come out with a pair of crash cymbals and a marching bass drum! Waaaaaaah!

And of course, as the band started their encore, people continued to go nuts, but I could clearly see the band was starting to wear out the crowd. Hutz has his own way of getting everyone in the audience to clap, not totally unlike any other performer who will keep going until everyone in the audience is singing along. But that’s a sign of a good showman. A good 30 minutes into the encore, I heard some rumblings of, “Well, this is the longest fucking encore ever…” and although I don’t know if I agree with that statement, it certainly put quite the cap on things. Seriously though. GB included more false codas in their grand finale than the film version of Return of the King. And after they had decided everyone had had more than enough, Hutz thanked everybody, including those who had travelled from other towns (another signature of the band’s audience – they follow them everywhere).

So yes. Gogol Bordello lives up to the live hype, and they will wear you out. I didn’t realize just how much so until I started to travel home. Sure, I pumped my fist in the air along with some of the endless “Hey! Hey!”s during the encore, and I danced and jiggled a bit, but I was far removed from the insanity on the floor. Yet as I made my way home, and even after I’d woken up in the morning, my arms were sore as shit. I got a full night’s worth of sleep and I was still tired. I only had one cocktail that had been severely watered down, that I nursed all night, and I was still exhausted after a full night of sleep. I think that GB just emanates whatever sort of wacked out drugs they’re on through their sweat or something, and makes everyone that much more worn out by their shows. Jesus H. It is, however, an experience to be had, to see one of those amazing live bands of this decade.

And I wish I had gotten some better photos, but my camera’s zoom isn’t so hot, and the band WOULD NOT STOP MOVING. So most of my shots (even on the seemingly super high shutter speed, or whatever, high sensitivity setting) look a lot like this.