Gogol Bordello

Crazy times with some of New Yorks finest

Story by Matthew Murray

02/11/2025

Ever wondered what an Eastern European rave inside a cathedral feels like? Gogol Bordello at Manchester’s Albert Hall came pretty close.

Sunday night in Manchester and the rain hasn’t let up for hours. The crowd piles dripping into the Albert Hall — coats steaming, hair plastered down, spirits defiantly high. Even Maxine Peake’s in the audience, which feels about right; this is the sort of night that pulls in the city’s cultural faithful. Support comes from Casa Gogol’s own Puzzled Panther, a gloriously chaotic outfit who turn up in matching blazers bearing their band name — the kind of homemade touch that makes you grin rather than groan. Their singers, Victoria Espinoza and Kay Bon Tempo, bound about the stage like they’re fronting a school disco possessed by punk energy. It’s messy, it’s joyous, and it’s exactly what a Sunday night crowd needs to shake off the drizzle. When the headliners finally appear, they waste no time turning the ornate Albert Hall into something closer to a Balkan wedding crossed with a New York warehouse party. The band, who met in the Big Apple but hail from all corners of the globe, sound like a United Nations of noise — horns blaring, violins wailing, accordion punching through the mix. At times it feels like you’ve stumbled into an Eastern European gypsy rave, and the crowd couldn’t be happier about it. They play for a solid two hours, a full-throttle carnival of rhythm and melody that never lets up. There’s a moment when the drummer steps out from behind the kit to take the mic, whipping the crowd into a bouncing, sweat-soaked frenzy. The keyboardist, accordionist and a violin-wielding pirate each take turns stealing the spotlight with wild, theatrical solos. Midway through, Puzzled Panther rejoin the stage, adding extra layers of harmony and spectacle. The whole thing teeters between tightly rehearsed musicianship and unhinged, joyous chaos — and that’s precisely the charm. I had to duck out just before the end to catch a train, but as I slipped out into the Manchester night, the sound of the crowd still singing in another language echoed up the street. Clearly, for many here, this wasn’t their first time — and definitely not their last.