If Gogol Bordello’s goggle-eyed cameo during Madonna’s thus spectacular Live Earth headline the other month served any real purpose – other than possibly selling a few more energy saving light bulbs and making people consider using less carrier bags at Tesco, of course – it was to highlight (yes, admittedly to about 6 people watching at home) that not all folk music is hand-knitted and cross-legged, and that the east European gypsy variety in particular is fairly off its nut. This should, you’d hope, work in DeVotchKa’s favour, if their abrasive syntax hasn’t already chased you off. They, like Gogol Bordello, are based in New York. We’re not sure if they have any credible ancestral linkage to Eastern Europe, but it sure as hell sounds like it. But then there’s an awful lot of varied influence kicking around in the shadows of this album, held together consistently by hardy musicianship and the backbone of a figuratively enormous, and probably hairy, man in colourful but tainted rags.
You’ve got the full-on fiddle-chasing tribal jamboree of ‘Lunnaya Pogonka’, the gothic Eastern jig ‘Viens Avec Moi’ and the duel-accordion waltzing of ‘Charlotte Mittnacht (The Fabulous Destiny Of…)’ holding their own in fairly purist fashion, but the majority of the album is a mesh of wider, more worldwide styles, making for a fascinating and palatable brew. Its posture though is one that sounds like it can only be achieved with a shot of harsh vodka – and that is a necessary edge. There’s the throaty warbling of ‘You Love Me’, a little like Van Morrison in the Arizonan desert wearing a tan sombrero, the exquisite Mexican serenade ‘We’re Leaving’, handclaps and all, ‘The Mexican Guns’ sounding like a geographically located ‘Guns Of Brixton’ whistling the theme tune to Midnight Cowboy and the awesomely scaled, comparatively unusual title track is synthesised, orchestral, impassioned, Ultravox-aping grandeur. As done by Calexico. Directed by Rufus Wainwright. Look, you just really need to hear it. Basically.