Trans-Continental Hustle

Everyone's favourite Gypsy punk outfit is back with their fifth album and yes, it's another big musical mash-up of klezmer, European folk and artless indie rock that whacks you around the head like a frying-pan in Tom & Jerry. As always, this is their incendiary, once-seen-never-forgotten live show committed to disc (think pan-Slavic caricatures, galloping over-instrumentation, and band members surfing on a bass-drum that's passed around the crowd). Balkan bacchanalia is the New York outfit's stock-in-trade; here songs about quashing prejudice (‘We Comin' Rougher’) and celebrating differences (‘When Universes Collide’) are thrown in alongside the sped-up oompah of nonsensical anthems such as ‘My Companjera’ (‘We slept together/in the river/where are you now?’).

All this cymbal clashing and sweat spraying comes together to form one big brotherly whole. Which is part of the problem: while there's no doubting Gogol Bordello's one-world sentiments, the default way it's delivered – fast and furious – can get a little wearing. To be fair, Transcontinental Hustle is perhaps the most subtle and polished recording of their oeuvre; producer Rick Rubin has tempered the breakneck racket made by squealing violins and berserk accordion and arguably encouraged more awareness between band-members. Ukraine-born frontman Eugene Hütz still sounds like he's gargling with sawdust no matter the track. But in adding a few touches from Brazil (hand drums and Latin time signatures, mainly), his new adopted home, he makes this album just a bit more melodious, a bit more textured, than the others. Not that it necessarily matters. Best, really, just to put this on and dance yourself sick.