when i dance in the kitchen and drum the pans and clap my hands and scream «ayy!» and «oy!» it has one simple reason: i listen to music. good music. hot music. hot like hell. it’s like voodoo. i can’t control myself — i have to move, to stomp, to dance. listen to the beats, the voice, the words; right like now: Gogol Bordello from the Lower East Side, NY — russian-gypsy-dancehall-punk-dub-rock’n’roll:
BUT the real reason why i write right now is: Lota Red is playing on saturday. having a gig, a party, a big wild stampede. rockabilly at its best: from hell but hotter. melt my mind and let me swing’n’dance.
be there or be square!