MUSIC

The Fleece, Bristol (Fri 4 Nov 4)

It's an inspired way to start proceedings: they've put a table in the middle of The Fleece's dancefloor and pulled up stools around it. Several Destroyers (there's some 18 of them on a good day) and a few local Balkanistas have gathered round and they're jamming on classic klezmer and Eastern European folk tunes. The arriving crowd is jostling around, craning to hear the acoustic music or catch a glimpse of the costumed dancers who jump up on the table when they feel like it. Between the pillars and under the Fleece's heavy beams the whole scene feels transported to a battered Carpathian taverna on payday, an illusion encouraged by the aromatic aftertaste of a welcoming glass of Bosnian plum brandy.

And the welcome goes both ways as Bristol fills the room for the band's debut gig. It's a nicely mixed crowd, too, united in a willingness to let go with the Balkan grooves spun out by the DJ until the jostling entirety of the band has cramped onto the stage. There's a massive brass section to the left (including the all-important bass-pumping tuba), a crashing rhythm section to the right, jiving fiddle and accordion up front, grinding hurdy gurdy and tinkling cimbalom behind... a big sound indeed, delivered with sledgehammer unsubtlety to the delight of the quickly enlivened mosh pit. Let’s get it straight: they're not from the Balkans, they're from Brum, but they've appropriated the sound and tunes, filtered in some Celtic stuff and even a bit of Penguin Cafe Orchestra, then added declamatory lyrics of a mainly political nature. Thus it's the perfect soundtrack for the Occupation Generation and makes me realise that, just as reggae/ska was the dissident soundtrack of our post-Imperial days, so this Euromash Two-Step has become the metafolk music of European assimilation.

But that's more than enough thinking – the mindless pleasures of this gig beckon and sweep me off. It's such a happy sound, for all the agit-prop angriness, and while the occasional solo rises from the mob, they wisely eschew the chaotic improvisations of Bulgarian-style playing in favour of mass delivery of the tune. With 18 players (and the occasional stage invasion of dancers), it's enough that they are tight – and tight they certainly are. Tight and tireless, it seems, as the increasing frenzied set unfurls over a solid hour and a half to the equally unflagging delight of the crowd. Maybe it's that plum brandy. Nostrovia! (Tony Benjamin)

Copyright Tony Benjamin 2011