Gypsy music — in all it’s mutations — seems to be the new fad in London. Whether mixed with a bit of punk, jazz, classical or even breakbeat, it’s seeping into every nook and cranny in the city, and whatever the cocktail, the pace and eccentricity of the original sound means the sheer energy is inevitably retained. Had I fully realised this, a month’s worth of pre-season in the gym may only just have covered my back for the Gogol Bordello onslaught. The idea of lycra-panted, handlebar-moustachioed man rampaging around the stage, stopping only to lug red wine down his bare chest, may not sell out a venue. Backed, however, by some of the most raucous, invigorating music let loose in the last ten years, and the crowd turns into a churning sea of wide eyes and near-orgasmic screaming. Gogol are renowned performers, and for good reason. They’ve been annihilating the boundaries of live music for almost ten years, and the third night on the trot of this tour looked like their debut gig. It’s a real rarity to witness such a spectacle, the sort that should be pitched near the top of a list of 100 things to before you collect your pension.