Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, welcome to the greatest show on Earth – the Gypsy Punk Revolution!

First, for your amusement, are the four smartly dressed boys of Feel Good Revolution, with trendy vests and ties – the whole shebang.

They’ve come dressed for the occasion, and in line with their snappy outfits is a tight sound that packs in as much energy as the band can handle.

Sure, the screaming instead of singing elicits a “”whoa”” here and there, but overlook the overdone “”primal scream equals energy”” motto and bounce around to the fast- paced songs.

Head to the front, ladies and gentlemen, and discover the rite of passage that is a part of every high-octane show: the mosh pit. Give it time, folks. It’s slowly growing. And yes, there it is! By the final song, the pit is the engulfing siphon it is meant to be.

Even the lead singer can’t handle the pinnacle of energy, as he takes breaks from his synthesizer solos to convulse while on his knees.

The band tidies up and after leading numerous handclaps, they give thanks and leave.

Thank you, boys.

Now, a brief intermission. Enjoy the pre-show music.

Come one, come all, gather near the stage, quiet your chanting, it’s about to begin.

Here is the hype-man, a Spanish-speaking sprite who will make you perk. A simple introduction is all that is needed – take it away young man!

“”Gogol Bordello!”” he screams.

Eugene Hütz gallops on stage. Look at the costumes, friends: Hütz’s blue track pants, the old fiddler’s leather vest. And their manes! Aren’t they lovely and flowing?

Hütz leads the charge with his acoustic guitar. He pounds out minor chords, all with the accented beat of gypsy music and snarls in a thick Ukrainian accent.

The band jumps in and the glorious banner behind the group drops. “”Gypsy Punk Revolution,”” it reads. Yes, that is the typography that graces many of their albums and yes the banner does reach the ceiling. It embodies the extravagance you are about to witness.

But Hütz doesn’t want to have to do all the opulent yelling, folks. No, he obliges and holds the microphone as far out in the sea of people as he can and commands the audience to shout into the wavering mic. Everyone scream!

After the first song, Hütz is characteristically shirtless. Look at that physique! And he tries to deny he’s a sex symbol.

Hütz prowls the stage, enticing band members into solos on the fiddle and accordion, and hunts down the go-go girls who occasionally join the band on stage to point at the different members seductively, scream or act as Hütz’s prey.

Hütz rallies his troops and belts out “”Wonderlust King.”” Join the mosh because it’s nearly unavoidable. It isn’t even a pit at this point. Just jump like everyone else is, or at least wave your fist in the air.

Wait. It gets better. “”Start Wearing Purple,”” will put you in a fervor. Now, look around, the Rialto is shaking as everyone submits to Gogol and jumps up and down.

The crescendos come at a constant rate. Respond with screams, folks. But finally it is the coda, a massive wall of sound that leaves with Hütz as he runs off the stage.

Don’t go anywhere. No, no, no. There’s an encore, of course.

Hütz sprints back on stage alone and slowly the group enters. The crescendos arrive again and the encore evolves into an entire second set. He hasn’t lost his energy. The man is a stampede, running up and down the stage, spilling his bottle of liquor.

Hütz, you sir, are the Ringmaster. I quit.