I hadn't ever laughed out loud in the Barbican Hall before, but that all changed last night when Roby Lakatos and company strolled on stage to join the LSO. Overlooking for the moment the fact that Roby was wearing red leather trousers, a diamante belt buckle, a diamante brooch, a black crushed velvet jacket, and a wry grin beneath his trademark moustache, the contrast between his band and the LSO was fantastic and like something out of a Marx Brothers movie.
The orchestra dressed down for the concert, with everyone wearing all black and not a jacket in sight; the Lakatos Boys, on the other hand, adopted a different idiom altogether. Their guitarist, Laszlo Balogh, sported a tailcoat that he must have borrowed from Wilt Chamberlain since its tails dangled somewhere in the neighborhood of Balogh's ankles, lending him the appearance of a young boy trying on his fathers dress clothes. Robert Feher, the double bassist, brought his own style to the stage as well, only his tastes extended to the realm of red shirts, purple ties, and colossal D&G belt buckles, all of which combined to produce what you can imagine was a striking effect. Laszlo Boni, on second violin, somehow manged to acquire a sort of Edwardian frock coat and bore the distinction of being the only member of the band other than Roby to not have his hair slicked back with motor oil. I don't mention these details to poke fun at the ensemble, after all, they're performers on stage, but rather to help you conjure a vision of last night's state of affairs. What made the scene all the more amusing was that the gypsy musicians were all massed stage right, which made it easy, and downright irresistible, to keep looking from them to the orchestra and back again. Imagine if you will Steve Buschemi, Peter Lorre, William Powell, Rudolph Valentino, and Borat all on stage at the same time. Got it? Now put the Roosevelt and Truman cabinets behind them and just try not laughing.
Fortunately, there was more going on than a fashion show, though I have to say right off the bat that the LSO was completely wasted on this concert. Roby Lakatos and his quintet hardly needed backing, and the orchestra tuttis occasionally drowned out the featured performers even though they were mic-ed. What's more, there was so much improvising being done by Roby and his phenomenal cimbalom player, Jeno Lisztes, that the LSO musicians spent most of their time twiddling their thumbs waiting to come in. Truth is, I'd be lying if I said there weren't moments when I wished the orchestra would just pack it in for the night.
One positive contributor, however, was concertmaster Carmine Lauri, who not only graciously accepted the role of musical straight man during his and Lakatos' duet of Monti's Csardas, but also persuaded Roby to show a few of us lucky to be on hand backstage how to do that two-finger right-hand tremolo thing that he does. I'm telling you, the man's a wizard.
As far as the Hungarians' playing goes, it was exactly as expected: confident, beguiling, intermittently schmaltzy and beautiful, impossible, and humorous. As is often the case with this group, the encores lasted nearly as long as the concert, and they were so charged with virtuosic solo and high octane that when the concert finally ended at 10:30, I staggered off into the wilds of the Barbican, mildly dazed and completely exhausted. I try to see Lakatos & Co. once a year, but between you and me, that's all I can take!
