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Nick Morgan and crew
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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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ALABAMA
3
The Astoria, London
Tuesday December
14th, 2004 - by kllo-yotta-deluxe guest
writer Nick Morgan
It’s
almost a year to the day since I was last in the
Astoria – then as now to see that most peculiarly
British rock and roll band, the Alabama
3. Twelve months on and a few things
have changed. |
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| Last
time I had ‘flu – this time its going
to creep up on me in a few days (so hence the late
review Serge, for which I apologise). Last time
we were deep in the Pit with the Coldharbour Lane
Crew (most of whom seemed to be medicated with something
stronger than my Beecham’s Powders). The south
London crowd are here in force tonight too, but
with them are a lot of people who have come a very
long way for this gig. Last time it was the last
night of a fairly long UK tour. Tonight is a one–off
‘Christmas Special’ – and as it
turns out the show is being recorded and filmed.
Last time the sound was Astoria-crap. It's much
better tonight – aided by our position overlooking
the pit just to the right of the mixing-desk. And
last time joint front man D. Wayne Love was a shambling
incoherent mess. Tonight – well, he’s
a shambling lucid and highly articulate mess. As
he confides to the audience early in the second
of this two-set gig, “I don’t mean to
sound Parochialist, but I’m buzzing!” |
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Now,
let me tell you about the Alabama 3. First –
they’re not from Alabama. Sort of Brixton
via the Celtic fringes of industrial Wales and Scotland.
And there aren’t three of them. More like
eight plus various support musicians, singers and
‘performers’ (more of that later). And
the style? In their own words – “sweet
pretty country acid-house music”. Actually
it’s a lot more than that – but if you’ve
never heard them – or tried once and switched
off – you need to understand that they approach
most of their songs with the same compelling recipe
that produces a sort of layer cake of sound. |
First
its Tekno style samples and loops (the first song,
‘I’m Johnny Cash’ was introduced
by a long Moby style sample of Robert Johnson’s
‘Me and the Devil’). Then drummer L.
B. Dope and percussionist Sir Real Love. At this
point gently sprinkle some harmonica (from The Mountain
of Love – who also does most of the samples
– I think) and add a little keyboard (by the
wraith-like and chain-smoking Spirit of Love). Then
bring in the bass (Segs, ex punk band The Ruts)
– which it has to be said really hits your
chest like a jackhammer – and guitarist Rock
Freebase, who works his way through a series of
feisty Telecasters (including a beautiful Telecaster
Thinline – see it here).
And finally sprinkle lightly with lead singer Larry
Love (whose gyrations speak loudly of a sustained
dose of cod-liver oil tablets, and who makes Nick
Cave look like a nicotine abstainer) and singer,
rapper, narrator and general philosopher on the
state of the world, The Reverend D. Wayne Love.
And there you have it. Did I mention the daft names?
We get almost two and half-hours of songs spanning
the A3’s four ‘official’ albums,
and then a number scheduled for inclusion on the
forthcoming album Outlaw. Highlights? Too many to
mention, but of course including ‘I’m
Johnny Cash’, ‘REHAB’, ‘Bullet
Proof’, ‘Hypo full of love’, ‘Ain’t
goin’ to Goa’, ‘A Heaven somewhere’,
‘Speed of the sound of loneliness’,
‘Mao Tse Tung’, ‘Peace in the
Valley’ – almost everything that any
A3 fanatic could have wished for. And more …
The A3 aren’t just funky – they’re
painfully and artfully funny. But they don’t
pull their punches either. Subtle their politics
may not be – but their sometimes uncompromising
messages, picked up from a ragbag of influences,
ring through loudly and sincerely (folks) in their
songs. ‘Let the caged bird sing’ is
a real classic. And so is ‘Woody Guthrie’,
which opens the second set with a wonderful agitprop
set-piece (ah yes, brothers and sisters, just like
the good old days!); slinky red-robed burlesque
stripper at the front of the stage, Palestinian
(and other) women freedom fighters projected on
the rear screen, ‘sing a song for the asylum
seeker - for the frightened baby on some foreign
beach’ (which, ignoring the rather offensive
final line of the song about marketeers - how could
they? - puts me in mind of a great read for Christmas
– for those who are interested in more reality
than Whisky Scotland often seems to represent –
have a go at Ian Rankin’s Fleshmarket
Close). |
| The
great cause of the A3 is their fight against miscarriages
of justice – Birmingham Six (no – its
not another band) member Paddy Hill toured with
them last year. This year they raise a slightly
different question – which is when do criminals
become folk-heroes? The song – no doubt destined
for Outlaw – is in praise of Britain’s
Great Train Robbery and in particular its mastermind
Bruce Reynolds. And guess who joins D. Wayne on
stage to rap his way through a long list of villains,
some home grown, others not? A rather bewildered
(if not disequilibriated) Bruce Reynolds himself.
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Reynolds
was a known admirer of Butch Cassidy’s Hole
in the Wall gang – the original great train
robbers – so there’s a sort of symmetry
at work here. He ends by addressing the audience
“We used to ‘av our own train robbers
in Engerland, they’re all geriatrix nah, but
no one eva writes songs abaaat ‘em”.
Well – they do now; and no one should be in
doubt of the likely theme of Outlaw.
And all the time the beat pounds, the bass bounces
off your chest, and the harmonica wails. Lights
flash – dollar bills (issued by the United
Sates of the Alabama 3) flutter to the floor from
the packed balconies. Larry Love works the audience
up to a frenzy (us included I’m ashamed to
say) – “Just dance for the fuckin’
cameras will you – you’ll all be on
fuckin’ TV”. D. Wayne rails against
J. Edgar Hoover (who did sell acid for the FBI?)
worries about his hair and is wordperfect –
when he needs to be. The Spirit lights up –
again. “Whisky flows like the crystal streams
they say flow in heaven…” Its almost
a bit too much but then they crash to an end with
what ended up sounding like a full-on version of
‘Last train to Mashville’. “Happy
fuckin’ Christmas” leers a departing
Larry. Last to leave the stage, D. Wayne invites
us all to a party in Brixton “where you can
meet the real me in person”, and true to his
word there’s an already overcrowded bus outside
in the street waiting to take the unwary to meet
their fate … - Nick Morgan (photos by
Kate). |
Check
the index of all reviews:
Nick's Concert Reviews
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