Review: Alabama 3, O2 Academy

Look, anyone who doesn’t turn up for the support band(s) at a gig is a chump because who knows when you might see the latest best band you’ve never seen? Hardwicke Circus started their set in a virtually empty venue, but from the first song they had the few present tapping their feet and grinning, and everyone that arrived during the twelve song set ended up likewise, filling the floor and enjoying a powerful horn driven set of soul infused rock songs. The seven piece band had endured a six hour drive from Cumbria but that didn’t stop ‘em filing the room with youthful enthusiasm and chops that belied their age.

A disparate bunch, they managed to look like a band despite seemingly having no sartorial commonality (much like the E Street Band when they first started out), thus Jonny Foster (guitar & vox), Zack McDade (guitar) and Ben Wilde (bass) rocked the, well rock look – waistcoats, drainpipes, paisley shirt etc. and as for the horn section (Andy Phillips & Nick Kent) – well have you ever seen a horn section that wasn’t dapper or without at least one trilby? But massive applause for Lewis Bewley on keys and an insanely gonzo fringed cowboy shirt and humongous applause for drummer Tom Foster and a three piece shirtless suit combo the likes of which haven’t been seen on stage since Mud were in their polyester pomp.

The band played a great set from a standing start and they managed to take a tried and tested format and enliven it with youthful vigour, twisting the tropes of soul and rock into some stimulating shapes. So disco keys met sledgehammer guitars (Chips Are Down); the horn section got as many soloes as the guitars and the tempos varied delightfully to keep the crowd engaged (although not so engaged they matched the Brum crowd during a cheekily requested singalong, to our fair City’s shame). There are plenty of bands with ability but this outfit’s advantage is Jonny Foster, a charismatic front man evoking the spirits of all the right icons, all hair, shape throwing and rabble rousing; his raspy soulful pipes showing promise already.

The only time their youth showed was a mid-set decision to sandwich a cracking original Drive with two covers, preceding it with Baby Please Don’t Go and following it with Love Her Madly, something of a misfire as their own excellent tune was expunged from the memory by the all persuasive chorus of an overly familiar tune (even if the band did breathe new life in to it as a Doors / Stax hybrid). It’s a gamble covering material in this situation – sure, a familiar tune gets the crowd grooving and can be fun to play, but the risk is the set ends with the crowd’s mind buzzing with the cover rather than the originals. That comment notwithstanding, this was a splendid set from a band with much promise – given the popularity of Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats and St Paul & the Broken Bones it’s great to see home-grown talent with the potential to match the challenge from over the pond.

Prior to the headline set Bryan “Beady Man” Wilson took to the stage to rant / rap Wake Up unaccompanied, a righteous skewering of the current state of this sad planet, or rather its inhabitants (or more precisely the minority pulling the levers of power and their misguided supporters). It built up slowly and gradually: as the lyrics hit home more and more of the crowd focused, yelling their appreciation as Wilson built up to a furious angry crescendo and roof raising applause. No one would have objected to another half hour of this fella but alas it wasn’t to be.

Alabama Three are now twenty years in to their career and still going strong with a righteous new release Blues on both the virtual and physical record racks, and their set reflected that history with new material blending seamlessly with older cuts. The band are a nine piece outfit for this tour, vocals shared; lines traded; raps and spoken word intermingled with some surprisingly damn fine harmony vocals laid over super tight, super groovy music that underpinned the insanely surreal yet totally relevant lyrics.

As for that music, well the band themselves describe it as “punk rock, blues and country techno situationist crypto-Marxist-Leninist electro…” and that’s a perfect summery of the offering. Grounded with a sphincter rattling kick drum, we had guitars that were funky, riffing and stinging; gospel keys and honky-tonk piano; house blips, swooshes, vibes, scratching and synth washes all decorated with pace making all persuasive lead harmonica. Set aside the hyperbole, forget the stories, what we had was a superbly drilled incredibly well played set of uniquely genre bashing tunes to groove to over a near two hour set that passed in a flash.

It would be both churlish and difficult to pick out highlights from the set but naturally Woke Up this Morning was rapturously delivered and received; Woody Guthrie (now more relevant than ever) inspired an uproar of a singalong, probably only matched by Hypo Full of Love, although the Hendrix referencing Lord Have Mercy was epic; then again Speed and Rattlesnake were a mighty pairing. Hell, this is a pointless exercise, each and every tune hit the spot musically & lyrically, let’s leave it at that.

For the faithful, this was a night to be savoured, the packed out Academy full of singing, grinning, dancing fans all of a similar demographic to the band, with plenty of couples too, and from the looks of ‘em, plenty who’d enjoyed the band’s music with as much hedonism as the band had indulged in when creating those songs. There was a particular relish during the first encore, an almost a capella U Don’t Dans 2 Tekno, with a lot of knowing smiles exchanged a during lines that resonated with the majority present. Hello…I’m Johnny Cash was inspiring and inspired a final bout of frugging as the audience enjoyed one last opportunity to get on down (like a punk rock, blues and country techno situationist crypto-Marxist-Leninist electro sex machine). A storming show by a band that are one of the best live acts of their generation, a live set built on boundless creativity that embarrasses many of their more “successful” peers.

All pix John Morgan