The lovable offenders tag has been fastened securely onto the ankles of south London rogues ALABAMA 3 since their inception during their free party experiences of the late eighties.
The Astoria had a definite social club feel as the pirate (or is it hospital radio) style MC juggled the "Alabama 3 posse" into a frenzy whilst plugging future London sound-systems endlessly to the steadily ageing 30 - 50 somethings.
And then imagine, if you dare, the visual effect of a Frankenstinian melding of The Clash and M-people suddenly taking to the stage.
At the front: Larry Love wildly side-shifting like a bespectacled
Elvis-crab and wrapping bony limbs around his mic. Flanking him, to our left, the very Reverend Dr. D. Wayne Love, swaggering inside his oversized pinstriped suit rather like a bourbon drenched bungle bear. To our Devlin Love offering entertainingly amplified expressions and overly choreographed moves that would shame the most ambitious of soap actors. And just out of shot on keyboards and nonchalantly dishing out slabs of country techno, the scarecrow-mannered Spirit. Separately they seem pointless enough, but together they become a very vital, soulful equivalent of The Wacky Races.
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And the music?... Well it chugged along more than satisfactorily.
Plugging their latest album M.O.R. alongside the obvious favourites the band successfully dished out numbers with low-down and dirty blues vocals, laced with Devlin’s sugar-sweet tones while The Mountain of Love’s dusty harmonica complimented Rock Freebase's gospel rock riffs.
The overall effect left this reviewer craving hard liquor and an even harder life-story to connect and get down with the defiantly beered and loved up Sunday crowd who were never going to leave this homecoming unquenched.
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