sashinka | observation orientated, with a twist of lime | a blog

Last Night A DJ Stole My....
OK, not exactly a DJ. Went to Cambirdge with Jaq - the band's "artist in residence" or what you will, to see the Alabama 3. I've never had the experience of arriving at a venue and saying "we're with the band"; I had all that teenage-groupie feeling. The venue, The Junction, was plastered with signs saying "if you are in distress or require help please ask to speak to the duty manager." I was thinking of asking him to help me balance my cheque book.

The guys are real showmen: there are some musicians you see live and you think, "well, that's just like the album", but this is a totally different experience. Dry ice, lasers, full funky dress-up (although they think that the whole trilby/dark suit combo is slightly reminiscent of a mafia look, whereas I can't help feeling they look like very ordthodox Jews who daven at North Hendon Hadass), and fabulous between-numbers banter (D. Wayne on Northern Ireland: Orangemen are not the only fruit). It's an incredibly powerful experience, especially if you stand by a ten foot amplifier - the music goes right through you.

For the hardcore fans among you, this is how I remember the playlist: lord have mercy; too sick; heaven; power in the blood; ain't going to goa; bulletproof; reachin; wokeup; two heads; 2129; yellow rose; flag; don't dans 2 tekno; year zero; rehab; hypo full of love. And two encores I forgot, sorry.

The Alabama 3 (and no, they're not from Alabama, and there's like eight of them) are not exactly a boy band. They're really not pretty - Orlando, the keyboard player, looks like he needs to eat fresh fruit and vegetables for a year, and the rest all have a fairly lived-in look. That's Brixton for you, I guess. And their audience was a bizarre mixture of black-clad rocker types, really quite old people, and a lot of guys who had, like, their own dance. Most of the audience had evidently been listening to the band in the privacy of their own bedroom, and it showed in their moves. Big time. There's some dancing you only do in front of the mirror, and there's some you don't take out of your house. They couldn't tell.

After the gig, Jaq needed a bit of R&R after a couple of hours of non-stop drawing, and we were invited backstage to, er, hangout with the guys. I can't really do her sketches justice in words, here, so I won't try.

I could write so much about the after-gig, but I have to do some work in a minute. Backstage is really seedy. Seggs, one of the band members is very seriously into juicing - which, given their lifestyle makes a lot of sense - and they'd obviously asked for fresh vegetables to juice. And there they were, along with the beers and vodkas and junk food. Though I suspect that really good juicing does not require Tesco Value carrots. There were groupies - skinny, pissed girls saying "I am lovely, aren't I?", and hardcore fans - "I jush wanna shake your hand, Larry", and a lot of wired people talking a lot of crap. "There are rumours we're going to a bar, Zen?" "We'll find it, Cambridge is small". But in an interesting way.

There was one guy, Dan, who was dressed in the full Alabama 3 regalia - trilby, dark suit, pale-and-interesting look. He stood at the front the whole time doing his own special dance which required you to be double-jointed. Backstage, he wanted Larry to sign his Sopranos picture book, which he did - all the band are incredibly friendly to everyone, even the nutters - though I kinda imagine the world will get destroyed by nuclear war before his Larry-signed book finds its way onto the Antiques Roadshow.

Watch this space - coming soon; short story about an acid-house-country-rock-hip-hop-techno band, a serious groupie and his search for: whatever it is he's searching for.