Honky Tonks For The Memories
Alabama 3 are known for their love of a good time. On their latest album, these rhinestone spangled bad boys let their inner funk monster off the leash.
The Hot Press Newsdesk, 26 Sep 2007
“Are you meeting up later with Alabama 3, Clark?”
“Indeed I am your editorial omnipotence Mr. Stokes, sir.”
“I suppose that means you’ll be up all night popping pills, indulging in dubious sexual practices and generally trying to kill off the few brain cells you have left.”
As if! It’s true that myself and the Bammies have a bit of previous – well, a lot of previous – but we were younger, wilder then.
“I can’t deny being older, but less wild? Nah, that’s bollocks,” says an offended looking Larry Love, aka Rob Spragg.
Now I come to think of it, this is the man who not so long ago broke his neck headbutting an errant punter.
“Occupational hazard,” he smiles. “The one mature, adult thing we’re doing is fitting more work in around the degeneracy. If there were a Mercury Prize for fucking up at key moments, it’d be ours in perpetuity. We’re going to tour the arse off this album and see if we can stop being perennial underachievers.”
The record whose backside will be getting a serious battering over the next few months is M.O.R. The title might conjure up images of Fleetwood Mac taking seven months to get the right drum sound – true trivia fans – but it’s actually as dirty a funk workout as you’ll hear all year.
“Yeah, there’s a definite frontline feel to it,” agrees Rob, whose neck is now sufficiently recovered to facilitate nodding. “There’s one track that we dragged two complete strangers off the street to sing on, and another that we recorded and mixed in four hours – no fuckin’ around.”
“The one thing that’s pristine about it is the choruses,” adds the Reverend D. Wayne Love, aka, Jake Black. “That’s one-half of the reason we called it M.O.R., the other being that all those Middle Of The Road cunts were off their fucking heads. The harmonies may have been saccharine, but the way yer’ Glen Campbells and yer’ Captain & Tennilles behaved was insane.”
“Those guys were far better at handling their drugs than Pete Doherty who’s your archetypal middle-class wimp,” Rob pooh-poohs.
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