It's hard to find anyone besides my Landlady who shares my appreciation for the acid-rock-country-gospel band, Alabama 3, or "A3" as they're legally known in the United States. (Some American soft-country band got a collective bee in its bonnet over the name similiarities. Can you imagine the Rolling Stones and Sly and the Family Stone making such a fuss?) Sure, they had a minor hit with the opening credits song for the television show "The Sopranos," but that's about it. I don't care about their rise to fame, popularity, or any other fancy trappings of the rock and roll world (ahhh, those fancy trappings!), but my Landlady has been bellyaching that they're not going to bring their Outlaw tour to the PNW, let alone the USA. The band and I used to hang out in the early days when I would head over to the UK on weekends away from cooking school. We'd go to raves in Brixton, and jam together from time to time. I even recorded a single with them, called, "Turn the Poacher Inside Out." It has never been released, because there was some major problems with legal issues. I don't know. Personally, I have never troubled myself with legal issues. If Alabama 3 ever get it together to come to the PNW, I will personally make a big pot of spaghetti for them. It's the least I can do.
Recently, Orlando Harrison, a.k.a. "The Spirit," wrote an article in journal form for The Independent. His assessment of Larry Love is apt to a T:
I'm gripped by desire to smack Larry Love in the face. It's an automatic reaction, like tears in the face of a strong onion. Everything he says, everything he does, makes me want to hit him. It's not his wild exaggerations, it's not his narcissism. It's not even his stupid cowboy hat. Actually, it might be the hat. But this whole festival of degeneracy is his idea, the product of his delusion. Trouble is, I quite like him. I settle for drinking him under the table.
I can relate. I really can.
A rare photo of Brad the Gorilla jamming with Larry Love of Alabama 3