The Specials, Alexandra Palace

“Rude boy! Rude boy! Ruuuude boooyyyy!!” The chanting from the crowd began soon after the booing subsided. The boos were in response to a picture of Margaret Thatcher which was flashed on a big screen as part of a short filmed history lesson about the late-Seventies malcontent that gave birth to the joyfully irreverent early British ska bands of which The Specials are surely kings.

The crowd was made up of (and I hope they forgive me for saying this) rather sizeable blokes in their early forties, with shaved heads, a handful of whom were wearing pork pie hats. Original rude boys. The booze was flowing and, quite literally, flying as whole cups of beer were chucked into the air drenching anyone who happened to be underneath. Into this highly charged atmosphere entered a band whose anti-government and inflammatory anthems are as attractive and relevant today as they were 30 years ago.



The 12,000 people packed into the (frankly oversold) venue became a sea of flailing elbows as the skanking (a sort of running-man dance move) got into full swing. Kicking off with “Gangsters”, which was The Specials’ 1979 debut single, the evening promised to be a semi-chronological run-down of the band’s greatest hits. 



They were singing out loudly with their eyes closed, hugging and slapping each other’s backs in a frenzied fit of collective nostalgia

Rhythm master and vocalist Lynval Golding was as full of fizz as ever. Apart from an absentee Jerry Dammers, the line-up was nearly original, with Terry Hall on lead vocals, Neville Staple doing backing vocals and percussion, John Bradbury on drums and Roddy Byers and Horace Panter on lead and bass guitar. As they boisterously got through “Do the Dog”, “Monkey Man” and “Blank Expression” it was like a time warp. A few grey hairs are a reminder that these superstars are heading towards or fully enjoying their fifties, but they play with the exuberance of teenagers. Add to that three decades of musical experience and you’ll find it is a heady combination.

The band’s unstoppable energy was blasted out with “Concrete Jungle” and “Too Hot” infecting the crowd. It became even rowdier, which was alarming, but there was something fantastic about a mass emotional response from thousands of men. They were singing out loudly with their eyes closed, hugging and slapping each other’s backs in a frenzied fit of collective nostalgia which peaked at “Man at C&A”. It felt more like the terraces than the Palm Court at Ally Pally, with the booming voices of the throng partially obscuring, for me anyway, what was happening on stage. 



When the opening trumpet sound of “A Message to You, Rudy” rang out there was a stampede from the bar into the heaving mosh pit which the entire Palm Court had turned into. Singing along with grins plastered across our faces, it was a joy. The Specials are not ones to tantalise their audiences by leaving the best tracks till last. “Rudy” was followed soon after by “Too Much Too Young”, which is infectiously up-tempo. Ending a satisfyingly lengthy set with old favourites including “Enjoy Yourself” and “Ghost Town”, the emotion seemed to have deflated the formerly uncontrollable and boozed-up crowd. They left their anarchic attitudes at the door and filed out rather politely.

The Specials perform "Ghost Town"