OK, I give up. Alabama 3 are up there with the Beatles, David Bowie (when he was a lad insane) and ... er ... the beautiful Enya. The Stephen King post has generated such a response in defence of the band (you should see my inbox; few have) that I shall signal an uncustomary retreat and confess to hating anything "bluesy", which is no comment on the brilliant, the nonpareil quality of Alabama 3.
I freely confess that probably the acoustics of the Middle Temple were the problem. It cannot be claimed that the Elizabethan double hammer beam roof of the Hall was ever intended to cope with their utterly raucous 21st Century acid, punk, whatever (see one of the comments in post below; all is explained). The Hall can only resonate in perfect harmony to the choral polyphonous church music of canzonets, balletts, madrigals and sacred songs. So fair's fair: Alabama 3 can blame the venue for giving me a thundering headache.
And then there was Stephen King, bless him. He is of course (since I'm feeling Queen Bessy today) the Shakespeare of movie and literary horror. But he ain't going to be topping the album charts anytime soon. Like Simon Cowell says, brutality can be the greatest kindness you show the deluded (or he would say that if was articulate enough).