The Specials still live up to their name

Reunions are always a risky affair and shows at Birmingham's 02 Academy last night and on Saturday were probably the toughest of the lot for Terry Hall and Co, back in their West Midlands stomping ground.

Too much pressure? Not a chance.

From the moment Hall sloped laconically from the shadows, effortlessly bearing the same couldn't-care-less stage presence which made him an instant icon 30 years ago, you knew nothing ever changed.

Launching into explosive opener Do The Dog, it was 0-60 in less than three chords and the ecstatic sell-out crowd struggled to keep up.

By the end of that first number the Academy was awash with a single mass; a smiling, seething, sea of sweaty faces, straining at the sinews to savour every moment.

The floor bounced like Jordan in a marathon as the human tide ebbed and flowed before foundering against the physical barrier between band and fans, where worried-looking bouncers played push-me-pull-you with some of the heftiest crowd surfers you'll ever see.

As the opening bars of each song kicked in, all around you could catch faces of sheer joy searching out pals in the mass to acknowledge the excitement and mark the moment.

Some tried the old running-on-the-spot ska moves, but managed only a couple of steps before being swallowed up by the air-sucking crush.

This was the sticky-floored Hummingbird of yore, a venue from another time proving it still has what it takes, with all the sights, smells and – most importantly – sounds to match. The rude boys of 79 are now old boys in their forties (and beyond) and they really should know better.

But they said that about this reunion too – and what a triumph it is. Tighter than a YTS pay-cheque, the band created a time slip to the late 1970's when their generation faced a bleak future and decided to enjoy itself regardless with a soundtrack to match. Kitchen sink dramas, knife crime and unemployment all welded onto jaunty rhythms and delivered through lead singer Hall's choirboy blank expression.

Forget life on Mars, this was life in a ghost town, told exactly how it was, is and probably ever will be. "I used to come to Birmingham and think it was Metropolis," deadpanned Hall introducing Friday night, Saturday morning – probably the definitive tale of a shallow night out on the razz.

Sticking with the theme during Nite Klub, he eventually gave way to the word-perfect crowd and let them deliver the most damning lines as he crouched at the front of the stage, staring out into eyes that haven't opened so wide for 28 years.

The be-suited singer, all fluttering eyelashes and shy-boy enigma, still manages to be the master of both understatement and over emphasis, gritting teeth through key words and phrases just in case there's anyone on the planet who doesn't get the point.

His only surrender to the furnace hot temperatures was untucking his shirt after an hour in the searing heat.

And he still looked cool.

How absent founder Jerry Dammers must be regretting sulkily swanning out of rehearsals. Elephant in the corner? What elephant?

The set had everything fans wanted to hear, perfectly paced and still relevant 30 years after the fact; the teenage pregnancy of Too Much, Too Young, a venomous demolition of social-climbing in Rat Race, the binge-drinking Stereotype.

And of course, haunting set closer Ghost Town – a song so embedded in the national psyche yet without parody or parity 28 years on.

Make no mistake, this was a night of nights. More than a concert. Way, way more than a nostalgic run through the hits.

This was a band that defined a spirit and gave voice to a frustrated generation which dreaded to think what the future might hold – and lived to tell the tale all over again.

Special doesn't even come close to describing it.

By Keith Harrison.

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