The Libertines

Aah, bless their scuffed up leather jackets, The Libertines are masters of the all-boy, disposa-punk shtick. Lets see: cutesy doe-eyed singer? Check. Questionable musicianship? Check. Mad, bouncing guitarist, whose function has, perhaps, been set to ‘vibrate’? Check. Lots of swears? Check. Eee – it’s like being sucked into a Channel 4 rockumentary about the birth of punk or something.

They are The Ramones without the buzz bomb, tight-as-fuck songsmithery, The Beatles without the genius and Vyvyan without the miniskirts. Frankly, for all their posturing and screechy feedback and the pantomime threat of onstage violence, if it wasn’t for their piece de resistance, the rather brilliant single ‘What A Waster’, The Libertines would suck.

The remainder of their set sounds like Gerry and the Pacemakers played through a distortion pedal and is about as exciting as waiting for a bus in the rain without a coat on. Stuck in a time warp and refusing to budge – the stubborn bastards.

Still, this evening in Middlesbrough, the kids couldn’t care less… they are greeted like heroes. Drinks are spilled, moshing is undertaken and a generally groovy time is had by all. Not a trillionth as good as the NME would have you believe, but what’s new?