The Libertines: The Libertines

It’s been a year since Don’t Look Back Into The Sun, the iconic last release from The Libertines proper, but of course they do have an excuse. Singer/guitarist Pete Doherty’s much catalogued drug abuse has led him all over the world, from London to Paris and Thailand and back again, trying to get clean. Oddly enough, with all his troubles he did manage to release two singles (one, the aching ballad For Lovers was incredibly good; the other, a self-titled EP with his side project Babyshambles was not so good). The rest of the band, however, took some much needed time off and recorded this album with Doherty earlier in the year. With former Clash guitarist Mick Jones at the producer’s helm once again, can the album live up to the promise of their first album, or is The Libertines going to be their Cut The Crap?

Initial signs look pleasing – opener and first single Can’t Stand Me Now is an obviously self-referential ode to the faltering relationship between Doherty and fellow front man Carl Barât. Over some of the finest Jam impressions since Weller and co hung up their suits all those years ago, the volatile pair sing to each other their own personal problems, while the harmonica-led outro… well… you’ll either love it or hate it. Last Post On The Bugle (originally mooted as the album’s first single) follows suit – pounding drums (courtesy of Gary Powell, an oft-overlooked talent) and a chiming 3-note riff compete with Pete’s innocent plea – “I got carried away”. Too true.

The Sixties seem to play a great influence on this album, both for the better and the worse: What Katie Did, a fan favourite since it first turned up as a demo on the band’s Babyshambles demos site, is great. Carl’s vocals give the track some welly, while the “Shoop de lang-a-lang” backing vocals add to the charm. Meanwhile, the Barât-led Narcissist sounds like Chas and Dave on amphetamines. Conversely, Don’t Be Shy is one of the worst things the band has committed to tape. Doherty wails, completely out of tune, over some loose funk that sounds like a bad Beatles b-side.

Thankfully, the good moments are here in abundance, and the album’s highlights come in quick succession. The Man Who Would Be King starts off with a bit of self-plagiarism, stealing their own intro from Tell The King, before spinning it into words of advice for any newcomers to their already growing scene. “I’ve been told if you want to make it in this game, you’ve gotta have the luck, you’ve gotta have the look”, Pete croons over a prodding bass-line and a crescendo of guitars, until everything stops, leaving Doherty sneering a nonchalant “la la la la la la” until the band come crashing back in. It’s totally invigorating stuff, guaranteed to send shivers up, down, left and right of your spine, and shows a much more mature side to The Libertines. Meanwhile, Music When The Lights Go Out, a track dating back to about 2000, is almost folky, coming on like a modern Kinks, until about halfway through when everything gets cranked up to 10 only to disappear again.

This being The Libertines, you know there are going to be some high octane punk rockers as well, and there are certainly a couple here that you can go fucking mental to. Arbeit Macht Frei is a one-minute thrash, in which Barât and Doherty seem to shout the first things that come into their head. Something tells me drugs may have been involved. Meanwhile, The Saga is unquestionably one of the finest tracks on here; stop start rhythms clash with trebly guitars, while Pete tells us that “I ain’t got a problem… it’s you with the problem”. And they say the 12-step program doesn’t work?

The album ends in a fit of complete and utter joy. What Became Of The Likely Lads is one of the album’s more straightforward punk tracks, and doesn’t suffer for it. Another track about the frontmen’s faltering relationship (“What became of the dreams we had?”), as well as looking to the future, albeit pessimistically, Likely Lads is a brilliant way to end a brilliant album. While the future looks uncertain for the band (Barât is leading the rest of the band without Pete for the time being), if this is to be their final album, and some say it will be, it’s the end of a beautiful career.

“What became of forever?” There are only four people on the planet who can tell us the answer. The legacy continues…

“Have we enough to keep it together?”

Humans are remarkable optimists. God knows why.

There’s a line near the end of Annie Hall where Woody Allen watches the rehearsal for a play based on his own collapsed relationship. At the end, he admits; “you're always trying to get things to come out perfect in art because it's real difficult in life.” That statement never seemed truer than with The Libertines.

For the past year you’ve been chasing an ambulance. Pete Doherty’s demise is reported with gruesome, stained-syringe precision; music critics turn philosophers theorising over rock ‘n roll’s descent into self-destruction; a new band’s coverage gets cut in order to cover (mis)quotes from Doherty/Barat giving hope/despair that the band will survive/split. The world rolls over and yawns...

So why have so many of us been willing to watch this miserable affair unfold for so long? In the faint, feeble hope that out of the ashes of their sanity, from the ruins of their relationship, these two scrawny songsmiths could fashion something remarkable. Something that could tower above the break-ins and break-ups, the tabloid tales and the heroin hits. Something that could stand as a perfect artistic testament to a damaged, derailed and fucked-up life. It’s like a kid on a council estate praying she gets a pony for Christmas.

From the very start, The Libertines is the sound of the band at its most muzzled; paralysed by poor production, underdeveloped songs and private lives that have become more sensational and noteworthy than the music. With guitar lines that don’t seem to know what to do with themselves, What Katie Did is a dawdled mid-tempo affair that never raises itself above sounding like a lost session track; Don’t Be Shy decides after about two minutes that it doesn’t want to be a pop song anymore and trails off into some kind of sub-Stone Roses jam session that they just don’t have the musical competence to pull off; and if they thought that speeding up the bass-heavy, tin-pan chords towards the end of Campaign of Hate would’ve added an ounce of energy to a tune that was dead on arrival, then they’re seriously deluded.

Which raises questions as to what exactly The Clash’s Mick Jones did to this record. If his aim was to fashion the album into the same kind of masterpiece of passion and melody as London Calling, then he has failed - the album is as poorly-recorded, as shabby and hollow-sounding as a set of demos. And if his aim was to reign-in Doherty’s attention-deficit songwriting and set the bar as high as the finest moments on their debut, then he has failed again - tracks such as Tomblands, The Saga and Arbeit Macht Frei showcase all the band’s vein-burstingly brilliant energy, but are no-where near the perfectly-formed anthems found in the likes of Time For Heroes and Boys In The Band.

Still, we have to make some concessions. While Can’t Stand Me Now would’ve merely sounded okay on the last record, here it shines as one of the few admirable moments, and Music When The Lights Go Out begins as a bruised acoustic strum that rocks the same tender lilt that sounded so touching on Wolfman’s For Lovers. Then finally, after thirty-five minutes of painful misfires, comes a shot of brilliance. On the closing What Became Of The Likely Lads, melodies drop off Barat & Doherty’s tongues like diamonds that have fallen off the back of a truck, complete with a breakneck backing that features the same soul, fire, romance and nostalgia they always promised us.

This review started from the belief that The Libertines should be an exceptional, era-defining rock ‘n roll band. Some will say they never were. Some will say they still are. But the excitement that exploded around them was because many people saw a goose-pimpling promise that they’d only just started to fulfil. But while it’s still too early to start writing the band’s obituary, we have to face the even more uncomfortable truth that the group may be nothing more than another band of false messiahs. A band that grew out of the hype they helped feed; that gave you glimpses of greatness, but never anything substantial to hold onto; that self-mythologized The Albion as though they sailed some spiritual graceland, and even more deceptively, that they were gonna take you with them.

“What became of the likely lads? We’ll never know.” As imperfect in art as they are in life, The Libertines have set their own detonator. And the fuse is rapidly running out.