Talentless junkies, glorified gutter poets, tabloid whores, The Strokes tribute band. The Libertines have had a fair share of shit hurled their way since they burst onto the scene over 20 years ago with their seminal debut album, Up The Bracket – the majority of it being misguided, ill-informed and simply untrue.
I prefer to view them as loveable rogues, sensitive poets who portray beautifully crafted ideals of a long-gone Blightly and charming Dickensian visions where the metaphorical Albion ship always sails on course. Maybe I’m biased – I first fell in love with the band as an impressionable 14-year-old attracted to anything that contained a tragically romantic element – but to me, The Libertines will always occupy a special and unique sector of our nation’s musical landscape.
Despite the band’s reputation for recklessness and self-sabotage, with a history of turning up hours late or simply cancelling shows, my previous experiences seeing The Libertines have been memorable in the right ways. One of my first-ever gigs was at Prenton Park to see them and I remember being surprised, if not even a tad disappointed, by how tight and put-together they were.
I wondered if this would be the case for their Manchester date. After a few pints at The Abercrombie and with RGM photographer Neil Winward for company, we made the short trip to The Albert Hall to see the Libs play the first of three sold-out nights as they tour their first album in almost ten years, All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade.
With an impressive set design depicting The Albion Rooms, the recording studio/hotel the band owns, The Libertines take the stage to a resounding reception from a fired-up crowd and plunge straight into ‘The Delaney.’ As an opener, it takes some beating and is a fine display of the band’s rogueish charm. The audience sings the lyrics back to frontmen Pete Doherty and Carl Barat word for word, and the pair’s trademark back-and-forth vocals during the track’s chorus is an electrifying sight.
‘What Became of the Likely Lads’ is much of the same while the grinding brashness of ‘Up the Bracket’ sees Doherty and the audience hold two fingers high for the chorus, ‘You see these two cold fingers, These crooked fingers I show.’ It’s a dynamic start to the night and you can almost feel the audience breathe a collective sigh of relief as it becomes clear the band is in excellent shape.
The funk-fused riffs and barbershop-style harmonies of ‘Boys in the Band’ sounds as fresh as ever while the second single from All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade, ‘Night of the Hunter’, is the first to be played from the new album. Making use of the VIP wristband I’d been (accidentally?) given upon entry I roam upstairs to the balcony to see how the boys sound from the heavens. ‘Death on the Stairs’ and ‘Vertigo’ are The Libertines at their ramshackle best while ‘Merry Old England’ lends a politically conscious edge to the evening.
In typical Libertines fashion, amidst a period of mishaps (albeit minor ones), the band reach a definite peak. The Clash-esque revelry of ‘Horrorshow’ sends the crowd into a wave of frenzy while ‘Run Run Run’, as the most Libertines-attuned track on All Quiet, is a raucous delight that’s all the more fun to hear live. Despite a few bum notes and a stumbling Doherty, ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’ is an absolute highlight that entices the crowd into an impetus singalong.
You’d be justified in guessing that ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ would struggle to retain the same rawness and bite that it had 20 years ago during the build-up to the band’s first split when Pete and Carl had a genuine spite for one another. However, the track is still a goosebump-inducing sight and a latter-set delight.
A short interlude ensures before drummer Gary Powell urges the crowd to make some noise as the rest of the band returns to the stage. The encore begins placidly as ‘Man With The Melody’ has Doherty, Barat and bassist John Hassall in a circle, each taking turns on vocal duties before pulling a dramatic 180 and launching into the punk-infused ‘What a Waster’.
Later career fan favourite ‘Gunga Din’ and its bitingly self-deprecating lyrics gears the crowd up for an energetic close before ‘Time for Heroes’ sees cigs sparked, laughing gas huffed, and four crowd surfers dragged over the barriers by security. Despite plenty of their fan base now being fat, bald, middle-aged or all of the above, they show no signs of fatigue.
The night arrives at a triumphant conclusion with ‘Don’t Look Back into the Sun’s indistinguishable opening riff. I struggle to see a single body not singing or standing, the crowd is loving every second before all too soon the final chord is struck and it’s over.
Few things come close to seeing Pete and Carl leaning into one another like languid lovers, almost kissing as they share a mic stand. Both frontmen brought their A-game to the Albert Hall and thanks to the pair’s undeniable charisma, John Hassall’s stoic steadiness and Gary Powell’s pulverizing drumming, The Libertines still hold the magical spirit I first fell in love with as a teenager.
📸 CREDIT – NEIL WINWARD
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