The Libertines weather chaos

I‘m just slightly too young to have experienced the heights of The Libertines around 2003. I knew them, or probably more Peter Doherty and his drug-fuelled escapades dragged through the media. I was just slightly too young to have the problematic impression that this was kind of cool.

I bought their excellent self-titled album on CD in a record store in Brighton around 2011. By then, I knew that drugs, to this degree, aren‘t cool. But I appreciated the music, devoured it for some time. Their sound is so clearly reminiscent of The Smiths and The Clash—it immediately resonated with me.

However, by the time their reunion came around, The Libertines, like The Smiths, weren‘t top of mind anymore. One could say: It was a phase.

Oh gosh, I’m gonna trigger the fans now, but on top of that, I constantly grappled with the question of whether The Libertines‘ status is more connected to their escapades rather than their music. They hardly pushed the envelope. Then again, I hear The Man Who Would Be King or Music When the Lights Go Out or Time for Heroes and think: Who the fuck cares, really? This is some tasty rock music.

And who‘d have thought that The Libertines would overcome every obstacle and release a fourth album, All Quiet On The Eastern Esplanade? A record that still rattles and rumbles but embraces a fuller, rigged-out sound. Nothing groundbreaking, but more than solid. „Stripped of their fraternal bad blood, the Libertines are just a band—and a decent one at that,“ concludes Ben Cardew for Pitchfork. And Max Pilley writes in the NME: „[...] the sense of listening in on a band teetering on the precipice of disaster is gone, replaced by a more stable and necessarily safer version of The Libertines.“

I, meanwhile, am more concerned about knowing my way around a camera again. It‘s my first time back in the pit since 2017.

The evening wasn‘t under a good star. For some reason, the soundcheck was still underway when the doors opened. People had to wait a gruelling 45 minutes until the Volkshaus in Zurich fully opened. Fifteen minutes after the first act, Fitzroy Holt should have started his set.

Holt then did the best he could, creating an intimate atmosphere. Standing on the stage seemed too big for him, so he sat down on the edge, delivering a stunning set of folky songs that sometimes dove a bit into a soulful grunge.

Shortly after, in an attempt to make up time, the Danish band The Broken Beats entered. With verve, they tried to spark enthusiasm but only succeeded towards the end. I can appreciate their effort, but too often, they sank into a clownish attitude.

The hurrying didn‘t really help, and The Libertines arrived with a 20-minute delay in front of the sold-out venue. Glancing at the audience made it abundantly clear: most want to relive their youth. And that‘s fair.

And The Libertines catered to their needs with the professionalism expected by a band of this status. But then, chaos ensued. The sound system went down, not that unusual, but it didn‘t come back alive for another 15 minutes. They left the stage, and drummer Gary Powell shouted: „Someone broke the fucking PA!“

A few people booed, but I could only smile. Twenty years ago, the Doherty, Barât, and the audience would probably have torn the place apart. Today, though, everyone is a bit older, wiser, and more patient. One might even see the whole drama as an allegory for their history.

However, putting too much emphasis on the incident wouldn‘t do it all justice.

So the concert got kind of split into two sets. The Libertines had to begin anew, building euphoria. And in the second half, you could catch the passion still burning beneath the professionalism.

The delivery was wild yet refined, the vocals meandering and mumbling as ever. Can‘t Stand Me Now, Time for Heroes, and the final Don‘t Look Back into the Sun left the fans ecstatic. Cheering, shouting, clapping, dancing. Youth relived. Job done. And done formidably regarding the circumstances, I might add.

But I‘m still wondering about Peter Doherty‘s footwear.