Up The Albion: The Story of the Libertines
In 1997, MTV interviewed fans in the queue for the release of Oasis’ third studio album, Be Here Now. A young and bright teenager charmed the reporters, stating “I subscribe to the Umberto Eco view that Noel [Gallagher] is a poet and Liam [Gallagher] is a town crier and that to me is a perfect combination”. The interviewee, later to be known as Pete Doherty, would find himself on MTV less than five years following the interview, as a co-frontman (along with Carl Barât) of the garage rock band The Libertines. However, the media coverage this time around would prove less favourable, as the internal troubles of the group became increasingly publicised. Despite the setbacks, The Libertines managed to establish themselves as one of the greatest rock bands of the early 2000s. This is the story The Libertines, the relationship between Carl Barât and Pete Doherty, and what became of the likely lads.
The same year as the release of Be Here Now, the Libertines were founded. After meeting and befriending each other, Carl Barât and Pete Doherty dropped out of their university courses to start a band. Barât and Doherty connected over their love of art and music. Together they created a shared mythology of the “good ship Albion”. The ship represented Barât and Doherty’s worldview on music, the idea of setting sail and seeking Arcadia, a place where rock n’ roll reigns supreme. Albion is an archaic term for England, reflecting the band’s love for literary tradition and an embrace of Englishness. The mythology is referenced throughout their discography, with one of their first songs being titled “Albion” (released in 2005 with Pete Doherty’s second group, Babyshambles.) An early song called “Love on the Dole” goes: “On the Albion-ay / Spew it out your soul / Love is on the dole / And there she will stay.” The myth of the Albion embodies much of what makes the Libertines such a special group. It is not merely the music that they make, but also the worldview they embody: a desire to create meaningful and rambunctious art by whatever means. They cascade through this world as two wayward dreamers, inevitably indoctrinating others into the Arcadian dream.
While the Libertines struggled in their early years, they reached sudden success in 2002 with the re-release of their debut album Up The Bracket (originally released in 2000.) At the time, British guitar music was saturated with acoustic and soft rock, the likes of Coldplay, Travis, and Genesis. It was due time for the Post-Britpop music scene to experience some noise. The Libertines, after playing alongside the Strokes and the Vines, had entrenched themselves in the garage rock revival scene, finally bringing it to the United Kingdom and experiencing nationwide popularity. New Music Express especially took interest in the Libertines, featuring them on the cover prior to the re-release of “Up The Bracket” and later declaring them the best new band of the NME Carling awards in 2003. The re-released version of the album featured the additional track and lead single “What A Waster.”
Up The Bracket is generally regarded as The Libertines’ finest work, filled with plenty of pop culture references and proper rock n’ roll. The title alludes to a phrase by British comedian Tony Hancock, where “up the bracket” means getting punched in the throat or snorting cocaine. The opening track, “Vertigo,” chronicles the hedonism that would eventually destroy the band. As the pair sings: “The rapture of vertigo / And letting go / Me myself I was never sure / Was it the liquor / Or was it my soul?” The track makes another reference to Hancock with the lines “Lead pipes, your fortune’s made” which is a line from a poem featured on “Hancock’s Half Hour”. Up The Bracket is trite with literary references, as the subsequent track “Death On The Stairs” mimics the meter and rhyme scheme of the poem “Kubla Khan” by Samuel Taylor Johnson, as well as the repeated motifs of ghost hauntings and wartime.
The instrumentals of the album are colourful, packed with energetic drumming (played by Gary Powell), steady bass (John Hassell) and interweaving guitar parts that combine influences of 60s British pop rock with the energy of contemporary punk and garage rock. The rich musicality can be heard in “Time For Heroes,” a song about police brutality experienced during the 2000 May Day protests. The music ebbs and flows between complete noise and tranquility, creating a lilting effect. This same effect can be seen in the loose drumming and fingerpicking in “Radio America,” which was actually not supposed to be featured on the album. In an NME interview, Doherty alleged that Barât owed Doherty money. In typical Libertine fashion, Doherty agreed to absolve the debt, in exchange for putting “Radio America” on the tracklist. Another stand out track, “The Good Old Days” referenced the established Libertines mythology of the Albion setting sail for Arcadia. The track mocks the sentimental notions of nostalgia in a self aware manner, stating “Cos there were no good old days / These were the good old days.”
In retrospect, Up The Bracket is a monumental body of work, one which predicted the eventual downfall of the Libertines due to the conflict between Barât’s ambition and Doherty’s recklessness. Preceding the release of the album, Pete Doherty’s drug use increased heavily. The additional track, “What A Waster” references this, as Doherty sings: “Where does all the money go / Straight, straight up her nose.” The song tells the tale of a downfall due to drug habits, mirroring the band’s own collapse. Nevertheless, Up The Bracket is remembered favourably amongst rock critics. Rolling Stone placed the album number 61 on its list of 100 Greatest Debut Albums of All Time, as well as number 94 on a similar list of the Greatest Albums of the 2000s. Up The Bracket established a monumental precedent, one which the Libertines would spend the rest of their career pursuing.
Following their ascent to fame, strife increased between the co-frontmen. The band was on the edge of collapse, experiencing chaotic mishaps while on tour and Barât’s frustrations with Doherty’s partying which led to the exile of Doherty from the band. The tension reached its peak when Doherty broke into Barât’s flat, stealing musical equipment, and was subsequently arrested and sentenced to six months in prison (though he only served one month of his sentence.) During their period of separation, the pair made up. Barât was waiting for Doherty at the prison gates. A series of reunion tours at small venues in London followed, packed with volatile performances. As a reporter for the Independent recounted: “Doherty and Barât are a latterday Mick'n'Keef, Thunders'n'Johansen, or Sid'n'Johnny, and tonight, from the off, they're sharing a microphone, screaming into each other's faces, bumping noses, so close they're almost snogging. Between verses, one minute they're hugging, the next they're running at each other like rutting stags.” The dynamic between Barât and Doherty is what made the Libertines so compelling, watching them perform together felt like witnessing the bickering of two passionate lovers.
The Libertines self-titled album was greeted to positive reception, though plenty of critics found it compulsory to acknowledge one of the band member’s notorious public image. Sonically the album drew from a wider array of influences, namely dub and folk as well as rock. A review by Eric Carr reads, “The Libertines are creatures of excess,” reflecting their grand ambitions. The general sentiment was that the album failed to live up to the momentous expectations created by their previous release. Regardless, The Libertines self-titled brings the rock n’ roll spirit of their early years, matured to suit two musicians in the midst of their stardom: the self-aware lyrics have turned abrasive and the performances feel candid and care-free, if not a little exhausted. The album opens with “Can’t Stand Me Now,” which is a literal argument that occurs over energetic drum rhythms and catchy 60s guitar riffs. The duo sing to each other in a dialogue form, their lyrics interweaving into a glorious vocal tango. Doherty’s near-inebriated slurred singing perfectly accompanies Barât’s undisguisable Cockney twang. They are not subtle with their lyrics, as Barât sings: “Your light fingers threw the dark /Shattered the lamp and into darkness it cast us,” an obvious reference to Doherty’s attempt at robbery. The song captures the complexity between the two frontmen, at once being one’s bane of existence as well as reason for existing. As they sing to each other in the pre-chorus: “I know you lie / I'm still in love with you…..Can't take me anywhere/ I'll take you anywhere.” Interestingly, in all the performances available online, the Libertines chose to perform the song separate from each other, instead of sharing a microphone as they are known for, possibly reflecting the emotional turmoil and separation depicted in the song.
There are a few standout tracks in the album. The album also features tracks from the early days of the Libertines. “Music When the Lights Go Out” captures the feeling of lovelessness at a party. The song is credited to Pete Doherty, while the pair sings: “Well, I'll confess all of my sins / After several large gins / But still I'll hide from you / Hide what's inside from you.” There is a youthful spirit to the song, accomplished by its folksy guitar chords, subtle piano, and Barât’s mellow backing vocals. However, the song gradually grows in intensity until it bursts from within itself and all the repressed turmoil of the song spills over. “The Ha Ha Wall,” was the first song co-penned by Barât and Doherty, as recounted in their biography “Kids In The Riot.” The song conveys a feeling of aimlessness, as the lyrics recount the perspective of a tired and confused narrator. This aimlessness is conveyed through the song’s many key changes and instrumental breaks, giving “The Ha Ha Wall” a feeling of being pieced together, clinging to its ends. “What Katie Did” was apparently composed while Doherty was in prison. In the studio recording, however, Barât sings the song. Presumably, the song was a gift from Doherty. “What Katie Did” begins with a 60s barbershop jingle, before transitioning into a story of heavy drug use after a breakup: “But since you said goodbye / Polka dots fill my eyes / And I don't know why.” “What Katie Did” makes plenty of subtle references to heroin, which is complemented by the gradual fade out of the song, as the instrumentals themselves enter a state of sedation.
The final track on the album “What Became of Likely Lads” begs the question of where the band went astray. The music video features two young boys, presumably Barât and Doherty, going about mischievous childhood antics. Despite the bleakness of the video, in terms of colour scheme and the industrial setting of a council estate, there is a spirit that shines through in depicting the camaraderie between the lads. The chorus is a series of questions: “Oh, what became of the likely lads? / What became of the dreams we had? / Oh, what became of forever?” The song is reflective, looking back on the band’s career as well as the relationship of the frontmen. The self-titled album marks a turning point for the Libertines, where the awareness of their celebrity status was heightened and directly impeded their music. Shortly after the release of the album, Doherty quit the band to pursue his separate project, Babyshambles. While the Libertines would continue to perform without Doherty, they had their final show in Paris in December 2004. Barât stated, in an interview with The World Magazine, that the band could not go on without Pete.
Since so many of their songs come from such a personal place, it is often impossible to separate the story of the Libertines from their music. Still, there was a fascination with the lives of the band to the point of intrusion, since their rise coincided with the rise of the internet and, with that, online gossip sites. Especially in the late 2000s, the personal lives of the frontmen, particularly Pete Doherty, were on full display. After the break-up in 2004, both Doherty and Barât would go on to pursue their personal projects, Babyshambles and Dirty Pretty Things respectively. It wouldn’t be until 2010 when the band began to play again, and not until 2015 when they would release their third LP, Anthems For a Doomed Youth. The title is taken from a poem by Wilfred Owen, once again borrowing from English literature. Part of the album was recorded in Thailand, as the band accompanied Doherty for his drug rehabilitation. (You can in fact hear the waves of a beach in the background of certain tracks.) The album itself, while never reaching the heights of their previous two releases, is a flight of hope. After all, there was a period where a Libertines reunion felt as unlikely as a Smiths reunion.
The tone of the album is somber and reflective, inspired less by their noise rock roots and instead taking on a 60s soft rock sound complete with the frontmen’s ever-snarky lyrics. “Gunga Din”, a song whose title references a Rudyard Kipling poem, experiments with reggae sounds. Meanwhile, “Fame and Fortune” recalls days of youthful bliss before the band’s fame, complete with fast-paced alliterative verses and a chorus that rings like a pub tune. The album reaches an emotional peak with, “You’re My Waterloo,” a song written originally in 1999. The song is supposedly written by Doherty to Barât, as it goes: “You'll never fumigate the demons / No matter how much you smoke / So just say you love me / For three good reasons / And I'll throw you the rope.” “You’re My Waterloo” is the only track on the album to be completed prior to the band’s reunion. It captures the eternity of the main duo’s friendship. Despite their constant fighting and competition, they will always look out for each other. Still, there’s a sentiment that the dreams the duo once had have perished, and they’ve learned to let go of early dreams of Arcadia. As Laura Snapes, in her review, observes: “the immortal Albion dream is dead, their erstwhile fantasy mocked and incinerated like an effigy on bonfire night.” There’s this sentiment of resilience within the record, as Doherty sings in “Heart of the Matter'': “With all the battering it’s taken / I’m surprised it’s still ticking,” meaning that despite all the emotional and physical damage done upon himself, he has survived. Anthems For A Doomed Youth is a testament to the legacy of the Libertine, reassuring fans that even if the Albion never completed its voyage, at least it existed, and the wave it made while it flew continues to resound.
Ultimately, what I think makes The Libertines legendary is the mythology and theatrics surrounding their impressive body of music. Sam Wolfson, in a review of the 2015 Hyde Park reunion show, observes: “This was a band that was as much about their own myth and fatality as they were about music.” As you may have noticed throughout this article, I am particularly an admirer of Pete Doherty. His constant experimentation with visual art, writings, and music has always encapsulated me, embodying both the poet and the town crier. Doherty seems like somebody who was meant to join the 27 Club but, by divine intervention, survived to create a better and happier legacy. Still, due credit must be given to Carl Barât, who can be seen as the sturdy mast of the ship whereas Doherty is the whirling wind. Barât’s love for avant-garde art and intricate guitar skills gives the Libertines their quick-witted and polished demeanor which allowed the band to thrive in the first place. I think this dynamic between Barât and Doherty is truly what makes the heart of the band, their vitriolic chemistry collides in a way to produce truly bombastic music. Of course, we must appreciate drummer Gary Powell and bassist John Hassall, two truly gifted musicians in their own right who acted as the anchor to the whirlwind consuming the frontmen. The Libertines were a perfect concoction of proper talent, ambition, and boisterous chaos.
While I would call the Libertines rock n’ roll’s last hurrah, they are fortunately still in the scene. They will begin touring in London in December 2021 and announced a Summer 2022 tour for the 20th anniversary of Up The Bracket. In a recent interview, Doherty discussed the band’s newest musical experimentations, involving plenty of freestyle and (for the first time) songwriting contributions from Powell and Hassall. The Libertines may have taken damage to the hull, yet the Good Ship Albion continues to set sail.
Readings:
“Kids In The Riots: Highs and Lows with the Libertines” by Peter Walsh
“The Libertines: There Are No Innocent Bystanders”
“Can’t Stand Me Now ー The Shipwreck of the Libertines” by New British Canon