“When we first played Manchester, we were super nervous.” Peter Doherty told the crowd at Manchester’s Albert Hall. “We assumed everyone here was amazing at guitar and we decided that we would have to write a song good enough to impress the people of Manchester.”
He smiled.
“We’re still working on it.”
‘Still working on it’ perfectly encapsulates the history of The Libertines and their live shows. From the pairing of their scrappy guitars and earnest melodies to real-life fights and troubles that have derailed the band, getting to see them at all in 2024 seems halfway close to a miracle. Watching them perform with such a genuine love for one another was more than I dared to ask for. You cannot knock their grit.
The Libertines are no strangers to conflict. The band initially split whilst still on the rise in the early 2000s due to the breakdown of the relationship between co-frontmen Peter Doherty and Carl Barat – a result of Doherty’s excessively publicised battle with addiction. This conflict, however, is also inherent in their music. When listening to their albums, you cannot escape the battle between garage rock licks, scrappy riffs and the band’s more melodic and poetic impulses. It is this juxtaposition that makes their music exciting. With the All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade tour’s first night in Manchester, the Libertines have managed to reconcile their conflicts, finding the magic in their musical bonds and delivering a hit-filled setlist to make any modern indie-rock band green with envy.
Throughout the show, Barat stood centre on the Albert Hall’s raised stage. His slicked black hair and skinny jeans evoked a style and time synonymous with the currently ever-present phrase of ‘indie sleaze.’ The aesthetic matched their sound. Barat was on point for every track, hitting each note when it was his turn to take lead vocals and delivering every solo with effortless cool. Maturing may just be realising that Barat is what holds this ragged group of troubadours together.
Doherty, on the other hand, may not quite resemble the skinny, strung-out and magnetic presence he appeared to be in the 2000s, but he remains the heart of the band. When he walks on stage, there is no avoiding the feeling that you are seeing a genuine rockstar. Admittedly, and perhaps understandably, his vocals have grown a little rough around the edges, and his performance of ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’, a personal favourite of mine, failed to hit the mark.
However, there is no denying the value of the unique perspective he brings. Doherty views himself as one of the last great romantic poets. Yet, to the public, he has often been a symbol of self-destructive hedonism. It is once again this conflict that produces the sometimes seedy, yet always earnest, sound of the Libertines. It is when Doherty’s poetic misadventures and Barat’s technical proficiency combine that the sparks really start to fly.
Sharing a microphone, heads craned in, both playing guitar: this is the most iconic image of any Libertine’s gig. Intimate and confrontational, you cannot help but be drawn in by these moments. As if on cue, the crowd would push forward, a plethora of phones and cameras suddenly recording over the sea of standing punters. Clearly, the interplay of the bond between Doherty and Barat is a draw for many fans. It makes perfect sense, especially when you consider plenty of their songs were written about each other.
Take ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’, a break-up song concerning their friendship – and the gig’s pre-encore track. Whilst it still plays out powerfully in 2024, I can only guess at how much more visceral this would have been back in their heyday when both Doherty and Barat were actually experiencing the emotions detailed. Despite myself, I could not help but long to be witnessing that original moment instead.
Of course, as a fan, I am genuinely happy that the band’s relationship is in a far healthier place. Even if an artist’s lyrics are tortured, fans have no right to expect them to live their life that way. But the current show did feel surprisingly choreographed by comparison, sporting long interludes where old ditties would be played over the speakers. There was little in the way of audience interaction and the band even opted to stand with their backs to the audience between songs. This meant that when classic moments and images were created on stage, it was hard to shake the sense that the band were playing up to the nostalgia and fascination around their past, indulging in self-reference, rather than attempting anything new or spontaneous.
But is their reverence not deserved?
Without The Libertines, the British indie landscape would be almost unrecognisable today. The Strokes had already broken the mould with their seminal debut, but Doherty and co proved just how much that sound could flourish with a British twist. Think of any modern indie band, big or small. Kasabian, Bloc Party, even Arctic Monkeys: The Libertines paved the way for them all. And they had the setlist to prove it.
Whilst some songs did blend together (‘Baron’s Claw’ was the only real dud, and ‘Man With The Melody’ was woefully out of place in the encore), the ceiling of The Libertine’s output is so ridiculously high that it almost casts an unfair comparison to their other works. ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’, ‘Time for Heroes’, ‘Death On The Stairs’ – I could go on. There is an indisputable magic to these songs, and getting to hear them live, even if not forward-facing, is always going to pull on the heartstrings as much as it incites a moshpit.
Tracks from their latest release also felt right at home and were complimented by a four-piece string section adorned in the band’s iconic red military jackets. This helped expand the concert’s sound (proving that there was some effort to try something new) and gifted a surprising poignancy to ‘Night of the Hunter’. This helped make up for a few audio hiccups throughout, where the vocals were repeatedly far too low in the mix. Whilst I expect loud guitars from The Libertines, the lyrics need to be audible. They are a vital part of the recipe.
Just like their music and their personal lives, The Libertines produced a concert of conflicting yet compelling parts. It was rough around the edges, dog-eared and punchy like a pulp paperback, but there is no denying that the band went down an absolute storm.
From the second song, pints were flying, moshes were opening, and fans of all ages were smiling from ear to ear, bouncing and singing every word. During the encore, crowd surfers seemingly appeared out of nowhere, shoes swinging past heads as indie devotees surfed over the barrier, as close as possible to their heroes. Someone even offered to send me up over the crowd! There was a real sense of community and genuine love for the band on stage, reciprocated by drummer Gary Powell: “You guys are a bunch of Libertines.”
Perhaps everyone simply felt lucky to be there. There was no guarantee that The Libertines would make it to 2024, and whilst they may never quite fulfil their early promise, this concert was a testament to the power of their music and a joyous, exciting time amongst a stellar crowd. I, for one, am glad The Libertines are ‘still working on it.”
