Waterloo To Anywhere
The dissolution of The Libertines saw Carl Barat unfairly painted as the villain of the soap opera: rock's Alan Sugar calling time on Pete Doherty's extended extra cirracular activities, and eventually the band itself. Little sympathy was doled out to Barat as he dumped his former best friend and bandmate; sensibly seeing Doherty more a liability than a libertine. Since then what has happened to the likely lads?
Painted as the People's Poet, and with the goodwill bestowed upon him from all quarters, 'troubled' Pete Doherty was anticipated to rise to the challenge of becoming the voice of his generation. But then the brakes failed. Spectacularly. His every move, from supermodel romance to failed rehab, was dissected as the press played Pin-The-Syringe-On-The-Doherty. The poor little heartbroken urchin charm offensive Pete took on Newsnight failed to garner much sympathy. As for the music itself, joined by a revolving door of sycophants and lackeys, Pete formed his new outfit Babyshambles which is, much like the band's title, awful. For a time, it seemed as though Babyshambles were taking their gaudy pantomime busking on the road every night - only making headline news when Pete decided to turn up. On such rare occasions, Pete was always front, centre and usually horizontal as his part Artful Dodger / part Norman Wisdom schtick often rendered him incoherent and lacking in necessary motor skills.
During these times Barat maintained a low profile and a dignified silence; only occasionally speaking out to voice concern and love for his former charge. The overiding feeling was that Barat was merely biting his tongue, sensing Doherty's self-destructive nature would do all the talking for him, patiently waiting to have his say. That time is now.
Dirty Pretty Things are essentially a Doherty-less Libertines - the Lib's former drummer Gary Powell, Doherty's Libertine replacement Anthony Rossomando and former Cooper Temple Clause bassist Didz Hammond making up the numbers. And without Doherty, bang goes the ghoulish romantic drug allure and all attendant drama. In its place, however, is a leaner, hungrier, angrier outfit. On this debut there is an eagerness and an energy that was sadly lacking in the Libertines as evident in the tightly wound stomp of
Doctors And Dealers to the notice being served in
Deadwood that "
something's gonna change"; guitars jutting and fraying, torn from a ragged seam. Musically, in a few single strokes, rendering Doherty's Babyshambles very much the poorer relation.
First single,
Bang Bang You're Dead is the first graphic depiction of life without Pete: angrily spewing forth feelings that clearly have been stewing for an age. Charging like an amp'ed up singalong cousin of The Clash's The Right Profile, Barat brands his former partner-in-grime, "
I gave you a Midas touch / You turn round and scratch out my heart". The sense of betrayal and shattered loyalty that Barat felt during the break-up of his former band is immediate.
Lyrically, the romantic pining for a mythical, long forgotten - if it ever existed - England, which was at the Libertines' core, remains. Chasing the dreamland of Arcadia and Albion and their quainter, more refined societies colours much of the Dirty Pretty Things' world, and is best explored on
Gentry Cove. Elsewhere, the fizzing blitz of Gin And Milk laments a deterioration of modern Britain, "
No one gives a fuck about the values I would die for....give me something to die for" as Barat, the poor young soul, prefers to "
live in old movies". The danger with this approach, as evidenced with too many tracks on
Waterloo To Anywhere, is that the songs become a catalogue of stereotypical English colloquialisms and pop culture references: prefacing lines with a Bowie-esque, "
Oh!" and the not-very-subtle use of a gobby, "
Hold on!" to complete the cringeworthy cartoon.
Come the final third of the album and Dirty Pretty Things eventually run out of steam, and ideas.
If You Love A Woman aims for a lofty plateau somewhere between the rawness of Television and the looseness of Talking Heads, suceeding only at becoming a fractured mess.
You Fucking Love It, too, as the title might suggest, is the sound of a band trying too hard to shock - flashing and burning not very brightly, but mercifully briefly. A tiredness creeps into the music which is exemplified in the final track
Last of the Small Time Playboys - messy and floundering, quizzical lyrics search desperately for a musical peg to hang onto.
The over-riding feeling on DPT's debut is of a band playing on the back foot: vitriolic and defensive in equal measures the album almost becomes an exercise in self justification, which for a debut is a tricky starting point. There are cheap thrills aplenty, and the added muscle to the Libertines' spindly Oliver Twist rock is a welcome relief. However, the difference between the two models is that the Libertines - love 'em or hate 'em - offered no excuses, they wanted to be the last gang in town: two fingers to anyone who disagreed. And therein lies the problem with
Waterloo To Anywhere - like a wounded dog backed into a corner their retaliation is full of energy and bluster; the bark much better than the bite.
Source:
Twisted Ear
