We were at the Beer Engine in Wigan. It was straight out of Phoenix Nights, as were the bouncers. Low-key was certainly the watchword for the evening.
White Sport were much more of a Libertines thing. The frontman
was dressed the same as Pete in straw hat, jeans and tracksuit top and began
their set with just an acoustic guitar. He sounded and played a lot like
Syd Barrett, which made a lot of sense when the rest of his band eventually
ambled on and began to sound like early Blur. The band were good, but
rather shambolic. This, however, had its charm considering the type of
music that they were making.
I turned against the next band, Towers of London, immediately because of their image. White vests, jeans, black jackets and poodle rock hair did not inspire me. They were, however, brilliant. A straight forward, in your face, kick*ass punk rock show. The singer had evidently been studying from the instruction manual put forward by Johnny Rotten, and he pulled it off very well, even mastering the stare from behind his girlie golden tresses as he disappeared up into the ceiling cavity that he'd punched through. The songs were the usual punk fair, with great shout-a-long choruses, all influenced heavily by the Pistols' debut, but played with a real ferocity and emotion, especially from the singer. His voyages into the crowd were also a sight to
behold, and the band responded well to the extreme love/hate divide in the
audience that resulted in at least two audience members and one band member
being thrown out by the hopelessly inexperienced security.
And yes, I had forgotten how to work the flash on my brand new digitial camera.
And what of Mr. Doherty himself? The DJ's choice of the Velvets' "Heroin"
shortly before the previous band had not been kind, but Pete seemed not to
notice. He informed us that he'd play a few "quiet" songs on his acoustic
before Babyshambles started providing backing. The quiet songs included
lots of the Babyshambles sessions, a few Libertines songs such as The Boy
Looked at Johnny and, eventually, For Lovers, with Wolfman coaxed onto the
stage for a few lines.
But what of the performance? Shambolic doesn't even begin to describe it. A
huge cluster of liggers and hangers on filled the back of the stage before
the crowd even began to invade. Pete's voice wasn't in particularly good
shape, and he looked - to be blunt - pretty unwell. Dark panda eyes and a
scabby chest and belly did not suit him well. He still looked better than
Wolfman who was, perhaps, trying to define the word 'louche' but ended up
describing the word 'smackhead' much better. He couldn't sing a note, and
didn't even seem to really try. His voice was truly appalling. Pete's was
generally fairly passable, but he clearly wasn't putting in as much effort
as he could - or has done, in the past, with the Libertines. He didn't seem
particularly happy to be on stage, not smiling much and looking generally
very drained with an air of melancholy around him. He seemed haunted.
Babyshambles were, indeed, a shambles. Enjoyably so, though. A youthful
guitarist and bassist and a rather hip looking girl on drums. They followed
his leads through a few more obscure Libertines songs, as well as a few of
the more well known Babyshambles tunes, as well as some dodgy covers - The
Coral, Moldy Peaches and even the Smiths all featured! It was much more an
event than a gig, and you really had to wonder if people were here for
Pete's music, Pete's personality or Pete's celebrity? It seemed largely to
be the latter.
We invaded the stage at the end. People had a lot of love to offer Mr.
Doherty, and everyone genuinely seemed to enjoy the gig. Whether this was
for the music or for the nature of the event can only be decided by those
there. I can't imagine many other eccentric performers who could have
gotten away with this. He reminded me of some washed up 60s legend treading
the boards one last time, playing badly but everyone still loving him
because of who he was and who he had been. It was a sad gig, but an
enjoyable one. I just hope that next time 'round he receives the plaudits
for what he can do rather than for what he has done.
Stephen Bray
The Suzukis (above), a vocals-guitar-bass-drum fourpiece opened
proceedings with an arrogant belief in themselves. They looked
disinterested, clutching pints and fags, sporting suedeheads and in clothes
designed for administering beatings. They had a heavy, venomous sound, a
million miles away from the thrashy punk/metal that you'd expect from their
(lack of) image. Their songs were rumbling, angry diatribes against the
world around them and the circumstances that they found themselves in. They
sounded like early punk, crossing the line into boot-boy territory at
points, and with more than a hint of a coherent, focussed Fall in their
music. The bass cut out during the first song which resulted in an
ear-bashing for the sound engineers and an even more heated atmosphere
being generated on stage. A warped anti-love song featured, before the
singer launched into a tirade against the venue as they launched into their
last song and left, to little applause from the people that couldn't and,
perhaps, didn't, want to 'get' them.
(l) Yes, that is how many people were on stage. (r) many slaps on the back for Pete afterwards