It’s the gig we didn’t think we’d ever see, but The Libertines are back in full force tonight in Manchester.
In true style, it gets off to a disorderly start, queuing in the university union corridors waiting for them to let us in, more than an hour after doors were meant to open. One reveller patiently waiting in line argues of the band with a tumultuous past: "It’s the chaos we should expect,” to which one avid fan quips: “This is the most organised Libertines gig I’ve been to.”
We’re promised a sold-out acoustic gig, but already there is talk of disbelief, with fans unconvinced given their cemented reputation of rebellion. And they’re right to have their suspicions as it doesn't go to plan.
More than 20 years after bursting onto the Noughties indie rock scene, the foursome - frontmen Pete Doherty and Carl Barât, accompanied by John Hassall on bass and Gary Powell on drums - stroll out on stage to a rowdy crowd rearing to go and plug in their instruments.
It’s far from a stripped-back gig, as What A Waster blasted up to full volume blares out. Strumming his electric guitar, Pete cheekily breaks his silence with: “Was this supposed to be acoustic?” Though he looks vastly different from when I last saw them perform, now in his mid-forties with a larger frame after quitting drugs, he’s still full of intrigue, sporting his signature trilby.
Carl, oozing coolness in a leather jacket and shades, takes the lead with the first few songs, with Pete at points looking worryingly subdued. But after swapping their accessories, there seems to be a switch flipped in Pete, and he’s bounced back to take the reign with mesmerising vocals for Merry Old England. Seeing them together again, leaning in to share the mic, is heartwarming to watch.
United by their love of poetry, the two created enduring and unforgettable tracks together in the early 2000s after dropping out of uni, such as What Became of the Likely Lads and Can’t Stand Me Now. Despite their solid songs, they were one of the most unpredictable groups of their era. As much as their music was praised, topping the UK charts, the band became renowned for their tensions, with addict Pete and troubled Carl sharing one of the industry’s most turbulent relationships.
Pete fuelled a notorious reputation as a rock ‘n’ roll poster boy, often papped on benders, with his prolific drug use laid bare in the press. His self-destruction wreaked havoc, with conflict rife among the group before eventually imploding in 2004 during the making of their self-titled album.
Yet despite their differences, the two were so connected they knew they couldn’t truly be apart for long. They buried the hatched in 2010 and have now released their fourth album in 22 years - All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade - in a fourth chapter confirming their stability after years of volatility.
Just a day after the release, the new material is being lapped up by the energetic crowd just as much as the heyday classics, with revellers singing back Run Run Run and punching their arms in the air to Shiver, and the same goes for fans reminiscing their youth screaming out to What Katie Did and Music When the Lights Go Out.
On brand, their new songs are poignant, referencing war and trauma. Decades have gone by but their sound is just as captivating, and sweaty gig-goers to the front can’t help but descend into uncontrollable mosh pits on several occasions.
In a natural turn of events, the set gets political, as ‘F*ck the Tories’ is being chanted before we’re treated to an impressive drumming solo. Referencing their journey, Gary comes forward to tell the crowd: “Who f**king knew? Thank you guys for coming out and supporting Libertines. It’s a party tonight because we’re here for you. Love you guys. Free Palestine.”
Of course the crowd, who had been chanting ‘f*ck acoustic,’ aren't budging and want more with an encore after an epic performance of Time for Heroes. They couldn’t leave without giving us what we wanted, and eccentric Pete, who is hard not to love, parts with some typical lasting words before they deliver the last hit song of the memorable night: “Drink full-fat milk, don’t vote Tory, and don’t look back into the suuuuuuun.”
The final note is the electrifying feedback ringing from their guitars engulfing the Club basement, as they line the stage and proudly bow in synchrony. The talented band has found their voice again and stands united, this time around as older, wiser, paying homage to their legacy. They’re not looking back, they’re looking forward after standing the test of time.
