Heather Phares, All Music Guide

The British press seems eager to add the Libertines to the canon of great British bands as soon as possible. Not just because their music carries on the traditions of previous greats from the Beatles to the Clash, or because of their involvement with already-legendary figures like Alan McGee, Mick Jones, and Geoff Travis, or because their peers in the British music scene just weren't as interesting to cover, but because the band's future always teeters between dazzling and dangerously uncertain. At the very least, they're guaranteed a spot in the history books as one of the most volatile bands ever to come out of the U.K. McGee, who has dealt with such notoriously difficult personalities as Oasis' pugnacious Gallagher brothers and My Bloody Valentine's hyperperfectionistic genius Kevin Shields, has called the Libertines "the most extreme band I've worked with." Co-frontman Pete Doherty's stints in and out of rehab, jail, and the band itself lend the Libertines an unpredictability that's both brilliant and frustrating. The Libertines' self-titled second album — which was released when Doherty was out of the band, awaiting trial after pleading guilty to possession of an offensive weapon, a switchblade he picked up after fleeing rehab in a Buddhist monastery in Thailand — ends up being frustratingly brilliant: it's not a pathetic last gasp from a band crumbling under the weight of its troubles, but it's not entirely a rallying, rousing cry in the face of these problems, either. Yet, considering how shaky Doherty's own existence, much less the Libertines', often seems, it's more than a little remarkable that as much of this album works as it does. Both Doherty and Carl Barat have grown as songwriters since Up the Bracket, and this album's best songs use Doherty's problems and the duo's strained camaraderie as fodder. On "Campaign of Hate," the single "Can't Stand Me Now," and "What Became of the Likely Lads?" they find common ground and sardonic fun in being inelegantly wasted: "Blood runs thick/We're thick as thieves." But most of The Libertines' strongest moments aren't necessarily its catchiest ones; rave-ups like "The Narcissist," a putdown of the "professionally trendy," and "Arbeit Macht Frei" fall flat, and "Don't Be Shy" is a draggy mess made more uncomfortable by Doherty's stumbling, burned-out vocals. However, when the Libertines don't pretend that the party is still going on and give in to their collective hangover, the album really takes shape. Interestingly enough, the band's darkest moments shine the brightest, and The Libertines' most ambitious songs seem to have been the easiest for them to pull off. "Last Post on the Bugle," "The Man Who Would Be King," and "The Saga" have a martial intensity and plenty of angry, self-aware lyrics ("You dig my bed/I dig my grave"), but these songs, "Tomblands," and "Road to Ruin" still feel more effortless than the album's stabs at lightheartedness. Ever since their first single, "What a Waster," the Libertines' experience has been about life imitating art imitating life, and The Libertines is an accurate, sometimes uncomfortable reflection of the band at this point: more scattered and unstable than they were on Up the Bracket, but also more ambitious and more interesting. If they can somehow hold themselves together without losing the tension that gives them their spark, the Libertines might prove that the people who called them "the most important band of their generation" weren't being hasty after all.

Louis Pattison, Amazon.com

Rock'n'roll can pretty much burn off pure mythology alone, but what happens when the soap opera of drug abuse and broken friendships threatens to overwhelm the music? That's the problem the Libertines' eponymous second LP must face up to--and while it sometimes struggles to live up to the magic of its predecessor, 2002's Up the Bracket, it's still peppered with enough inspiration to explain why people still care about this band. Co-frontmen Carl Barat and Pete Doherty tackle their problems head on with the opening "Can't Stand Me Now," an anthemic, harmonica-accompanied number with echoes of the Cure's "Lovecats," that sees Barat sum up The Libertines' troubled history in the album's most quotable line: "The boy kicked out at the world/ The world kicked back a lot f***ing harder." Further rollicking moments come on the Barat-sung "Narcissist" and knockabout closer "What Became of the Likely Lads?" But there's some workmanlike moments, and almost inevitably, they feature Pete at the helm: see the hoarse, off-key "Don't Be Shy." All told, a merely good record. If the Libertines truly want a place in rock history, they'll have to prove they have the discipline to channel their undeniable inspiration.

From the Label
In the late nineties in the East London squat scene, two troubadours and dreamers Peter Doherty and Carl Barat met and bonded over music and a common romanticism. They resolved to form a band with a name that reflected their attitude: a libertine is someone who is unrestrained by convention or morality. The Libertines are born.

Their songs have become anthems: "What a Waster", "I Get Along", "Up the Bracket", "Boys in the Band", "Time for Heroes" and "Don't Look Back into the Sun". They sing and play and live this life that sits in the previously unexplored point halfway between the urban assault of The Clash and the arch romanticism of The Smiths. The new album is produced by Mick Jones and engineered by Bill Price (who worked on London’s Calling, and with Guns n’ Roses).

David Sprague, Barnes & Noble

The Libertines' self-titled sophomore disc comes at a career juncture that -- if one wanted to be polite -- might be considered "interesting," what with co-frontman Pete Doherty splitting his time between rehab stints and burglary busts (including one for breaking into bandmate Carl Barat's apartment). While that sort of chaos could have derailed the band's music, it actually seems to have given an added urgency, particularly on boozily barreling sing-alongs like "What Became of the Likely Lads" and the Kinks-worthy "When the Lights Go Out." Doherty plays the wounded tough guy role to the hilt, coming across as a neo–Marlon Brando character on the shifty, harmony-laden "Can't Stand Me Now," while Barat drapes himself in soulful seeker threads, most effectively on the surprisingly breezy "What Katie Did." There are hints that the band is looking to break out of its role as the brawling, bawling successor to Oasis, especially on the disjointed-but-riveting "Last Post on the Bugle," which fuses a handful of disparate parts into a mini-suite of sorts. But more than anything else, The Libertines serves notice that, warts and all, the band is set to hang together for the long haul -- and the pop world is all the better for that.

Nick Reynolds, BBC

This is a very sad album. It's like listening to two people you love arguing in the next room. The Libertines, Britain's best new band, fall apart in front of your ears.

"Can't Stand Me Now" is a great start and a perfect example of why they were so refreshing. Carl Barat and Pete Doherty were a classic song writing team, whose contrasting styles (and voices) complemented each other brilliantly. Tracks like the exhilarating thrash punk of "Arbeit Macht Frei" and the astute social observation of "Campaign Of Hate" shows just how much we need them. They deserve an award just for keeping the English language alive. When did you last hear the phrase 'the cut of my jib' in a song?

The music is much the same as the first album: raw, scratchy, bare bones guitar and a hyperactive rhythm section. The Clash's Mick Jones doesn't really produce, he just records what's there. It's all about the songs, the strength of the tunes and their unique vision of British life.

Pete Doherty's personal difficulties have been well documented. He sounds like a man who knows something's wrong but is struggling to put it right. His vocal on "Don't Be Shy" is loose and incoherent. Like three or four other songs, it rambles and grinds to a halt, as though it hasn't been finished properly. Pete lashes out angrily on "The Saga" at the vultures feeding on his situation and denies he has any problems. It's a fantastic song, but he does have problems.

Carl obviously cares deeply for his best friend. But by the end of the album you feel he has given up. The final track, "What Became Of The Likely Lads?", is heartbreaking. Carl gently chides Pete one more time, they reflect on their shared dreams and wonder how it all went wrong. There doesn't seem to be any way back.

This is a compelling, voyeuristic listen. It's almost a classic album. But what a terrible waste of a great band.

Recording information: Metropolis Studios, London, England.

Hailed as England's answer to the Strokes, the Libertines do tread the same garage-y punk-pop path as their American brethren. Fuzzed-out guitars, ragged rock rhythms, and radiant hooks abound on their self-titled sophomore effort, as on their debut, UP THE BRACKET. But while the Stooges and NUGGETS-style raunch can be heard, it is the influence of native ancestors that distinguishes the band's music. Traces of the Kinks, and early Beatles and Rolling Stones can be heard ("Don't Be Shy"), as well as cheeky '50s throwbacks ("What Katie Did"), lager-fueled pub rockers ("Tomblands"), and arch social satire ("The Man Who Would Be King") Another key to the Libertines' success is their use of dynamics. While THE LIBERTINES rocks, it does so in a low-key, understated way. "Music When the Lights Go Out," driven by acoustic guitar, alternates dreamy, ambling verses with a punchy refrain. The minor-key rocker "Last Post on the Bugle" is so gently melodic that its edge seems incidental. There are exceptions, of course, as on the old-school punk thrash of "Arbeit Macht Frei." Appealing and familiar, yet freshly presented, THE LIBERTINES is a very strong entry in the garage revival of the early 2000s.

Jesse Fahnestock, Ink Blot Magazine

It is the curse of the perpetually young to mistake romance for love. Like eternal teenagers, The Libertines wax lyrical about love: for their music, for each other, for their fans. But while they've spun the most romantic tale in recent pop history, it might be worth asking their long-suffering rhythm section, or the fans forced to watch the shorthanded band onstage, how loved they feel. You suspect grown-up concepts of love remain slightly out of reach.

If it's romance you're looking for, though, look no further than The Libertines, a captivating, dramatic, deeply flawed collection of unresolved love letters between one hopeless romantic (Carl Barat) and his estranged but still significant other (Peter Doherty). Like all teenage romances, The Libertines is a mess: rushed, unfinished, and blighted by half-hearted performances masquerading as tear-stained (and/or drug-addled) laments. It is also, in its open-curtain, raw-nerved, emotional transparency, the most compelling soap opera ever put to tape, and I can't put it down.

All of which would make The Libertines the musical equivalent of reality television if it weren't for their precocious lyricism and musical nous. If Jack White is a 60-year-old soul writing a teenager's diary, Barat and Doherty's adolescent hearts power a remarkably mature songwriting team. The Libertines is filled with the kind of couplets that cry out for quoting … but that seem to lose their power when removed from their melodic context. And that's the mark of a great lyric: when the impact of what is being sung is completely integrated into how it's being sung. Even now, in the pomp of their disintegration, Barat and Doherty have delivered a handful of songs worthy of pop's greatest writers.

They've also delivered a few stinkers. "Road to Ruin" and "The Saga" are over-literal turns that abandon lyricism for therapist-speak, and the results are deadly dull. "Narcissist" sports a duff tune to match its cringeworthy lyric, and should have been left on a demo cassette somewhere. Much better are goofy set-pieces like "What Katie Did" (psychedelic doo-wop), "Don't Be Shy" (hysterically off-key new-wave funk), and "Campaign of Hate" (hand-cranked punk-boogie). The Libs can be a terrifically original band in their element, sloppy riffing and wayward vocals swinging from the scaffolding of their short-attention-span arrangements.

Mick Jones' ever-minimalist production means the performances aren't just warts'n'all, they're pretty much all warts. If you thought Up the Bracket was rough … lower your expectations. Maybe Jones was trying to capture spontaneity - but given that he could only get Barat and Doherty in the same room for seven days (and only then with bodyguards present), you suspect extra takes were not an option.

Small beer though, for an album with cornerstones as solid as this one. "Can't Stand Me Now" is the first, its impassioned parley set atop heart-rending chord changes. It's the best dramatic overture in the history of punk rock, and it's the point where dispassionate criticism leaves the building. From here on this is a page-turner.

"The Man Who Would Be King," throws Barat and Doherty into a doomy, frantic sea shanty as they turn their backs to each other and gripe into the gloaming. The bitterness turns plaintive on the gorgeous "Music When the Lights Go Out," probably The Libertines' finest song to date: direct, emotive, and timelessly romantic. Apparently written largely by Barat but sung by Doherty, it's the song you're most likely to come back to when their tale has grown old.

Those who like to read the last page first should skip ahead to final track "What Became of the Likely Lads?" The lyric chronicles their story's end, but the melancholy melody and boisterous arrangement betray The Libertines' continued joy in telling it. Most poignant are Doherty's turns at the mic - his voice sounds paper-thin, pipe-scorched, and you wonder if he could have managed even one more take.

Like any pulp fiction, you'll come back to the best bits again and again. Frankly, they had me hooked at the cover. Shot after the "Freedom Gig" in 2003 (celebrating Doherty's release from prison for burgling Barat's flat!), it's a touched-up closeup of Barat and Doherty showing off their homemade 'Libertine' tattoos, Barat pouting for the lens, Doherty shrinking coquettishly from it. They look like they were just caught mid-kiss, which they might well have been. It is, frankly, enough to make a heterosexual male ask some hard questions of himself.

And that's the magic of The Libertines. It really isn't just about the music, and thank God for that. Theirs is a beautiful, ridiculous, twisted, dangerous, utterly fabricated world, the kind of total escape that pop music throws up all too infrequently. It may not be love, but it's a great romance, and what a job they've done with the soundtrack.

Darryl Sterdan, Jam! Music

Punchups, breakups, breakins and breakdowns. Rehab, reformation, relapse and resurrection.

It would, quite frankly, be impossible for London's Libertines to write songs that were half as riveting as the endless slo-mo car wreck of their life and career. But damned if these trouble-plagued post-punks don't give it their best shot on their self-titled sophomore disc, though -- and damned if they don't succeed now and then too.

The whole Clash-meets-Smiths vibe of their 2002 debut Up the Bracket is still in effect here, thanks in no small part to the return of former Clash guitarist Mick Jones in the producer's chair.

Clearly more intent on preserving the raw immediacy and ragged honesty of these performances than creating a slick studio album, Jonesy replicates the anything-goes spontaneity of London Calling on this 40-minute disc.

That crackling energy reaches its zenith on autobiographical cuts like The Man Who Would be King, What Became of the Likely Boys and Can't Stand Me Now, which rehashes frontman Pete Doherty's death-wish lifestyle.

Like Doherty himself -- and indeed, like most truly worthwhile art -- the best of these 14 cuts teeter on the razor's edge between transcendent brilliance and inevitable self-destruction.

If that's not riveting enough for you, nothing is.

Anthony Thornton, New Musical Express

In the summer of 2004, as the greatest British renaissance of music for over a decade gathers pace, two upstart bands have reached the attention of the broader public. There’s the slick tunefulness of Franz Ferdinand and the intoxicating grimy anthems of The Libertines, stripy shirts versus military jackets, ‘Take Me Out’ versus ‘Take Pete Out Of The Band’. It was The Libertines who first rode to the rescue of British music in 2002, but it’s Franz Ferdinand who’ve sold the most records.

While Franz have the sharp dress sense, precise tunes and broadsheet endorsement of an early Beatles, The Libertines have all the passion and unpredictability of young Rolling Stones. And, like The Beatles and Stonesin the ’60s, it is the very fact that these bands exist at the same time that is so exciting. When push comes to shove, these are bands which seize the imagination and change lives.

It’s two years since ‘Up The Bracket’ launched Peter, Carl, John and Gary, spewing crazy tales of Albion and Arcadia to
a bemused and baffled public. NME put them on the cover before their first single had even been released (and The Libertines have returned the compliment, using one of our shots on the sleeve of‘The Libertines’). Excuse us for gloating but it’s important to note how many other people didn’t get it. Some critics worried that it might be a scam, rather than recognising a band who were the rough and ready offspring of The Smiths (the lyrical genius), The Clash (the anthemic punk) and the Small Faces (the chaotic charm).

Of course, two years on, the ‘scam’ accusation is totally irrelevant. From split to burglary, prison to reconciliation, facial injuries to estrangement, even the most ardent doubters could see they were for real. The only problem was the danger the drama would overshadow the music, but, for a band like the Libs, the two are bound together inextricably.

With more dirty linen than Polyphonic Spree after Glastonbury, you’d expect the Libs to do the British thing and bury their feelings. But ‘The Libertines’ has an honesty more in common with the confrontational/confessional traits of hip-hop than rock. Even when there are obvious porkies, you get the feeling they’re told more for Pete’n’ Carl’s own sake than ours. Soundwise, former The Clash man Mick Jones has produced a more polished and satisfying album. There’s a spontaneity to ‘The Libertines’ other bands spend years trying to craft. Comments, mumbles, ad hoc exclamations and the occasional bum note are all left on tape, from the mumbled "I’m so so alone" on ‘Last Post On The Bugle’ to the yells of "Mugs!" and "Oh my god!" on‘Campaign Of Hate’.

So what you have here is the most agonisingly voyeuristic listening experience in rock, ever. It’s also some of the most exhilarating and brilliant rock’n’roll of the past 20 years, destined to be glued to discerning CD-players everywhere from council estates to country estates.

It starts with a premature ending: the fading seconds of a previous take. It’s a deliciously appropriate metaphor for a band who’ve packed in more false endings than a bad horror movie. Then the nagging morse code riff of ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ introduces their finest single to date, Carl intoning: "An ending fitting for a start/You twist and tore our love apart". As exciting a start as ‘London Calling’ or‘The Queen Is Dead’, it immediately puts them on the same level as their heroes. For a band that’s busy breaking apart, they’re vocally closer on this album than ever before. Phrases are tossed between the two frontmen like Premiership footballers playing keepie-up.

Like its predecessor, this album is obsessed with dreams and fantasy. But where ‘Up The Bracket’ was English lawns, gin in teacups and the Beano, this time round the real world keeps intruding in all its gory glory. During the brittle and honest‘The Saga’, the careering new-wave clatter pauses and Pete mutters, with a junkie’s sly self-delusion: "No, no, I ain’t got a problem. It’s you with a problem". In the rest of the song he appears to grasp the gravity of the situation ("When you lie to your friends/And you lie to your people/And you lie to yourself/And the truth’s too harsh to comprehend/You just pretend there isn’t a problem"). It’s suddenly obvious why bandmate Carl wouldn’t talk about this song for NME recently. Although you only have to wait a moment for Carl’s acerbic reply as the song segues straight into‘Road To Ruin’: "How can we/Make you understand/All you can be/Is written in your hand?"

‘Last Post On The Bugle’ started as a hymn to preserving love while miles apart. Now it dwells on Pete’s time in prison for the burglary ofCarl’s flat. The irony is there’s more than a little light-fingeredness in the writing of this desperate classic. The verse’s infectious melody and most of its lyrics are lifted from an obscure psychedelic classic, Masters Apprentices’ ‘War Or Hands Of Time’. A fact Pete felt the need to get it off his chest – "a simple act of theft" as he put it on www.thelibertines.org.

Closing track ‘What Became Of The Likely Lads’ is equally stunning. A companion piece to‘Can’t Stand Me Now’, it’s a plea for the old days when it was The Libertines against the world. It’s Carl, Pete, John and Gary, being upbeat in the face of doom. If the upper lips were any stiffer you could balance commemorative Chas and Di royal wedding plates on them.

Despite conflict being writ large over the album, the only actual fight occurred during the recording of‘Music When The Lights Go Out’, a beautiful acoustic strum. Elsewhere, the songs not explicitly dealing with Pete’n’ Carl’s relationship are even better.‘Campaign Of Hate’, ‘The Ha Ha Wall’ and ‘Narcissist’ are La’s-inspired Libland anthems superior to anything on the debut. Meanwhile ‘What Katie Did’ and ‘Don’t Be Shy’ display a new-found tenderness.

But it’s ‘The Man Who Would Be King’ that’s perhaps the album’s greatest achievement. Displaying the best "la la la"s since Morrissey first flexed his larynx for‘This Charming Man’, it then dissolves through a haze of trumpets into a waltz as deliciously hazy as The Stranglers’‘Golden Brown’.

‘The Libertines’ even manages a little social commentary. The 73-second punk thrash ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ (translation: ‘Work Liberates’) takes its title from the sign above the gates of the Auschwitz camp where millions of Jews were gassed. Ladling it on thickly, its payoff comes from a British soldier who fought the Nazis but doesn’t like "blacks or queers".

Finally, there’s‘France’, a fragile lament sung by a weezing Carl to a former French girlfriend. After the fighting, it’s a moment of beauty, like sunshine after a storm: a reminder of what The Libertines are. And what they could still be.

Whatever happens, this an extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime album, proving The Libertines are both the stuff of revolution and aesthetic princelings among the (very) lumpen indie proletariat. We won’t see their like again.

Eric Carr, Pitchfork Media, August 31st 2004

Call this grossly irresponsible if you must, but short of dying in a plane crash, nothing says "rock star" quite like a public drug freakout. I'm not saying drugs are right for everybody-- kids, stay away from crack unless you think you've got a pretty good shot at getting famous-- but through the years, drug addiction has consistently remained the ultimate in-style rockcessory of all fashion's fickle vicissitudes. For the layperson, addiction may be a tragic, often painful disease; for rock stars, it's simply bolsters "mystique." Alright, I'm teasing, you got me. Addiction is pretty terrific for everyone.

Nevertheless, plenty has been made of Libertines frontman Pete Doherty's battle with crack, and I was fully prepared to not say another word-- right up until I realized that The Libertines' self-titled follow-up to 2002's Up the Bracket was indeed all about them and the interior struggles caused by Doherty's very public addiction. It's all a glitzy mess with a fair share less charm than the debut, and whether The Libertines is a wreck by design, or simply reflects the still-fractured state of the band in recovery, no one can say. All that's clear is that, once again, in the fishbowl of celebrity, addiction is being spun into a PR coup, a thing to be pitied, laughed at, cried at, forgiven, and ultimately used as just another excuse-- mostly for why this isn't a better album. The woes of drug use arise here at intervals, concluding with the romantic lament, "What became of the likely lads?/ What became of the dreams they had?" They signed with Sanctuary and released a slapdash second album; are you guys kidding me?

Considering the great heights this album occasionally reaches, it's a bit of a left-handed compliment to level the lone criticism that it seems hopelessly tossed-off. It's brilliant at points, exhibiting the casual, grimy grace that laced Up the Bracket through English countryside benders, sing-alongs, and pub anthems, but evidently, The Libertines are creatures of excess, and even a good thing can be overdone. Bands pull off "accidental genius" with more frequency than anyone has a right to expect-- Pavement founded an empire based on it-- but even if The Libertines are more hits than misses here, it still takes a little more than slurred speech and sloppy guitars to drive this act home.

Instead of lending the skiffling, slightly skewed rhythms a special air of irreverence, or making the occasionally off-key barbershop caterwaul sound a little sweeter, as on Up the Bracket, The Libertines' half-assed effort here produces half-assed results. Insouciance paid dividends for them in 2002 as they thumbed their noses at rock, dub, folk, and every other genre in arm's reach, but if you can possibly imagine it, that shambling style-blender was actually tighter then, both in terms of songwriting and cohesiveness.

The only issue here is one of investment (or possibly a calculated lack thereof), since little seems to have outwardly changed, except perhaps Doherty's singing. To his credit, his vocal resemblance to Julian Casablancas is downplayed, as he instead opts to rely on his considerable natural vocal character over needless imitation, but with that, so goes the one polished instrument The Libertines had at their disposal. Carl Barât still has a stranglehold on Joe Strummer's uber-Cockney accent, and puts it to good use in the rowdy, fuck-all fashion that's expected, if sometimes too effectively (see: the staggering, raucously incoherent rant of "Don't Be Shy"); but when Doherty goes on to slosh his own path through the impossibly English "Narcissist" ("Wouldn't it be nice to be Dorian Gray/ Just for a day?"-- that's Oscar Freakin' Wilde, folks), the vocal contrast between the two becomes conspicuous in its absence.

But what the hell, even "Narcissist" is still a riot. The worst that can ever be said of this album is that if it suffers from an excess of half-formed ideas, or a lack of effort (even if a little extra elbow grease could've made some otherwise marginal songs much, much better), it's because they're too busy having fun, asshole. The one thing The Libertines excel at without qualification is pure entertainment; they may not be masters of any of the styles they crazily flirt with, or even possibly talented enough to produce the craftsmanship this album begs for at points, but they string genres together so readily and wildly that it's tempting to allow one's self to be swept away in barrage and just have a great time in the face of other shortcomings. You're just lucky that someone was diligent enough to resist all the fun this album promises and point them out for you; if not, you might hear the quiet call-and-response of "Can't Stand Me Now" or the infectious groove-stomp of "Campaign of Hate" or any of the myriad other relentlessly enjoyable moments on this album and forget that The Libertines aren't trying very hard. Boo.

Okay, you caught me, I'm kidding; The Libertines is a charge. But it does still seem unfortunate that The Libertines don't more frequently reach the heights at which their music frequently hints here: The echoing chords and free-form trumpet of the sprawling sea shanty "The Man Who Would Be King" best exemplify The Libertines' lack of stylistic allegiance. Barely more than a string of "la-la-la"'s and a chorus, the lightning riffs and hollow, dramatic spaces still kick sand in the faces of the rest of the album cuts. The song is outdone only by the incomparable solo on "The Ha Ha Wall"-- indescribably brief, bright, evocative, and maybe the single finest moment The Libertines will ever lay to tape-- and "Music When the Lights Go Out", a genuinely sad, sweet tune with lots of cowbell and a chorus of earth-shaking majesty. These tracks show what might've been.

Instead, The Libertines settle for less because demanding more would've been harder. And lest we forget why this album was a necessary casualty, the obvious (and crass) snorting that opens "Last Post on the Bugle" is an unnecessary hint. Cocaine, crack, whatever-- whether their self-titled second album is a wreck on purpose or not, drugs are The Libertines' reason, and it's not a very good one.

John Robb, Play Louder, August 20th 2004

Mythology is the key to The Libertines. This is a tale of a strained friendship, the cracks in a classic core of two creative members and the messy overspill. It’s a tale of drugs and rock ‘n’ roll mess, it’s snippets from the frontline of British underground culture - late nights, dirty drugs, wild parties and great rock ‘n’ roll.

This is a second album that drips with everything great about kinetic, passionate tell it like it is rock ‘n’ roll. The Libertines have somehow revisited the 1977 punk rock canyon as well as all those classic British bands, that glorious lineage, coming up with something fresh and exciting. And they have managed to do this under the duress of key member Pete Doherty's tabloid hell…

The drugs have certainly clouded the issue here but there’s no getting away from it - Doherty’s descent into rock drug victim stains this record: it gives it a fragility, an edge, it gives it a grubby tension and danger. It’ll probably fuck with his creativity eventually, but so far he seems to be surviving all that. The true tragedy is that it’s probably all the Libertines will get remembered for when in fact they are genius songwriters who play nice-and-loose-and-ragged like a great rock ‘n’ roll band should.

Lets prey that the brown doesn't fuck up Doherty’s life anymore. He’s a tragic case getting kicked around by the courts and the tabloid press, and the last year of his life has been painful to watch. The ultimate victory would be to get clean, and get on with creating and making this a long term adventure. The very essence of rock ‘n’ roll is sex, not being blotted out on smack, and Doherty is far too talented to be lost this early. They may be trying to live the libertine lifestyle but rock ‘n’ roll also demands a vicious discipline.
Inevitably the troubled and fractured times around the band are dealt with on album opener and single ‘Can¹t Stand Me Now’ where they sing “cornered the boy kicked out at the world / the world kicked back a lot fucking harder” - it’s a couplet that perfectly captures Doherty’s current status.

The albums closing ‘What Became Of The Likely Lads’ bounces like Johnny Marr at his vibrant best and is another dash through Barat and Doherty’s fractured relationship and tainted idealism and also an indie club classic for the next 20 years.

The Libertines’ debut was seen as the UK’s answer to the Strokes, but they were already far ahead of that game; The Strokes music sounded a touch contrived, from a bunch of New York poshos pretending to be a rock ‘n’ roll band because they couldn’t get any acting work, whereas the Libertines have managed to capture the messy bedsit lives and inner city despondency and celebration that is modern UK. You can smell the stale air of a million bedsits in Blighty, the twinkling neons and 48 hour parties, the comedowns, the cheap thrills, the dirty sex and filthy drugs of the city that attracts us all like a magnet. They’re all in there.

This is a fragile, beautiful music, it all nearly falls apart and then flops back together. You’ve got to love the way the vocals don't quite match… harmonies sound like arguments - so real, so unforced, the guitars almost busked. There’s a gentleness and regret in songs like ‘Music When the Light Goes Out’ that collapse into the neo Kinks strut of ‘Narcissist’ which drips with Ray Davies socio put downs and humour.

The guitars are shards of sound, you can see why manager Alan McGee love them - its like an early Creation record but with added tuffness. The Libertines fit very firmly into a Brit tradition, Mick Jones of the Clash’s production mitts are all over this - you can hear echoes of his great guitar licks and idiosyncratic song arranging all over the album.

In fact the spectre of The Clash lurks everywhere on the record… that first album’s short sharp shocks as well as hints of Strummer’s slurred vocals. And Doherty’s dressing like Mick circa ‘London Calling’ in the band photo - all tailored suits and guitar case – it’s like the Mick pic in Pennie Smith’s fantastic Clash picture anthology.

The Smiths avowed Englishness, The Kinks’ as well… this is so damn English it bleeds red white and blue. It’s the band’s mythical album and its all set to fantastic songs that drip tunes and passion.

It’s the antithesis of crappy reality pop. It’s a victory for rock ‘n’ roll guitar romantics everywhere… and hopefully it won't be their last statement. A glorious burnout seems too cheap for a band this good.

Adrien Begrand, PopMatters, August 27th 2004

The Libertines are one of those bands who are impossible to hate when they're at their best, but are also a band so out of control, that all too often, they annoy you to no end with their endless parade of public screw-ups. It's like having a bright young relative you're really fond of, turn around and embarrass the family time and again. You want to put your arm around the kid because you love him so damn much, but at the same time, you want to chastise the little twit, punctuating each syllable with a mighty smack to the head, like an old mother: "Why! Do! You! Have! To! Be! So! Freakin'! Stupid???" The Libertines are a band so talented, yet so riddled with internal strife, that the mere thought of what these boys are capable of keeps you interested in their music, despite all the offstage drama. The thing is, though, time is running out, and will our patience start to wear thin?

If I were to go into great detail about the problems this band has endured over the past year and a half following the North American release of their very good debut album Up the Bracket, you might as well print it all up and title it Career Sabotage For Dummies. Basically, it all centers around the well-being of singer/guitarist/primary songwriter Pete Doherty, whose drug addiction has landed him in a whole heap of trouble: he was arrested for breaking into his bandmate's home, he has gone AWOL at numerous gigs, he's done rehab stints in London, Paris, and even Thailand, he was arrested again recently for carrying a knife through an airport... and that's only a fraction of the tabloid fodder he's been through. It seems we get a news story from the UK that speculates, "Is Pete in or out?" every few days.

Recorded right before Doherty's addiction forced him to leave the band, last summer's fantastic single "Don't Look Back Into the Sun" showed the world just how great The Libertines could be, sounding light years beyond the sloppiness of the first album, as the band channeled the exuberant '70s pop punk of The Only Ones so incredibly well, and so joyously, that greatness would be merely an inevitability. This should have been a watershed moment for the band, one that would bridge the gap between the drunken, slurred, charming mess of Up the Bracket and a more fully-realized, tighter, musically rich sophomore album. Instead, things went all to hell, and the high drama began.

Somehow, Doherty pulled himself together long enough to record a second album with his mates, and while that fact is a small miracle in itself, The Libertines, while showing some subtle improvements, has the band starting once again from square one. Only this time, instead of a bright young band eager to impress listeners, the new album is the sound of a band collapsing underneath the mighty weight of drug addiction. More often than not, albums by bands riddled with drug problems rarely make for an enjoyable listening experience, but despite the problems, despite the fact that the new album is, yet again, a half-assed effort, The Libertines is nonetheless a thoroughly fascinating one to hear.

Produced once again by former Clash guitarist Mick Jones, The Libertines is decidedly less raucous than Up the Bracket, with nowhere near as much distortion on the guitars, and an overall more restrained performance by the entire band. While the catchy, upbeat single "Can't Stand Me Now" is a quality tune, there's nothing here that comes close to matching something like "Up the Bracket" or "Don't Look Back Into the Sun". There is decidedly less filler, in contrast to Up the Bracket's forgettable "Radio America", "Tell the King", and "Begging", but you do get the odd dud, namely the goofy mess "Don't Be Shy", which has Doherty spouting incomprehensible, slurred lyrics, all out of tune, I might add. "Last Post on the Bugle", the frantic "Arbeit Macht Frei", and "Narcissist" revisit the sound of the first album, but the rhythm section of bassist John Hassall and drummer Gary Powell sounds greatly improved by a year's worth of touring, while "Music When the Lights Go Out" is a very lovely ballad that wavers into an upbeat chorus before settling back into the verses' mellow groove. Meanwhile, "What Katie Did" uses do wop vocals that are so ridiculously over the top, you can't help but crack a smile, as Doherty and Barat engage in a pair of whimsical (i.e. sloppy) solos as Hassall and Powell hold down the fort.

Gone is the terrific observational wit of such songs as "What a Waster", "Time For Heroes", "Death on the Stairs", and "I Get Along", as Doherty and co-frontman Carl Barat turn the focus inwards, getting much more personal. The strained relationship between Doherty and Barat over the past year is the primary focus, as the pair have it out for over 40 minutes. "Have we enough to keep it together/ Or do we just keep on pretending/ And hope our luck is never ending?" sings Doherty on "Can't Stand Me Now", beginning a dialogue that seems to center on the theme of their strained friendship, and to their credit, we hang on every word.

It's the final trifecta of "The Saga", Road to Ruin", and "What Became of the Likely Lads" that has the band coming closest to realizing their full potential. On "The Saga", he spits, "When you lie to your friends/ And you lie to your people/ And you lie to yourself/ And the truth's too harsh to comprehend/ You just pretend there isn't a problem." A moment later, he becomes remorseful, saying, "I am a pimp and a slave/ And in my bed you dig my bad/ I dig my grave/ And the truth's too harsh to comprehend." To which Doherty snidely retorts, "No, I ain't got a problem, it's you with the problem." "Road to Ruin" follows, and Barat sounds forlorn as he croons, "They drive me crazy, I'm climbing the walls/ So show me the way, the way to the stall/ Cos I'm so sick, so sick of it all," as the song concludes with the funereal strains of an organ.

The last, and best track, "What Became of the Likely Lads", grabs your heartstrings, and refuses to let go, as Barat and Doherty seem to reconcile. Barat sings in a quavering voice, "Please don't get me wrong/See I forgive you in a song," and Doherty whimsically quips, "They sold the rights to all the wrongs/ And when they knew you'd give me songs/ Welcome back, I said." The pair then go on to sing together optimistically, "Just blood runs thicker, oh, we're as thick as thieves," as Barat asks his pal, "If that's important to you," to which Doherty nods back, "It's important to me." If that weren't enough, Doherty adds, "Please don't get me wrong/ See I forgive you in a song/ We'll call The Likely Lads." Rarely do you hear a band wear their collective hearts on their sleeves like you do here, and the end result is both surprising and utterly charming. The bottom line is, these guys are best buds, and neither wants to see that friendship die.

The Libertines, problems and all, are still capable of charming listeners, but with Doherty still battling addiction, the future continues to look bleak for the band. Reviewing Up the Bracket a year and a half ago, I said, "You hope to death that The Libertines can just make it through the next year in one piece." Today, as Doherty continues to get himself in and out of trouble, and as Barat continues to soldier on dutifully, fronting the band without his best friend, you just wish that Doherty can make it through the next year alive. If Doherty could only straighten out his life for good... if only. The Libertines, like its predecessor, hints at greatness, but this time, it really feels like the beginning of the end. What a waster. What a fucking waster.

Salvatore Ciolfi, PopMatters, August 27th 2004

If you regularly read the English music press, you'll have noticed a couple of things about the Libertines. First of all, they get a lot of attention. Secondly, head Libertine Pete Doherty is one messed up kid. Struggling with addiction to various unconfirmed drugs, the young man's personal fight has met with almost daily coverage, and all of it reported with a sort of near glee. Doherty, in the meantime, has done little to abate the attention, checking in and out of rehab stints in Paris and Singapore and generally leaving his band mates in the unhappy position of defending him and his actions.

Of course, in North America the Libertines still exist as the UK's answer to the Strokes, or the Stripes, or whatever other retro styled band happened to be in the headlines when they emerged. And whether or not those comparisons are valid, no doubt Doherty's problems will be similarly shrugged off as just another cliché in the tired rehashing of "garage" bands.

Trouble is, he makes up a large part of this band's appeal. His, and by extension their, ability to be simultaneously busted up, loud, ugly, damaged, and yet touching and intelligently charged, is something no English band has managed since the Clash.

Maybe it helps that former Clash City Rocker Mick Jones has tripped over himself likening the Libertine pairing of Barat and Doherty to a modern version of himself and the late great Joe Strummer. Of course, as the duo's producer he might have some vested interests in their success. Either way, the similarities are apparent, even if Jones's presence is far from symbolic, with his production work a highlight here.

Sparse yet excitingly chaotic, Jones seems to have studied the Glyn Johns methodology; infusing the record with heaps of open warmth and a strangely familiar, comforting live feel. In this setting, the Libertines sound less like revisionists and more like improving classicist songwriters, pillaging when they feel like it, and yet never once sounding tired.

You can hear this overtly in songs like "What Katie Did", "Tomblands", and "Road to Ruin", with old school rock, psychedelics, and rockabilly dripping noticeably from every pore. Still, to say they only rehash the past doesn't do the overall poetry of it all justice, as there is something sincere about this release, an honesty that has escaped most of those other bands (with the possible exception of the White Stripes).

"Can't Stand Me Now" starts off the affair wonderfully with the blueprint for much of the rest, balancing the rough with dashes of playfulness (in this case a Billy Idol-like guitar riff in the chorus). A great lead single and better album opener, it's not as driven or snarling as the "What a Waster" single that preceded their debut, but "Can't Stand Me Now" is more mature and well-rounded.

The second song, "Last Post on the Bugle", continues this retro punk feel, with handclaps and a dynamite guitar riff... one a dirtier, rowdier Broken Social Scene might have toyed with.

"The Man Who Would Be King" is sweeping in its jazzy piano feel, but with some great dual guitar playing keeping the song aggressively rock based and punk fuelled, with a wonderfully echoing, ambient chorus thrown in for good measure. Combined with the lyrics, "And to the man who would be king / I would be say only one thing / La lalalala lalalala lalalal", the interplay of styles, ideas, and execution comes across as a moving indictment of authority, innocence, and helplessness. That the song also degenerates into a horn-led free fall only adds to this idea.

Followed by the acoustically-centred, haunting beauty of "Music When the Lights Go Out", quite possibly one of the best songs the band has ever recorded, the effect is indisputable. And when you hear the apologetic words, "I'll confess all my sins / After several large gins / And still I'll hide from you / Hide what's inside from you… / Won't you please forgive me / I no longer hear the music", you get the feeling you're in the presence of genius, and one you hope does not end prophetically in the old excesses of drug use.

"The Ha Ha Wall" is equally impressive in its straightforward intensity, the words "If you get tired of just hanging around / Pick up your guitar and spin a web of sound / And then you can be strung out all day / With lovers and clowns, now I found myself hanging around" spit out as both a plea for meaningful music and a reflective warning. Amazingly, and somehow almost always unpredictably, the song breaks brilliantly at its mid point to a sound that resembles a haunted children's nursery rhyme.

"Campaign of Hate" works off more wonderful guitar interplay, an exciting exchange reminiscent of the Clash's cover of "Police and Thieves", and overall the song is another fine, catchy rock number that sounds original and alive in its energy and performance, even if it really shouldn't. And surrounded by the aforementioned tunes, and the loud inspiring roar of "Arbeit Macht Frei" and "The Saga", this song, and the whole of The Libertines really, sounds like one focused attack bursting loudly with ideas.

All in all then, and scoring a point perhaps for the hyperbole of English journalists, there is not a weak moment on this album. Sadly though, none of that changes the reality or coverage of Pete Doherty's ongoing battle with addiction, nor his ability to survive it. Nonetheless, this release should at least make it impossible for us not to care.

Christian Hoard, Rolling Stone, September 16th 2004

In the seventeen months since London's Libertines released their awesomely shambolic debut, the drug addiction and legal troubles of singer-guitarist Pete Doherty have practically kept the British music press in business. Slightly less tuneful than its predecessor, The Libertines makes Doherty's dramas seem less a roadblock than a crucial ingredient; no band in recent history has better captured the vertiginous experience of falling apart and loving it. With Clash legend Mick Jones producing them again, Doherty and Carl Barat trade melodic slurring and mumbled choruses while propulsive guitar grooves take left turns and threaten to careen out of control. Tough and heart-rending, "Can't Stand Me Now" and "What Became of the Likely Lads" reach out to the drunken lout inside us all, and for "The Man Who Would Be King," Doherty has an answer worthy of his own quixotically fucked-up self: "La-la/La-la-la/La-la-la-la-la-la-la."

James Poletti, Launch Yahoo!, Wednesday September 8th 2004

So many of those who have doggedly followed the highs and the lows of this rock'n'roll tornado – waited hours for 'secret' gigs and acoustic shows in squats, trawled the net for half-finished musical doodles - have been heard begging the unconverted that, "it's all about the next album." So, why is it that a band, which, on the face of it, appears to be a pretty messy approximation of Brit punk colliding with the yearning lyricism of the indie tradition, is able to inspire this relentless belief?

It has to said, in recent months you'd have to be nigh on delusional to believe that this album was destined to be that oft-cited classic. Pete Doherty's increasingly troubling (but increasing nonetheless) public appearances have offered the spectacle of a dead man walking, singing just, but usually appearing to be carried through shows by his ever-vigilant co-frontman, Carl Barat. The writing was on wall when the band played the Rhythm Factory to celebrate the anniversary of their most active fan site, thelibertines.org. It seemed that Barat couldn't be doing much more to struggle through the new material with Doherty if he was actually guiding his bandmate's hand to the chords and leading him through the sheet music. Now it appears that the band – after Doherty's three failed attempts at rehab and countless appeals to the gutter press and world at large for attention – have decided that The Libertines isn't good for anyone.

As hard a conclusion as it is to reach, they've done the right thing. But, it's worth remembering that for the bystanders, even at its lowest, there have been a million reasons to believe in this so frequently magical band. Foremost amongst them is the utter sincerity of the music. A sonic honesty so rare in an age of focus group tested anthems, pre-polished for delivery to the supermarkets, that cynics have mistaken it for marketing guile. The truth is that, as desperately as they crave our attention, it's writing songs and playing them, recording them with all their filthy glory intact and the emotional detritus of their genesis strewn throughout every chord, that really matters.

There's also the timing. Not since Blur and Oasis fell foul of marketing warfare and creativity curtailing chemicals has UK music seen a band whose sheer energy is enough to bring the kids with guitars out of their bedrooms and onto the stage. And, with a few clear exceptions, it looks as though we'll be getting more than Menswear in the months to come.

What a shame then that this album proves to be little more than a "snapshot", as Barat himself has put it, of The Libertines' tremendous potential. Frequently Doherty's vocals are slurred and disconnected, his playing sloppier than ever. Resultantly, long gestating live favourite "Last Post On The Bugle" is rendered a disappointment, "Don't Be Shy" little more than a cute distraction, "The Ha Ha Wall" and "The Saga" both infuriatingly botched and already proving better in performance without his assistance. The record's triumphs are more straightforwardly energised tracks, the kind of thing they knock out so well onstage: "Tomblands", "Campaign Of Hate", "Road To Ruin" and, of course, "Can't Stand Me Now" and its endearing companion piece "What Became Of The Likely Lads".

The aging compositions "The Man Who Would Be King" and "Music When The Lights Go Out" - the latter dates back to the band's original demo - sit at the centre of the record and, in some ways, are illustrative of its frustrating compromise. They offer the clearest link back to the romance, lyricism and friendship that was at the heart of their debut. "The Man Who Would Be King" is particularly fine, surely the album highlight. But, those familiar with its original demo version glimpsed a more ephemeral and tender rendition that, arguably, captures the thin wild mercury sound that creeps into the best of Doherty's yearning song craft. Happily the ghost of that magic remains in this altogether more fully realised song.

But elswhere, everywhere you look on this record there is a sense of magic escaped, accompanied by the ever-tantalising presence of a great band just beneath the surface. It's not enough to say that "The Libertines" is a fascinating document of a band in meltdown, just look at the circus that surrounds Doherty if you want to find the audience that's licking its lips for that kind of thing. The shutdown of an individual and passing away of the music is what's wrong here. And how can we celebrate that when it's so obviously what ails the band upon which we'd pinned such high hopes?

© Frank Steven Groen