THE LIBERTINES
s/t
Rough Trade
· Sophomore effort from the British band more famous for its crack-addled guitarist than its songs.
There haven’t been many bands that have engendered the early-’90s new-Britannia style fervour since it screeched to a halt when one of the Gallaghers married a model and Damon Albarn abandoned the U.K. for Iceland and a cartoon hip hop project. The Libertines, however, are one of those bands. In keeping with the British tabloid-ready formula, the quartet have turned one album, a handful of singles, piles of controversy and the occasional public meltdown into more hype than The Darkness can shake their mic stand at.
Needless to say that the pressure to live up to expectations on their sophomore album must have been huge, and the fact that guitarist Pete Doherty was, um, misbehaving (read: ditching rehab time and time again to continue his romance with the crack pipe) makes it a miracle that The Libertines was recorded at all. Even more astonishing is the fact the album is actually pretty good. Marrying American indie rock with British pop conventions is nothing new, but it hasn’t sounded this refreshing in a long time. Reminiscent of early-’90s also-rans Sportsguitar and at times treading dangerously close to Pavement territory, the Libertines move from fired-up late-’70s power pop to Kinks-esque mod rave-ups and even (on "What Katie Day") a garage-band take on doo-wop. While the group will never win awards for proficiency with their instruments, and the album’s production is surprisingly lo-fi, it all works. It won’t translate for most on this side of the pond, to be sure – don’t expect to hear them on any mainstream North American radio stations– but The Libertines have created an album that feels both utterly effortless and instantly charming.
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