Question: When did we stop worrying about Peter Doherty? Answer: 2014.
Since their permanent reformation eight years ago, we have been led to believe that The Libertines have arrived at the happy ending their soap opera demanded.
The narrative suggests that they’ve sailed on the Good Ship Albion to Margate, where they joyfully fill the days in their hotel with antics and capers, generally having a Jolly Old Time.
Or so we must presume, as we haven’t had a crotchet of new music in seven years. The tours are all well and good lads, but we did not have you down as a nostalgia act.
Yet it seems we’ve taken our eye off the bigger problems: Doherty’s disarming honesty was always one his redeeming features, and time has not weathered it as he reveals frankly (in the PR for this album) that he has been clean for just over two years.
Great news to be sure, and we wish him all the best in his continued quest, but that’s still relatively recent and merely serves to highlight the very nature of addiction: it’s an ever-present thing.
You Can’t Keep It From Me Forever, the best song on this new album, is Doherty distilled; one of the best things he’s put his name to (and there’s been many; his prolificity is another strength), it’s an incredibly catchy, upbeat indie pop song…about drugs.
‘Give me what I want, give me what I need’, he implores, confirming that the song was written during a period of self-described ‘white-knuckling’ and is about a subconscious yearning.
Sinister ballad The Monster (‘The monster adores me, stand and deliver, it felt so right’) tackles the same subject, Doherty refreshingly posturing that there’s reasons why he’s addicted, namely the pleasure it provides. It feels like a cliché to be discussing drugs so readily, but if Doherty does it then we must.
Fortunately, this splendid album doesn’t wallow on one subject, nor are the lyrics its most striking feature. In partnering with French composer and producer Frederic Lo, the erstwhile icon hasn’t sounded this inspired for years.
Lo complements Doherty with lavish, European production akin to Jacques Brel without smothering him in it, with the results being the logical conclusion to his finest ‘solo’ hour, 2004’s For Lovers.
Seemingly impressed, Doherty brings his A game as his softer tones on the title-track work well with the luscious strings and spaghetti-western solo. The gypsy, eastern-European guitars on The Glassblowers (an ode to Whitechapel) are a pleasant surprise, while the lesser-spotted influence of solo McCartney is apparent on Keeping Me On File, all country acoustics and warm melodies.
The Morricone-esque vibes and sweeping strings on The Epidemiologist ensure that it’s the best ever song about the determinants and patterns of disease conditions, and proves he hasn’t lost his knack for a turn of phrase (‘the best laid plans can oft go to fuckery’).
Doherty also covers the songwriting process on Rock & Roll Alchemy, which features his trademark off-key vocal when he reaches for a high note. Yes I Wear A Mask is ostensibly about the pandemic on one level, and confirms that doing so went against his libertarian instincts.
On Far From The Madding Crowd he bemoans the consequences of lockdown (‘where am I supposed to sing my song?’) accompanied by a mournful piano (although minus points for trying to rhyme ‘bar’ and ‘festival’, unsuccessfully). Lastly, Abe Wassenstein is a moving paean to a fallen comrade, but elsewhere there is much whimsy and positivity.
As ever with Peter Doherty there is darkness and light, as there is in life itself. This classy collection of songs finds him more relaxed and cogent than ever and is an excellent reminder of his God-given talent.
Until Carl, Gary and John can match his workload, The Fantasy Life Of Poetry & Crime will do just fine.
