Northern Triad
Reflections on Carl's recent solo shows...
Northern Triad - Carl Barat and Kieran Leonard March 6,7,8
I need to say up front that I have a huge capacity for listening to Carl Barat play old Libertines songs. The pleasure in hearing those songs in that crooning, sometimes gravelly, always melodic voice; the delight in listening to those wonderful guitar sequences played so nimbly is an almost visceral experience. I confess that my reaction to hearing the solo to Time for Heroes is to want an instant replay. To ask Carl to play it again... and again, a fitting counterpoint to the numerous times audiences have ended up singing Carl’s guitar part to accompany Peter’s voice.
Since Carl announced he was going to have a go at a solo career following the demise of Dirty Pretty Things, UK audiences have eagerly awaited his first British shows, frustrated that his first proper performances alone happened in the United States.
Inevitably, the first UK dates were scheduled for out of the way locations, Wakefield and Stockton-on-Tees. Piggy-backed on singer-songwriter Kieran Leonard, a single night in Wakefield rapidly sold out, giving rise to a second gig at the Escobar, followed by a third at Ku Bar in Stockton. Little venues and hole-in-the-wall towns - these were a big deal, as attention from the NME and Carl’s self-proclaimed anxiety testified.
Escobar Friday night was heaving. Old home weekend for fans of Dirty Pretty Things and Libertines, familiar faces converged on the tiny space. We arrived late, having slogged our way up the M1 through Friday rush hour traffic, grateful for the 9pm door-time. We struggled to get to the bar, and managed to position ourselves a few rows back to one side. It was an extraordinary night. Kieran Leonard delivered his short set with an uncharacteristic ferocity, snarling his clever social commentaries and bitter relationship analysis with voice-cracking intensity interspersed with crowd banter.
Then Carl emerged, nerves visibly jangling, and played a set that verged on the chaotic. Full of charm, engagingly spontaneous (there was a set-list but seemingly it was unreadable), smattered with chat that only the most discerning members of the audience understood, the mumblings and lyrical fumbling balanced by beautiful vocals and effortlessly perfect guitar playing. Music When the Lights Go Out was a sentimental and fitting opener, Ballad of Grimaldi a delight, and Up the Bracket and Time for Heroes (complete with magic-lyric-jumble ‘ignorant trousers that bring this town down’) were a joy to hear. It didn’t matter that Carl failed to remember the lyrics to Man Who Would Be King, or that Seven Deadly Sins was aborted to something more like Five Sins. A smattering of Dirty Pretty Things songs felt right, and the combination of predictable (France, Can’t Stand Me Now) with complete wild card Bucket Shop added to the magic of the evening. Kieran joined Carl on guitar and harmonies for several songs and made a valiant, if somewhat ineffective contribution to I Get Along on the bass drum.
The crowd loved it. Unfortunately, with the size of the venue, a load of bouncing, moshing, crowd-surfing lads and nowhere to retreat, I and some others had to devote rather more attention to staying upright than I would have wished.
Saturday night had a different feel. An earlier start, and like Friday, there were several acoustic supports. Although both nights were sold out, Saturday was noticeably less sardine-like. Someone said that they’d been selling tickets at the door on Friday and ended up overselling. Certainly Friday had been crammed to the proverbial rafters. With a bit more room to breathe, and somewhat better positioning, I was able to devote my full attention to the show, despite a repeat of the previous night’s exuberant atmosphere.
Kieran’s performance was less frenetic, but the better for it, with a good selection of his material including both familiar and new. Jerusalem (sometimes called Whore’s Lament) and The King My Father remain amazingly powerful even after multiple hearings, and his new tribute to Harold Pinter, Redemption, is a welcome addition to the set.
Carl’s performance was much more ordered, the set list visible, enabling a smooth transition from song to song. He was more relaxed, and still chatted a lot, although unlike the previous night, when his ‘can you understand me?’ was met with whoops and cheeky comebacks, his question on Saturday, ‘can you understand me, I’m making a concerted effort’ failed to get a response, so it’s dubious how much of the chat was actually understood. The set was a variation of the previous night, omitting Bucket Shop, Seven Deadly Sins and Bloodthirsty Bastards, adding in Bang Bang. It was a good night, lacking some of the rambling charm of the previous evening, but for all that, it worked. He’d done it. Played the UK shows, and got the crowd bouncing, sweating and singing along.
The third night had a bit of a ‘tag end’ feel. Ku Bar seemed unable to determine in advance precisely what time the doors would open. Our tickets read half past eight, but we’d had an addendum letter telling us that the doors were to be at six with the show at half past. Others had tickets announcing doors at seven. The venue also seemed to be the proud possessor of not one, but two postcodes, and even the combined forces of Sean-the-Satnav and my iphone on Google-map didn’t save us from driving up, and down, and around Stockton in search of the bar. And we weren’t the only ones. The other three people we knew there had also spent unlikely amounts of time (given the size of Stockton) looking for Ku Bar. When we finally got there, ascertained that doors were at seven (even the bar staff seemed unsure), and were let in, the staff pointed us in the wrong direction and a group of us trouped into the venue where Kieran was sound checking. The price of drinks helped to soothe our ruffled feathers and we eventually made our way into the performance space - slightly bigger than Escobar, but not much. We listened to a couple of support acts, both lone performers with guitar, and then realised that sadly, Kieran wasn’t doing his own solo slot.
Carl’s set was plagued with technical problems that Mario and Kieran did their best to sort, but there was a lot of futzing about with leads, and guitars seemed not to make any sound each time Carl switched between acoustic and electric. More significantly, (and, perhaps in part as a result of the technical hitches) Carl didn’t seem to be as engaged with the audience or the performance. The chat was limited, he bashed his way through the set list without pause, and somehow, it was a bit flat. The crowd was nowhere near as rowdy as in Wakefield, and although there was a lot of singing along, there was less sweat and I came away without adding new bruises.
This show highlighted a tension that was evident, in hindsight, with the Saturday night gig also. The set list for Saturday and Sunday nights was dominated by the more rock and roll end of his back catalogue. Which is just fine. But somehow, with the twang of the red Mustang, and exaggerated by the very able accompaniment of Kieran, a lot of the performance was band-style rock ‘n’ roll -without the band. Which was a little bit weird. On Sunday night I walked away from the gig feeling that Carl had not so much done a solo show as a show without a bassist or drummer. He clearly enjoyed the frenzy of the Escobar, modifying his Saturday set to open with What a Waster rather than the acoustic Music When the Lights Go Out, and with a crowd that wanted to go mad, it worked. In Stockton, with a more sedate audience, the overall effect was less convincing.
We can only wait and see what he chooses to do next. Certainly there are a lot of people who’d happily pay to see Carl play as he did last weekend. And quite rightly. He has demonstrated beyond any doubt that he can carry the songs on his own. In the States, he stood alone on stage with one guitar - electric - and carried it off brilliantly. In Wakefield, he enriched the selection of songs and, particularly on the first night, managed to blend the acoustic troubadour with the rocker to brilliant effect. I can’t help thinking, though, if he wants to play more little solo shows of Libs and DPT material, then he might consider adapting the material to less of a rock and roll style, or if he wants to play rock and roll, get more people to play with him.
There is something cosmically amazing about seeing Carl play the Libertines material. It’s as if something has come full circle. And it’s fantastic to hear those songs played as they should be... beautifully. But it’s a huge back catalogue to plunder, and if playing it is something he wants to do more, I hope that he’ll select eclectically, as he did on Friday, and not stick to the territory where he clearly feels safe.
All that said, I still want him to repeat the guitar solo from Time for Heroes at least twice every time I hear it.
Northern Triad - Carl Barat and Kieran Leonard March 6,7,8
I need to say up front that I have a huge capacity for listening to Carl Barat play old Libertines songs. The pleasure in hearing those songs in that crooning, sometimes gravelly, always melodic voice; the delight in listening to those wonderful guitar sequences played so nimbly is an almost visceral experience. I confess that my reaction to hearing the solo to Time for Heroes is to want an instant replay. To ask Carl to play it again... and again, a fitting counterpoint to the numerous times audiences have ended up singing Carl’s guitar part to accompany Peter’s voice.
Since Carl announced he was going to have a go at a solo career following the demise of Dirty Pretty Things, UK audiences have eagerly awaited his first British shows, frustrated that his first proper performances alone happened in the United States.
Inevitably, the first UK dates were scheduled for out of the way locations, Wakefield and Stockton-on-Tees. Piggy-backed on singer-songwriter Kieran Leonard, a single night in Wakefield rapidly sold out, giving rise to a second gig at the Escobar, followed by a third at Ku Bar in Stockton. Little venues and hole-in-the-wall towns - these were a big deal, as attention from the NME and Carl’s self-proclaimed anxiety testified.
Escobar Friday night was heaving. Old home weekend for fans of Dirty Pretty Things and Libertines, familiar faces converged on the tiny space. We arrived late, having slogged our way up the M1 through Friday rush hour traffic, grateful for the 9pm door-time. We struggled to get to the bar, and managed to position ourselves a few rows back to one side. It was an extraordinary night. Kieran Leonard delivered his short set with an uncharacteristic ferocity, snarling his clever social commentaries and bitter relationship analysis with voice-cracking intensity interspersed with crowd banter.
Then Carl emerged, nerves visibly jangling, and played a set that verged on the chaotic. Full of charm, engagingly spontaneous (there was a set-list but seemingly it was unreadable), smattered with chat that only the most discerning members of the audience understood, the mumblings and lyrical fumbling balanced by beautiful vocals and effortlessly perfect guitar playing. Music When the Lights Go Out was a sentimental and fitting opener, Ballad of Grimaldi a delight, and Up the Bracket and Time for Heroes (complete with magic-lyric-jumble ‘ignorant trousers that bring this town down’) were a joy to hear. It didn’t matter that Carl failed to remember the lyrics to Man Who Would Be King, or that Seven Deadly Sins was aborted to something more like Five Sins. A smattering of Dirty Pretty Things songs felt right, and the combination of predictable (France, Can’t Stand Me Now) with complete wild card Bucket Shop added to the magic of the evening. Kieran joined Carl on guitar and harmonies for several songs and made a valiant, if somewhat ineffective contribution to I Get Along on the bass drum.
The crowd loved it. Unfortunately, with the size of the venue, a load of bouncing, moshing, crowd-surfing lads and nowhere to retreat, I and some others had to devote rather more attention to staying upright than I would have wished.
Saturday night had a different feel. An earlier start, and like Friday, there were several acoustic supports. Although both nights were sold out, Saturday was noticeably less sardine-like. Someone said that they’d been selling tickets at the door on Friday and ended up overselling. Certainly Friday had been crammed to the proverbial rafters. With a bit more room to breathe, and somewhat better positioning, I was able to devote my full attention to the show, despite a repeat of the previous night’s exuberant atmosphere.
Kieran’s performance was less frenetic, but the better for it, with a good selection of his material including both familiar and new. Jerusalem (sometimes called Whore’s Lament) and The King My Father remain amazingly powerful even after multiple hearings, and his new tribute to Harold Pinter, Redemption, is a welcome addition to the set.
Carl’s performance was much more ordered, the set list visible, enabling a smooth transition from song to song. He was more relaxed, and still chatted a lot, although unlike the previous night, when his ‘can you understand me?’ was met with whoops and cheeky comebacks, his question on Saturday, ‘can you understand me, I’m making a concerted effort’ failed to get a response, so it’s dubious how much of the chat was actually understood. The set was a variation of the previous night, omitting Bucket Shop, Seven Deadly Sins and Bloodthirsty Bastards, adding in Bang Bang. It was a good night, lacking some of the rambling charm of the previous evening, but for all that, it worked. He’d done it. Played the UK shows, and got the crowd bouncing, sweating and singing along.
The third night had a bit of a ‘tag end’ feel. Ku Bar seemed unable to determine in advance precisely what time the doors would open. Our tickets read half past eight, but we’d had an addendum letter telling us that the doors were to be at six with the show at half past. Others had tickets announcing doors at seven. The venue also seemed to be the proud possessor of not one, but two postcodes, and even the combined forces of Sean-the-Satnav and my iphone on Google-map didn’t save us from driving up, and down, and around Stockton in search of the bar. And we weren’t the only ones. The other three people we knew there had also spent unlikely amounts of time (given the size of Stockton) looking for Ku Bar. When we finally got there, ascertained that doors were at seven (even the bar staff seemed unsure), and were let in, the staff pointed us in the wrong direction and a group of us trouped into the venue where Kieran was sound checking. The price of drinks helped to soothe our ruffled feathers and we eventually made our way into the performance space - slightly bigger than Escobar, but not much. We listened to a couple of support acts, both lone performers with guitar, and then realised that sadly, Kieran wasn’t doing his own solo slot.
Carl’s set was plagued with technical problems that Mario and Kieran did their best to sort, but there was a lot of futzing about with leads, and guitars seemed not to make any sound each time Carl switched between acoustic and electric. More significantly, (and, perhaps in part as a result of the technical hitches) Carl didn’t seem to be as engaged with the audience or the performance. The chat was limited, he bashed his way through the set list without pause, and somehow, it was a bit flat. The crowd was nowhere near as rowdy as in Wakefield, and although there was a lot of singing along, there was less sweat and I came away without adding new bruises.
This show highlighted a tension that was evident, in hindsight, with the Saturday night gig also. The set list for Saturday and Sunday nights was dominated by the more rock and roll end of his back catalogue. Which is just fine. But somehow, with the twang of the red Mustang, and exaggerated by the very able accompaniment of Kieran, a lot of the performance was band-style rock ‘n’ roll -without the band. Which was a little bit weird. On Sunday night I walked away from the gig feeling that Carl had not so much done a solo show as a show without a bassist or drummer. He clearly enjoyed the frenzy of the Escobar, modifying his Saturday set to open with What a Waster rather than the acoustic Music When the Lights Go Out, and with a crowd that wanted to go mad, it worked. In Stockton, with a more sedate audience, the overall effect was less convincing.
We can only wait and see what he chooses to do next. Certainly there are a lot of people who’d happily pay to see Carl play as he did last weekend. And quite rightly. He has demonstrated beyond any doubt that he can carry the songs on his own. In the States, he stood alone on stage with one guitar - electric - and carried it off brilliantly. In Wakefield, he enriched the selection of songs and, particularly on the first night, managed to blend the acoustic troubadour with the rocker to brilliant effect. I can’t help thinking, though, if he wants to play more little solo shows of Libs and DPT material, then he might consider adapting the material to less of a rock and roll style, or if he wants to play rock and roll, get more people to play with him.
There is something cosmically amazing about seeing Carl play the Libertines material. It’s as if something has come full circle. And it’s fantastic to hear those songs played as they should be... beautifully. But it’s a huge back catalogue to plunder, and if playing it is something he wants to do more, I hope that he’ll select eclectically, as he did on Friday, and not stick to the territory where he clearly feels safe.
All that said, I still want him to repeat the guitar solo from Time for Heroes at least twice every time I hear it.