Article 2004
I don't have many memories, I don't remember things. One day I will sit down and everything will come back to me. I will doubtlessly die that day.
Aaron Spelling, Pope of the American TV show (Melrose Place, Beverly Hills 90210) certainly doesn't know Carl Barât and Pete Doherty. More's the pity for him. He's missing the chance to broaden his melodramatic palette and to initiate himself in a world as captivating as that of his Californian love stories: British rock. With Carl Barât and Pete Doherty’s extravagances, Spelling would have a golden tale, a veritable saga with its anthology of drugs, prison, girls, fights and reunions. The tale of the Libertines is the TV show 24, set in the London of drugs and guitars, with the deserving Alan McGee in the role of Jack Bauer, hired to do the impossible to ensure the adventure goes on. Or throwing wood into the fire, when necessary.
A retelling of the facts: Carl Barat and Pete Doherty, two Brits with British minds, found The Libertines at the end of the last century. After signing onto Rough Trade in the winter of 200, the group opens for The Strokes and The Vines. Their first single, What A Waster/I Get Along is banned from Radio 1's shows, not happy with the high count of "fuck" and "cunt" to be found in the lyrics. The night of the Queen's jubilee, The Libertines play a crisp and dissenting show near Buckingham Palace, two streets away from the show offered to HM by great stars of bodybuilt pop. Some time later the members of the band steal copies of their own single at a Virgin Megastore, immortalising the theft in the video for Don't Look Back Into The Sun. In a few months, the Libertines have become the new English heroes of a jubilant non-conformism. Despite the radio boycott the band is already very popular by the time their first album, Up the Bracket is released, produced by the ancient Mick Jones.
Success follows swiftly and the Libertines steal the Best British Band award at the NME awards. But tensions and fights within the band multiply. Always with constant momentum, the Libertines give a secret gig in an East London squat. The police shows up, and legend has it that the band responds with the lyrics to The Clash's Guns of Brixton: "When they take out your front door, how're you gonna go? With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun?"
Pete Doherty's drug problems become greater. The band gives a series of concerts with another guitarist and the singer from the Cooper Temple Clause. By the side, Pete continues to post messages on the band's official site, denying any sort of addiction to drugs or alcohol. But the same summer, while the rest of the band is on tour outside the country, Pete breaks into his band mate’s flat and steals guitars, laptops, pianos and a stereo before getting himself caught by the cops. Sentenced to six months (two, after an appeal) of prison, Pete and Carl slowly reconciliate -- and the band reforms after his release. Alan McGee, head of Creation and used to strong-headed individuals (Jesus & Mary Chain, My Blood Valentine, Oasis...) becomes their manager, and things seem to calm down. But shortly after, Carl Barat takes things into his own hands: he pulls off a fall in his bathroom and comes close to losing his sight. After some hours and more stitches he makes sure to offer a handful of photographs to the British press, very glad to still have more fodder to offer their newsstands.
Some months and some brawls later, the band finds itself at the Metropolis Studios, in London, to work on their second album. Producing it we find Mick Jones, but also Bill Price (who worked on London Calling as well as with... Guns N' Roses). After the recording the Libertines give a concert and are joined by Mick Jones on stage for a handful of songs, including Should I Stay or Should I Go (performed by the ancient Clash member for the first time since the band broke up.)
Pete Doherty is then sent to Thailand, to a clinic specialised in cleaning up Western pop stars. It’s just a matter of days until he flees let’s not think about the drugs he’ll find just after his escape).
Pete returns to London and is quickly busted for being in possession of a kitchen knife. Carl Barat, having become against his will, the sole singer in The Libertines, reaffirms his will to wait until his acolyte heals so he can rejoin the band. And this, more or less, is were we are: at the end of the first episode, copious and unlikely. At the birth of the second album, inevitably expected and fateful. No one can say what the second season will be made off. But all this already serves as guarantee for a batch of hysterical bonus features on a hypothetical DVD
LI: How do you feel today?
CB: Honestly, not very well. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I’ve spent the entire week working and repeating the same things, hard things, fairly profound things. It’s tough to talk about very personal subjects to people I don’t even know. I’m tired of having to constantly explain the mess around the band. It’s as if something terrible had happened to me, and as I walk down the street everyone on my path -- all of them strangers -- ask me about it.
LI: What do you think about the buzz around the new album?
CB: I haven’t heard anything about that. I was just too busy performing it. And I hope the people will focus on it and forget about the rest. I hope the music will speak for itself and that it will tell what the buzz didn’t. I’m very afraid of the reception the album will have. I’m afraid of everything, at that. I’m afraid of the next 5 minutes. I might have another phone call from Pete or someone else and find out something serious's just happened. These days, I know this can happen anytime. Actually, I’m more afraid of what can happen to the band than around the group. Sometimes, I’d just like to write and play music, but it’s of course a lot more complicated. To be in a group is to search for some sort of unity, a common vision, a shared dream. It’s like having a shelter, sometimes. We originally envisioned The Libertines as a family. We were inseparable long before being musicians. Today, the least we could say is that it’s difficult. And it has been hell for months.
LI: In these conditions, how did the recording of the album unfold?
CB: It wasn’t the best moment of my life. It was last spring, at Metropolis studios. That place looks like a mouse cage, full of shelves and tight corridors. We had prepared some songs and improvised the rest. It was a really messy situation, especially where the drugs were concerned drugs. There were two bodyguards, two enormous fellows, hired by Alan McGee to keep Pete and me from fighting. They had also to make sure that no drugs would enter the studio. A wonderful setting. The time we spent in the studio was pretty hard; I think it shows in some of the songs, doubtlessly within the music, but especially in the lyrics. Most of them were written together, by Pete and Me. Can't Stand Me Now is quite telling. The fact that we wrote it together is at the same time strange and quite a relief -- liberating, even.
LI: What did Alan McGee contribute?
CB: He certainly saved us. We wouldn't have recorded the second album without him. He's a workaholic. He knows how to make everything progress, he knows how to break through any blocks, even when you're convinced it's a hopeless situation. And he also took a lot of weight off my shoulders, by taking it upon himself. Before, I had to deal with every thing alone; now I've learnt, or at least I try, to trust others.
LI: Why the title Arbeit Macht Frei
CB: Peter speaks German, that's all. I thought he simply wanted to say that work will set you free, which is rather ironic, coming from him. The whole song is rather ironic, it's got nothing to do with Germany.
LI: Why work with Mick Jones?
CB: We met, he bought us some beers, it was rather simple and cool. He's a wonderful guy, really, he's lived through everything, seen everything, he knows everything. It was rather good for the band, because he's sort of a guide, like a Jedi. He's full of love, of positivity. He brought us great confidence, and he told us what was good and what was shit. He brought us together when we all started to drift apart. And afterwards he told us about the Clash. I didn't know the band before. Nowadays I'm a master, I've been well taught. As for his job as a sound engineer, he truly succeeded in ensuring the sound was natural, spontaneous, that it sounded really like us and that it was what we wanted. The funniest thing is that I've never really listened to the Clash.
LI: What artists have influenced you?
CB: Thanks to my father I listened to Jam and The Stranglers since I was 3. Then Jacky Wilson, and even Queen. That's a bit embarrassing. It was only after that I discovered the Velvet Underground. It's boring, a cliché and all that, but it changed my life. Really. I had a compilation, given to me by a science teacher. He was a young fellow, the cool teacher, that one who understands the messy kids and the missing students. Thanks to him I was able to listen to Venus in Furs in my bedroom. It was then that I started playing music. When I discovered and fell in love with the Velvet Underground, no one around me knew them. I know everyone says it, but I swear it's the truth. I discovered them before everyone else, thanks to the wonderful Mr Williams, the science teacher. I never saw him again. In fact, I should write him a song. (Singing): "Mr Williams? What's become of you? You taught me how to plant grass inside a yogurt"
LI: What background do you come from?
CB: I come from a messed up background. My mother was a hippie, she lived on buses, on the road. It was my father who brought me up. I went back to my mother every once in a while but I grew up mainly with my father, my three brothers and my three sisters. We lived in Basingstoke. It's a town twinned to Alençon, and that is its sole charm. You can imagine the fun we had... On the other hand, London too can be horrible. London is twinned to, uh... Hell, I suppose? Or maybe Ibiza. Whatever it is, my father was very fond of music and art. He listened to the Beatles, dabbled in photography, wrote texts. I wasn't allowed to see him when he was writing, but I would watch him through the keyhole, which made it all even more interesting.
LI: Do you still buy records?
CB: At the time it's horrible, but I don't. It's really sad because I've always loved music, the fact that it can make me happy even when my whole life is sordid... But I've more or less forgotten that feeling. These days I don't listen to albums save when I'm playing them, on club nights. I DJ at a club, Dirty Pretty Things, in London. I go there once a week, we invite bands to play there or I just play records, from Belle and Sebastian to The Coral, from the Specials to Velvet. I don't really know that much electronic music, I'd love to dabble in that a bit. I just sang a song with Alan McGee's wife's band. They're called Client and I found it very interesting. Otherwise I don't really listen to house or techno. House is rather boring, unless you've been taking drugs. Not that I do anymore. Though I really do drink too much. I know that.
LI: Do you feel close to other bands?
CB: The Coral. I love bands that really do what they want, regardless of trends or fashions. I don't feel close to bands like Franz Ferdinand or The Strokes. Franz Ferdinand, in my eyes, are based solely on their image, their look. I much prefer a band like The Streets. Mike Skinner is one of the most interesting songwriters we've had in England for a long while. He has a really distinctive voice and he talks of the present, which no one else does in the UK. Sometimes he talks about things that are rather boring, of English people between the ages of 20 and 30 who live in the cities and spend their vacations in Ibiza. He talks about all that shit, and is both serious and funny at the same time. People ought to talk about the present, celebrate the things that are happening now.
LI: What do you do in your free time?
CB: I try to read. I used to pretend to be interested in football when I was younger, just to be more popular, but that didn't work. I don't have any reflexes on my knees, I guess that's why. Otherwise, I was movies, or at least I try. I loved Harry Potter. In fact, I read in the papers that the actor loves The Libertines, so I promised myself I'd watch his film. And I loved it. It's really funny to think that Harry Potter is a fan of your band.
LI: Do you think you were ready for success when it came?
CB: We were ready for it four years before it came! Before success, we were just a band of friends in a small band and we played for whoever, wherever. It didn't really change, save for the fact that these days we get by. Before that, we used to have a considerable amount of shit jobs. I packed sandwiches, spent my nights looking for dead mice. From 10 at night to 8 in the morning, which drove me insane. I was a janitor for the BBC. I worked in psychiatric hospitals. I had to chase people who wouldn't let us give them shots. But Pete did worse. Pete dug tombs. Of course, he had a machine, it wasn't by hand, but fucking hell all the same...
LI: What are your most beautiful memories of the band?
CB: I don't have many memories, I don't remember things. One day I will sit down and everything will come back to me. I will doubtlessly die that day. Sometimes I'm rather happy not to remember things. But I remember this one night in Bale, in Switzerland. We went to a strip club with Pete and we ended up being chased by enormous prostitutes. Pete had thrown up over one of them. And we had to pay for that. On the other hands, these days I no longer believe at all in the stereotype that if you want to be in a band you must forcibly take drugs, be a drunkard and fight. Not at all. It's not something that pleases me. Why would you want to be so inelegant? Discipline in life is important. Losing one's elegance simply because one is in a band is rather pathetic.
LI: How do envision the future?
CB: I have no idea, I am completely incapable of thinking about it. My goal is to sing with Pete, so I'll simply wait until he returns. He's truly my friend. I want him to get better, to behave better. If he doesn't return then everything will be different. If he doesn't return maybe the tour we just finished will be the last. I don't have any plans, not even for this weekend. I would love to, but I can't have any plans with this band.
Aaron Spelling, Pope of the American TV show (Melrose Place, Beverly Hills 90210) certainly doesn't know Carl Barât and Pete Doherty. More's the pity for him. He's missing the chance to broaden his melodramatic palette and to initiate himself in a world as captivating as that of his Californian love stories: British rock. With Carl Barât and Pete Doherty’s extravagances, Spelling would have a golden tale, a veritable saga with its anthology of drugs, prison, girls, fights and reunions. The tale of the Libertines is the TV show 24, set in the London of drugs and guitars, with the deserving Alan McGee in the role of Jack Bauer, hired to do the impossible to ensure the adventure goes on. Or throwing wood into the fire, when necessary.
A retelling of the facts: Carl Barat and Pete Doherty, two Brits with British minds, found The Libertines at the end of the last century. After signing onto Rough Trade in the winter of 200, the group opens for The Strokes and The Vines. Their first single, What A Waster/I Get Along is banned from Radio 1's shows, not happy with the high count of "fuck" and "cunt" to be found in the lyrics. The night of the Queen's jubilee, The Libertines play a crisp and dissenting show near Buckingham Palace, two streets away from the show offered to HM by great stars of bodybuilt pop. Some time later the members of the band steal copies of their own single at a Virgin Megastore, immortalising the theft in the video for Don't Look Back Into The Sun. In a few months, the Libertines have become the new English heroes of a jubilant non-conformism. Despite the radio boycott the band is already very popular by the time their first album, Up the Bracket is released, produced by the ancient Mick Jones.
Success follows swiftly and the Libertines steal the Best British Band award at the NME awards. But tensions and fights within the band multiply. Always with constant momentum, the Libertines give a secret gig in an East London squat. The police shows up, and legend has it that the band responds with the lyrics to The Clash's Guns of Brixton: "When they take out your front door, how're you gonna go? With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun?"
Pete Doherty's drug problems become greater. The band gives a series of concerts with another guitarist and the singer from the Cooper Temple Clause. By the side, Pete continues to post messages on the band's official site, denying any sort of addiction to drugs or alcohol. But the same summer, while the rest of the band is on tour outside the country, Pete breaks into his band mate’s flat and steals guitars, laptops, pianos and a stereo before getting himself caught by the cops. Sentenced to six months (two, after an appeal) of prison, Pete and Carl slowly reconciliate -- and the band reforms after his release. Alan McGee, head of Creation and used to strong-headed individuals (Jesus & Mary Chain, My Blood Valentine, Oasis...) becomes their manager, and things seem to calm down. But shortly after, Carl Barat takes things into his own hands: he pulls off a fall in his bathroom and comes close to losing his sight. After some hours and more stitches he makes sure to offer a handful of photographs to the British press, very glad to still have more fodder to offer their newsstands.
Some months and some brawls later, the band finds itself at the Metropolis Studios, in London, to work on their second album. Producing it we find Mick Jones, but also Bill Price (who worked on London Calling as well as with... Guns N' Roses). After the recording the Libertines give a concert and are joined by Mick Jones on stage for a handful of songs, including Should I Stay or Should I Go (performed by the ancient Clash member for the first time since the band broke up.)
Pete Doherty is then sent to Thailand, to a clinic specialised in cleaning up Western pop stars. It’s just a matter of days until he flees let’s not think about the drugs he’ll find just after his escape).
Pete returns to London and is quickly busted for being in possession of a kitchen knife. Carl Barat, having become against his will, the sole singer in The Libertines, reaffirms his will to wait until his acolyte heals so he can rejoin the band. And this, more or less, is were we are: at the end of the first episode, copious and unlikely. At the birth of the second album, inevitably expected and fateful. No one can say what the second season will be made off. But all this already serves as guarantee for a batch of hysterical bonus features on a hypothetical DVD
LI: How do you feel today?
CB: Honestly, not very well. I am physically and mentally exhausted. I’ve spent the entire week working and repeating the same things, hard things, fairly profound things. It’s tough to talk about very personal subjects to people I don’t even know. I’m tired of having to constantly explain the mess around the band. It’s as if something terrible had happened to me, and as I walk down the street everyone on my path -- all of them strangers -- ask me about it.
LI: What do you think about the buzz around the new album?
CB: I haven’t heard anything about that. I was just too busy performing it. And I hope the people will focus on it and forget about the rest. I hope the music will speak for itself and that it will tell what the buzz didn’t. I’m very afraid of the reception the album will have. I’m afraid of everything, at that. I’m afraid of the next 5 minutes. I might have another phone call from Pete or someone else and find out something serious's just happened. These days, I know this can happen anytime. Actually, I’m more afraid of what can happen to the band than around the group. Sometimes, I’d just like to write and play music, but it’s of course a lot more complicated. To be in a group is to search for some sort of unity, a common vision, a shared dream. It’s like having a shelter, sometimes. We originally envisioned The Libertines as a family. We were inseparable long before being musicians. Today, the least we could say is that it’s difficult. And it has been hell for months.
LI: In these conditions, how did the recording of the album unfold?
CB: It wasn’t the best moment of my life. It was last spring, at Metropolis studios. That place looks like a mouse cage, full of shelves and tight corridors. We had prepared some songs and improvised the rest. It was a really messy situation, especially where the drugs were concerned drugs. There were two bodyguards, two enormous fellows, hired by Alan McGee to keep Pete and me from fighting. They had also to make sure that no drugs would enter the studio. A wonderful setting. The time we spent in the studio was pretty hard; I think it shows in some of the songs, doubtlessly within the music, but especially in the lyrics. Most of them were written together, by Pete and Me. Can't Stand Me Now is quite telling. The fact that we wrote it together is at the same time strange and quite a relief -- liberating, even.
LI: What did Alan McGee contribute?
CB: He certainly saved us. We wouldn't have recorded the second album without him. He's a workaholic. He knows how to make everything progress, he knows how to break through any blocks, even when you're convinced it's a hopeless situation. And he also took a lot of weight off my shoulders, by taking it upon himself. Before, I had to deal with every thing alone; now I've learnt, or at least I try, to trust others.
LI: Why the title Arbeit Macht Frei
CB: Peter speaks German, that's all. I thought he simply wanted to say that work will set you free, which is rather ironic, coming from him. The whole song is rather ironic, it's got nothing to do with Germany.
LI: Why work with Mick Jones?
CB: We met, he bought us some beers, it was rather simple and cool. He's a wonderful guy, really, he's lived through everything, seen everything, he knows everything. It was rather good for the band, because he's sort of a guide, like a Jedi. He's full of love, of positivity. He brought us great confidence, and he told us what was good and what was shit. He brought us together when we all started to drift apart. And afterwards he told us about the Clash. I didn't know the band before. Nowadays I'm a master, I've been well taught. As for his job as a sound engineer, he truly succeeded in ensuring the sound was natural, spontaneous, that it sounded really like us and that it was what we wanted. The funniest thing is that I've never really listened to the Clash.
LI: What artists have influenced you?
CB: Thanks to my father I listened to Jam and The Stranglers since I was 3. Then Jacky Wilson, and even Queen. That's a bit embarrassing. It was only after that I discovered the Velvet Underground. It's boring, a cliché and all that, but it changed my life. Really. I had a compilation, given to me by a science teacher. He was a young fellow, the cool teacher, that one who understands the messy kids and the missing students. Thanks to him I was able to listen to Venus in Furs in my bedroom. It was then that I started playing music. When I discovered and fell in love with the Velvet Underground, no one around me knew them. I know everyone says it, but I swear it's the truth. I discovered them before everyone else, thanks to the wonderful Mr Williams, the science teacher. I never saw him again. In fact, I should write him a song. (Singing): "Mr Williams? What's become of you? You taught me how to plant grass inside a yogurt"
LI: What background do you come from?
CB: I come from a messed up background. My mother was a hippie, she lived on buses, on the road. It was my father who brought me up. I went back to my mother every once in a while but I grew up mainly with my father, my three brothers and my three sisters. We lived in Basingstoke. It's a town twinned to Alençon, and that is its sole charm. You can imagine the fun we had... On the other hand, London too can be horrible. London is twinned to, uh... Hell, I suppose? Or maybe Ibiza. Whatever it is, my father was very fond of music and art. He listened to the Beatles, dabbled in photography, wrote texts. I wasn't allowed to see him when he was writing, but I would watch him through the keyhole, which made it all even more interesting.
LI: Do you still buy records?
CB: At the time it's horrible, but I don't. It's really sad because I've always loved music, the fact that it can make me happy even when my whole life is sordid... But I've more or less forgotten that feeling. These days I don't listen to albums save when I'm playing them, on club nights. I DJ at a club, Dirty Pretty Things, in London. I go there once a week, we invite bands to play there or I just play records, from Belle and Sebastian to The Coral, from the Specials to Velvet. I don't really know that much electronic music, I'd love to dabble in that a bit. I just sang a song with Alan McGee's wife's band. They're called Client and I found it very interesting. Otherwise I don't really listen to house or techno. House is rather boring, unless you've been taking drugs. Not that I do anymore. Though I really do drink too much. I know that.
LI: Do you feel close to other bands?
CB: The Coral. I love bands that really do what they want, regardless of trends or fashions. I don't feel close to bands like Franz Ferdinand or The Strokes. Franz Ferdinand, in my eyes, are based solely on their image, their look. I much prefer a band like The Streets. Mike Skinner is one of the most interesting songwriters we've had in England for a long while. He has a really distinctive voice and he talks of the present, which no one else does in the UK. Sometimes he talks about things that are rather boring, of English people between the ages of 20 and 30 who live in the cities and spend their vacations in Ibiza. He talks about all that shit, and is both serious and funny at the same time. People ought to talk about the present, celebrate the things that are happening now.
LI: What do you do in your free time?
CB: I try to read. I used to pretend to be interested in football when I was younger, just to be more popular, but that didn't work. I don't have any reflexes on my knees, I guess that's why. Otherwise, I was movies, or at least I try. I loved Harry Potter. In fact, I read in the papers that the actor loves The Libertines, so I promised myself I'd watch his film. And I loved it. It's really funny to think that Harry Potter is a fan of your band.
LI: Do you think you were ready for success when it came?
CB: We were ready for it four years before it came! Before success, we were just a band of friends in a small band and we played for whoever, wherever. It didn't really change, save for the fact that these days we get by. Before that, we used to have a considerable amount of shit jobs. I packed sandwiches, spent my nights looking for dead mice. From 10 at night to 8 in the morning, which drove me insane. I was a janitor for the BBC. I worked in psychiatric hospitals. I had to chase people who wouldn't let us give them shots. But Pete did worse. Pete dug tombs. Of course, he had a machine, it wasn't by hand, but fucking hell all the same...
LI: What are your most beautiful memories of the band?
CB: I don't have many memories, I don't remember things. One day I will sit down and everything will come back to me. I will doubtlessly die that day. Sometimes I'm rather happy not to remember things. But I remember this one night in Bale, in Switzerland. We went to a strip club with Pete and we ended up being chased by enormous prostitutes. Pete had thrown up over one of them. And we had to pay for that. On the other hands, these days I no longer believe at all in the stereotype that if you want to be in a band you must forcibly take drugs, be a drunkard and fight. Not at all. It's not something that pleases me. Why would you want to be so inelegant? Discipline in life is important. Losing one's elegance simply because one is in a band is rather pathetic.
LI: How do envision the future?
CB: I have no idea, I am completely incapable of thinking about it. My goal is to sing with Pete, so I'll simply wait until he returns. He's truly my friend. I want him to get better, to behave better. If he doesn't return then everything will be different. If he doesn't return maybe the tour we just finished will be the last. I don't have any plans, not even for this weekend. I would love to, but I can't have any plans with this band.