The Libertines in Berlin (07.02.2016)
I wrote this for something else and it's a bit retro, but I thought I'd put it up here too.
A Libertines gig is always an adventure. Sometimes getting there may be an adventure in its own right. Having just moved into my new flat, I had no internet connection and inconveniently had used up all my data. So an hour before the start I was still sitting in my living room, only knowing that the venue, Columbiahalle, was located in a street called Columbiadamm - but without a clue how to actually get there. How did people go places at all when there was no google?
“You should not have a hundred roubles but a hundred friends,” is a Russian saying. Sometimes even one good friend is enough. So I texted my old flat mate, who, while being as clue- and dataless as myself, kindly texted three friends of hers for me… Finally it turned out that the venue was just six underground stations away, on the same line. Which was a good thing as the show was about to start.
At the venue, I was greeted by a tall neon letters proudly stating: “07.02. The Libertines. Sold Out”. The feeling was triumphant. I had a look at the other people in the queue, and if they were something to go by, the crowd was fairly mixed, reaching from young and edgy to fifty-something and … even edgier. So maybe not so mixed after all. Your usual indie crowd. Though it was clear at that late hour, that the true hardcore fans would be inside long time ago.
As I got closer to the door, I heard the dulcet tones of Albion floating in the air. “The Libertines’ encores” a bouncer joked. I got slightly nervous - this was a soundtrack, surely? Suddenly I was aching to get inside. Finally past the ticket check, I stepped into the not so huge rectangular hall and saw - Peter Doherty and Carl Barât right in front of me. I blinked. They were dressed very un-rockstar-like in matching (resp. green and black) anoraks, performing on acoustic set, with Gary Powell on the tambourine. The song at that point was Seven Deadly Sins. Only of course, it couldn’t be them. There was supposed to be at least one opening act before the actual headliners, so this could not possibly be the Libertines. An amazingly good tribute band, I decided. They looked and sounded so natural you could almost believe it was the boys themselves. Only to my mind, the impersonator of John Hassall looked far too young. “Enjoy the Libertines!”, the band shouted as they left the stage, and their guitarist saluted the crowd with the… inimitable gesture of Carl Barât. I was left back blinking, not quite sure what I had just seen. Later I learned that on the whole German leg of the tour, the Libertines opened their own shows with an acoustic set.
I had no idea who the other supporting band was going to be either. So as a big bearded man in a thick overcoat began bouncing up and down on stage to brisk- and energetic-sounding music, I started a little query. The people around me seemed similarly clueless. A German girl holding two beers informed me that the support had not been announced anywhere. I did not want to give up so easily.
“D’you happen to know which band this is?” I asked a bunch of very young and enthusiastic looking Norwegian guys.
“The Libertines!” they shouted with ultimate conviction.
“Um, yes, I mean the band that is on now?”
“Oh. We don’t know”
As it turned out, they had flown in extra from Oslo for the gig and a football game, armed with flags and the right attitude. They told me to “absolutely” visit Trondhejm if I should ever happen to their country.
I was still none the wiser. The big guy on stage (who in the meantime had freed himself from his overcoat and exposed another coat) was starting to look more and more familiar. After a while I was sure that I had seen Carl climb up on him at the beginning of the Venus in Furs video. And it was indeed Reverend and the Makers, who by then I had seriously begun to like. I hope the tour won them some new fans this side of the Channel.
Being at the gig alone with a lot of time at my hands, I started moving slowly forward. Halfway through it got really tight and I could see absolutely nothing, but it was too late to back up. So I ended up 3rd row from the barrier, front and centre, right where the action was.
And then the Libs were on. Wearing their own merch, every inch the rockstars that had turned Hyde Park upside down a year and a half before. Releasing the beautiful infernal noise of electric guitars. Fooling around on stage as per usual, curling around the same microphone, saying Dankeschön and sharing their drinks with the first row. They even managed to start and finish their songs at the same time.
One of the expected highlights was the heart-wrenching love song You’re My Waterloo. Multi-instrumentalist Barât got seated at the piano and stretched his fingers. The crowd went (comparatively) quiet as the first aching notes hit the air - brutally off the key. This is one of the moments when as a Libertines’ fan you don’t know if you want to cringe with embarrassment, laugh out loud, or cry from sheer emotion. I may have ended up doing all three. These are the moments that put our love for this band to a test - and it always comes out stronger. Peter Doherty held his mic to the crowd that started singing the first verse like a celestial choir. Then he took it back to start all over again: “You never fumigate the demons, no matter how much you smoke. Say you love me for three good reasons…” Yes we do. Absolutely.
Other, faster songs followed. Meanwhile at the front, I was caught in a battle of my own. With no barrier to hold on to, I was completely left to the mercy of the crowd. I had no time to question the decision that had placed me in the midst of full-grown men filled with rampant fanboy energy. I was pushed and shoved and I pushed and shoved back. Bruising hands clutched at my shoulders and I myself clung to strange body parts in a desperate attempt to keep my balance. This was full crowd experience for all my money’s worth. At some point the strap of my bag broke and it disappeared under stomping feet - with my ID inside. My first thought was a swearword. My second thought was: “Well, at least the embassy is here in Berlin, I can get a new one.” Later the bag was rescued heroically by a helpful fanboy - may he have a long and happy life.
The gig was approaching its end. Don’t Look Back into the Sun was smashed into the room with lots of yowling, bouncing and foot-stomping on and off stage and mic stands hitting the ground. And then it was over. Guitar picks and set lists were thrown to greedy hands.
I bumped into a friend, met another fangirl I had previously known only on the internet, chatted a bit, and then loitered down to the merch stand. While trying on a t-shirt with a skull and the words Lust of the Libertines on it, I started talking to the man selling the stuff. I told him I was also going to be there in Cologne and Brussels.
“Oh, so you’re one of the hardcore fans then, following them around. Well, I’ll see you there then.”
I corrected his assumption, explaining that I did not, in fact, follow the band to all their gigs, and doubted whether I would buy any more items during that particular tour.
“Well, in that case I respect you even more”.
???
“I’m against people buying so many things. I think people should buy and consume less. … Yes, I know this contradicts what I’m doing.” he explained, seeing my raised eyebrows.
A merch seller with an anti-consumerist attitude - this is certainly something you have to go to a Libs’ gig for. I mean, not that I’m a huge fan of consumerism myself, but…
“… But I have to wear something,” I more or less thought out loud.
“I’m not sure,” the guy grinned, and after dropping that gem he turned around to go on with his work.
A Libertines gig is always an adventure. Sometimes getting there may be an adventure in its own right. Having just moved into my new flat, I had no internet connection and inconveniently had used up all my data. So an hour before the start I was still sitting in my living room, only knowing that the venue, Columbiahalle, was located in a street called Columbiadamm - but without a clue how to actually get there. How did people go places at all when there was no google?
“You should not have a hundred roubles but a hundred friends,” is a Russian saying. Sometimes even one good friend is enough. So I texted my old flat mate, who, while being as clue- and dataless as myself, kindly texted three friends of hers for me… Finally it turned out that the venue was just six underground stations away, on the same line. Which was a good thing as the show was about to start.
At the venue, I was greeted by a tall neon letters proudly stating: “07.02. The Libertines. Sold Out”. The feeling was triumphant. I had a look at the other people in the queue, and if they were something to go by, the crowd was fairly mixed, reaching from young and edgy to fifty-something and … even edgier. So maybe not so mixed after all. Your usual indie crowd. Though it was clear at that late hour, that the true hardcore fans would be inside long time ago.
As I got closer to the door, I heard the dulcet tones of Albion floating in the air. “The Libertines’ encores” a bouncer joked. I got slightly nervous - this was a soundtrack, surely? Suddenly I was aching to get inside. Finally past the ticket check, I stepped into the not so huge rectangular hall and saw - Peter Doherty and Carl Barât right in front of me. I blinked. They were dressed very un-rockstar-like in matching (resp. green and black) anoraks, performing on acoustic set, with Gary Powell on the tambourine. The song at that point was Seven Deadly Sins. Only of course, it couldn’t be them. There was supposed to be at least one opening act before the actual headliners, so this could not possibly be the Libertines. An amazingly good tribute band, I decided. They looked and sounded so natural you could almost believe it was the boys themselves. Only to my mind, the impersonator of John Hassall looked far too young. “Enjoy the Libertines!”, the band shouted as they left the stage, and their guitarist saluted the crowd with the… inimitable gesture of Carl Barât. I was left back blinking, not quite sure what I had just seen. Later I learned that on the whole German leg of the tour, the Libertines opened their own shows with an acoustic set.
I had no idea who the other supporting band was going to be either. So as a big bearded man in a thick overcoat began bouncing up and down on stage to brisk- and energetic-sounding music, I started a little query. The people around me seemed similarly clueless. A German girl holding two beers informed me that the support had not been announced anywhere. I did not want to give up so easily.
“D’you happen to know which band this is?” I asked a bunch of very young and enthusiastic looking Norwegian guys.
“The Libertines!” they shouted with ultimate conviction.
“Um, yes, I mean the band that is on now?”
“Oh. We don’t know”
As it turned out, they had flown in extra from Oslo for the gig and a football game, armed with flags and the right attitude. They told me to “absolutely” visit Trondhejm if I should ever happen to their country.
I was still none the wiser. The big guy on stage (who in the meantime had freed himself from his overcoat and exposed another coat) was starting to look more and more familiar. After a while I was sure that I had seen Carl climb up on him at the beginning of the Venus in Furs video. And it was indeed Reverend and the Makers, who by then I had seriously begun to like. I hope the tour won them some new fans this side of the Channel.
Being at the gig alone with a lot of time at my hands, I started moving slowly forward. Halfway through it got really tight and I could see absolutely nothing, but it was too late to back up. So I ended up 3rd row from the barrier, front and centre, right where the action was.
And then the Libs were on. Wearing their own merch, every inch the rockstars that had turned Hyde Park upside down a year and a half before. Releasing the beautiful infernal noise of electric guitars. Fooling around on stage as per usual, curling around the same microphone, saying Dankeschön and sharing their drinks with the first row. They even managed to start and finish their songs at the same time.
One of the expected highlights was the heart-wrenching love song You’re My Waterloo. Multi-instrumentalist Barât got seated at the piano and stretched his fingers. The crowd went (comparatively) quiet as the first aching notes hit the air - brutally off the key. This is one of the moments when as a Libertines’ fan you don’t know if you want to cringe with embarrassment, laugh out loud, or cry from sheer emotion. I may have ended up doing all three. These are the moments that put our love for this band to a test - and it always comes out stronger. Peter Doherty held his mic to the crowd that started singing the first verse like a celestial choir. Then he took it back to start all over again: “You never fumigate the demons, no matter how much you smoke. Say you love me for three good reasons…” Yes we do. Absolutely.
Other, faster songs followed. Meanwhile at the front, I was caught in a battle of my own. With no barrier to hold on to, I was completely left to the mercy of the crowd. I had no time to question the decision that had placed me in the midst of full-grown men filled with rampant fanboy energy. I was pushed and shoved and I pushed and shoved back. Bruising hands clutched at my shoulders and I myself clung to strange body parts in a desperate attempt to keep my balance. This was full crowd experience for all my money’s worth. At some point the strap of my bag broke and it disappeared under stomping feet - with my ID inside. My first thought was a swearword. My second thought was: “Well, at least the embassy is here in Berlin, I can get a new one.” Later the bag was rescued heroically by a helpful fanboy - may he have a long and happy life.
The gig was approaching its end. Don’t Look Back into the Sun was smashed into the room with lots of yowling, bouncing and foot-stomping on and off stage and mic stands hitting the ground. And then it was over. Guitar picks and set lists were thrown to greedy hands.
I bumped into a friend, met another fangirl I had previously known only on the internet, chatted a bit, and then loitered down to the merch stand. While trying on a t-shirt with a skull and the words Lust of the Libertines on it, I started talking to the man selling the stuff. I told him I was also going to be there in Cologne and Brussels.
“Oh, so you’re one of the hardcore fans then, following them around. Well, I’ll see you there then.”
I corrected his assumption, explaining that I did not, in fact, follow the band to all their gigs, and doubted whether I would buy any more items during that particular tour.
“Well, in that case I respect you even more”.
???
“I’m against people buying so many things. I think people should buy and consume less. … Yes, I know this contradicts what I’m doing.” he explained, seeing my raised eyebrows.
A merch seller with an anti-consumerist attitude - this is certainly something you have to go to a Libs’ gig for. I mean, not that I’m a huge fan of consumerism myself, but…
“… But I have to wear something,” I more or less thought out loud.
“I’m not sure,” the guy grinned, and after dropping that gem he turned around to go on with his work.