Live Review: Babyshambles at London Scala - 6th October 2004

Author: Karl Coppack

"Karl? Karl? I love him." Not me, you understand. Sarah is a good friend and we're on the matiest of terms but our affection never goes that far. It's a Wednesday night and my throat is screaming before a noise can escape it. I've got the sort of cold that makes you wonder how much mucus you can expel from your nostrils only for it to produce more seconds later. Technically I should be in bed but...

"Karl, I love him." The illness is worth it for, as you'll know if you've subscribed to the Pete Doherty soap opera, these things turn out to be events rather than three men and a woman singing at a crowd. For a start, there's the chance that he might not turn up at all. Both myself and Buttoned Down Chris are testament to this. We stood for hours at the Camden Barfly to watch an array of "talent" other than the man we wanted to see. He had another no show the next night. The people on his forum told those who complained that they "didn't believe in him" and should leave and support Snow Patrol instead. Such is the blindness that the man inspires.

It's been mentioned before that the Doherty crowds are there to watch a car crash. Another chance for those who missed the vastly overrated Sid Vicious or The Stone Roses' enact his own rock n' roll suicide. Well, bad news everyone. He turned up.

There's a marked difference between the Libertines, Babyshambles and the All-New Libertines. Babyshambles are an hour of charged anger and joy, the Libertines with Pete and Carl are as perfect as it can get while Carl's group although excellent still need a tall, skinny half naked man to accompany them. Does Carl need Pete more than vice versa? Actually although the answer to that seems quite obvious, it's not. Pete loves playing with the Shambles but he clearly misses his brother. All that crack and smack aren't just there for joy, you know. They're hiding a deep chasm of pain.

Don't expect a Diet Libertines though. The Shambles are as anodyne as a Travolta/Stolz adrenaline shot. They scream their way through the set. The crowd bounces along accordingly. Pete flings himself into their number during the actual song "Babyshambles" and prowls around the stage during "Do You Know Me?" It appears that we do. "Karl? Karl?"

There's a treat for Libertines fans too when during a quieter set with Dot Allison he gives us an acoustic "Don't Look Back Into The Sun" while Dot gamely plays the melody on a xylophone. Then he's into "Time For Heroes" but sadly stops before the best line on the first album: "There are few more distressing sights than that of an English man in a baseball cap." There is no room for such vulgarity on the Albion's journey to Arcadia. "I love him."

The band crawl back on for a euphoric "What Katie Did". We join in for the "shoop-shoop" refrain. When Chris and I saw him do this at the Astoria a waif like man got on stage. Pete made damn sure he stayed on long enough to join him for the last line before the bouncers threw him off. The set ends with the greatest version of "Wolfman" he's ever delivered. The drums are still hitting my solar plexus a week later. Then he's off and into the night.

Any complaints? Well, yes but only one. We only see him play guitar when the band are off the stage. This is a bitter shame, as those who know his various demos will tell you that he is an immensely gifted guitarist. A night with Doherty and an acoustic guitar would be one to cherish indeed. I nearly saw one but you know the rest.

So, what's the deal? Is Pete Doherty a burgling crack addict who sees his ails and ailments as a sorry fate handed down to him from his muse rather than his own folly or is he really the man of the people he makes out to be. Well, it's tricky to judge. He can be infuriating as the crowds who pay to see him but can only make do with an empty stage will testify. Perhaps he's more misguided than anything. The other side of him is the man who took people's camera off them, stuck their head next to theirs and took a photo of the two of them. The man who leaps into the crowd to show that he would love it to be in the crowd every bit as much as they are. The man who wept openly because his ex-best mate is photographed with his arm around his hero Morrissey, knowing he should have been there too. Sensitive and inconsistent - a dangerous mix.

The tabloids can have their fun at him. The stories of a grand a day crack habit and criminal activities, the endless Truman Show existence etc but one thing they consistently fail to spot and that's his talent. His sheer bloody ability. You want proof? Where to begin? "Time For Heroes", "Up The Bracket", "Tell The King", "The Man Who Would Be King", "What Katie Said", "Wolfman", "Stix and Stones", "The Delaney", "Killamangiro". There's more that you might not have heard too. If you get the opportunity try to lend an ear to a song called "I Love You (But You're Green"). It's so tender and beautiful that it makes "Mother Nature's Son" sound like "Too Drunk To F*ck". How about "In Love With A Feeling"? Still, not convinced? "Radio America"? "Plan A"? "The Saga?" What more do you want?

She loves him. And her taste is unimpeachable.