"Anyone Who Argues That Hedonism Fuels Creativity Has Obviously Never Listened to Motley Crue"
Jack posted the following story from the Telegraph on the .Org Forum:
My Long Night With a Libertine
Pete Doherty of the Libertines was an accident waiting to happen, says Neil McCormick
Supposedly celebrating its 50th anniversary this week, rock and roll has already had more than its share of tragedies. So it is with a heartbreaking combination of sadness and resignation that one watches another bright young spark succumb to the tired myths of hedonism and excess. The first time I met Pete Doherty of the Libertines, I knew that he was an accident waiting to happen. Having witnessed the group deliver an abandoned, chaotic and utterly exhilarating set of hyped-up garage rock at Glasgow's King Tut's in February last year, I was surprised to find the slightly dazed, waif-like singer and guitarist turn up at my hotel door after midnight, inquiring in his polite, soft-spoken manner whether I had any cocaine.
I guess rock journalists have a reputation almost as bad as their subjects. I won't pretend that I am entirely innocent, but I have seen too much of the dark side of narcotics to condone their casual abuse. Still, I invited Pete in to share a bottle of red wine, my vice of choice. Whereupon Pete produced a bag of heroin (which he claimed had been donated by a fan) and proceeded to chop out a couple of thick lines. When I informed him I wouldn't be sharing his stash with him, he did not seem particularly bothered. He just snorted both lines himself. I wrote then that I feared "for the health and sanity" of the Libertines, suggesting that "they may one day be established among Britain's greatest combos. But first they have to survive life on the road." What I didn't report was that I spent several hours that night talking to him about the perils of heroin and gently trying to disabuse him of his naive theory that he wouldn't become addicted because he was snorting rather than injecting.
I did share my concerns with his management, who told me it was a full time job keeping Pete away from "undesirable elements". The following week, the European tour was cancelled. This weekend, the Libertines play Scotland's T in the Park festival without their erstwhile co-leader. Although they still have Doherty's songwriting partner, the estimable (and much more sensible) Carl Barat, for fans of the band this must be a little like the Beatles without John (or perhaps more pertinently the Stones without Keith). But, after his three failed stints in rehab and a spell in prison (for burgling Barat's flat), Doherty's bandmates seem to be resigned to life without him. They released a statement announcing that "he is and always will be a Libertine, and when he cleans up he'll be welcomed back into the band". Meanwhile, Pete has admitted to being addicted to crack and heroin. "I'm not scared about death," he told the Sunday Mirror last week. "I don't care if everyone says I'm going to die if I carry on taking drugs. I know people who take more drugs than me. It isn't drugs I need to get rid of, it's the demons in my head."
Rock's dismal history of drug casualties (the "Stupid Club" that Kurt Cobain's mother pleaded with her son not to join) suggests Doherty should take the dangers a little more seriously. Anyone who argues that hedonism fuels creativity has obviously never listened to Motley Crue. It is certainly not Doherty's drug habit that has made the Libertines such an exciting prospect. He and Barat are talented songwriters, with a penchant for juicy chord changes and a quintessentially English lyrical sensibility that draws on an imaginative reworking of the imagery of old Albion.
The Libertines spearheaded a wave of new British bands (including the Ordinary Boys, the Others and Razorlight) with a refreshing sense of polemical urgency and an intense desire to make a real connection with their audience. This is a band who loved to play, staging secret gigs and spontaneous performances in public places, every show ending in a riotous stage invasion, whether it is Brixton Academy or somebody's front room. They recently completed recording their second album, a ragged masterpiece that draws on the intense relationship between the two frontmen. The sad thing is that, when it is released by Rough Trade in August, it will almost certainly prove to be both the band's major breakthrough and swansong. The anthemic first track (and debut single, released on August 9) already sounds like Doherty's apology for the mess he has made. It is called, with a genuine sense of contrition, You Can't Stand Me Now.
My Long Night With a Libertine
Pete Doherty of the Libertines was an accident waiting to happen, says Neil McCormick
Supposedly celebrating its 50th anniversary this week, rock and roll has already had more than its share of tragedies. So it is with a heartbreaking combination of sadness and resignation that one watches another bright young spark succumb to the tired myths of hedonism and excess. The first time I met Pete Doherty of the Libertines, I knew that he was an accident waiting to happen. Having witnessed the group deliver an abandoned, chaotic and utterly exhilarating set of hyped-up garage rock at Glasgow's King Tut's in February last year, I was surprised to find the slightly dazed, waif-like singer and guitarist turn up at my hotel door after midnight, inquiring in his polite, soft-spoken manner whether I had any cocaine.
I guess rock journalists have a reputation almost as bad as their subjects. I won't pretend that I am entirely innocent, but I have seen too much of the dark side of narcotics to condone their casual abuse. Still, I invited Pete in to share a bottle of red wine, my vice of choice. Whereupon Pete produced a bag of heroin (which he claimed had been donated by a fan) and proceeded to chop out a couple of thick lines. When I informed him I wouldn't be sharing his stash with him, he did not seem particularly bothered. He just snorted both lines himself. I wrote then that I feared "for the health and sanity" of the Libertines, suggesting that "they may one day be established among Britain's greatest combos. But first they have to survive life on the road." What I didn't report was that I spent several hours that night talking to him about the perils of heroin and gently trying to disabuse him of his naive theory that he wouldn't become addicted because he was snorting rather than injecting.
I did share my concerns with his management, who told me it was a full time job keeping Pete away from "undesirable elements". The following week, the European tour was cancelled. This weekend, the Libertines play Scotland's T in the Park festival without their erstwhile co-leader. Although they still have Doherty's songwriting partner, the estimable (and much more sensible) Carl Barat, for fans of the band this must be a little like the Beatles without John (or perhaps more pertinently the Stones without Keith). But, after his three failed stints in rehab and a spell in prison (for burgling Barat's flat), Doherty's bandmates seem to be resigned to life without him. They released a statement announcing that "he is and always will be a Libertine, and when he cleans up he'll be welcomed back into the band". Meanwhile, Pete has admitted to being addicted to crack and heroin. "I'm not scared about death," he told the Sunday Mirror last week. "I don't care if everyone says I'm going to die if I carry on taking drugs. I know people who take more drugs than me. It isn't drugs I need to get rid of, it's the demons in my head."
Rock's dismal history of drug casualties (the "Stupid Club" that Kurt Cobain's mother pleaded with her son not to join) suggests Doherty should take the dangers a little more seriously. Anyone who argues that hedonism fuels creativity has obviously never listened to Motley Crue. It is certainly not Doherty's drug habit that has made the Libertines such an exciting prospect. He and Barat are talented songwriters, with a penchant for juicy chord changes and a quintessentially English lyrical sensibility that draws on an imaginative reworking of the imagery of old Albion.
The Libertines spearheaded a wave of new British bands (including the Ordinary Boys, the Others and Razorlight) with a refreshing sense of polemical urgency and an intense desire to make a real connection with their audience. This is a band who loved to play, staging secret gigs and spontaneous performances in public places, every show ending in a riotous stage invasion, whether it is Brixton Academy or somebody's front room. They recently completed recording their second album, a ragged masterpiece that draws on the intense relationship between the two frontmen. The sad thing is that, when it is released by Rough Trade in August, it will almost certainly prove to be both the band's major breakthrough and swansong. The anthemic first track (and debut single, released on August 9) already sounds like Doherty's apology for the mess he has made. It is called, with a genuine sense of contrition, You Can't Stand Me Now.
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