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Nov 04, 2024 By Jimi Arundell Photography by Dom Gourlay Web Exclusive

Nostalgia can be a terrible thing binding us to a perfect past that never was and blinding us to the folly of trying to recapture former glories. The Libertines have always indulged a sense of sentimentality, wearing Chelsea Guard uniforms that resurrected the ghost of Sgt. Peppers whilst tapping into the punk spirit of The Clash and following the well-trodden path of indie poet Morrissey.

Despite ascending to the forefront of the grot’n’roll revolution after becoming the British answer to fellow garage rock revivalists The Strokes, the good ship Albion was quickly dashed upon the rocks of Peter Doherty’s addiction and hubris ensured the band crashed and burned and the height of their fame. At the time of their initial split the second self-titled record, detailing the band’s declining relationship, was quickly rushed out and shot to Number 1 in a whirlwind of hype and hysteria.

It could have been the perfect close to an Icarian rise and fall story. “An ending fitting for the start” if you will. Assuming you ignore all the fallout including the bitter acrimonious feuding between Doherty and his previous songwriting sparring partner Carl Barât plus band members John Hassall and Gary Powell. And the ghoulish appetite of a morally moribund tabloid press, eagerly awaiting the juicy story of another rockstar death, pursuing all the gory details no matter the human cost.

So, when reports came out that the Libs were finally getting back together, there was a cautious optimism amongst the fans who were eager to see a rekindling of the magic. The hope was they could recapture all that was and what could have been. But they too had been burned by Doherty’s disappearances and late starts, left with little hope due to the clear animosity between him and Barât.

The Libertines leaned into the tragic element of their legacy, calling reformation album Anthems for Doomed Youth whilst proving the follies of the past were well behind them going on to headline festivals without even so much of a hiccup and rapidly selling out venues wherever they play. More recently, they shot to the top spot once again with this year’s offering All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade which they teased with a tour of intimate venues before moving onto the bigger headline dates including Nottingham’s Rock City.

The mistake would have been to pretend to be the young le enfants terribles they once were. Thankfully, Doherty has not fallen foul of the pressures to live up to their former reputation and it’s both a joy and relief to see him healthy and back onstage with the rest of the likely lads.

Earlier in the day, Doherty made a quick appearance at brand new Nottingham venue The Grove. And the amassing of four support acts, including Vona Vella, Real Farmer, Ed Cosens and some street poet Peter bumped into the night before recalled the chaotic thrill of the early guerilla gigs that galvanised their grassroots beginnings without any of bullshit like Doherty being too out of it to play, or not appearing at all. Dutch punks Real Farmer were the real stand-out support, channelling the raucous nature of the night with just a hint of David Byrne’s subversive art rock sound. Their pent-up frustrations are funnelled into disjointed grooves and sporadic outbursts of energy. A truly electrifying watch.

Kicking off with such iconic tunes as “Up the Bracket” and “What Became of the Likely Lads” immediately reminds us of the ramshackle charm why we fell in love with Barât, Doherty and co. in the first place. And the now fully focused band treat us to a constant barrage of classic hits and singalong anthems, including “What Katie Did”, “The Good Old Days”, “Vertigo” and “Death on the Stairs”. These high-calibre tunes triggered the sort of adoration that has led to a million and one dodgy DIY l i b e r t i n e stick and poke tattoos, permanently etching the former Camden crew into our hearts (and skin) forever.

A lot of the new stuff was wide of the mark for me. But then, all the kids knew every single word to tracks like “Night of the Hunter”, “Baron’s Claw” plus “Merry Old England” and maybe it’s all about the next generation rather than boring bastards like me endlessly harping on about how good it was before. And “Run Run Run” is a massive banger.

Skip past the staged walk-off and inevitable encore (can someone please kill off this pointless theatrical trend?) and we’re given the greatest hits treatment including “What A Waster”, “Songs They Never Play on the Radio”, “Time for Heroes” to finish with a riotous ending of “Don’t Look Back Into the Sun”. Their golden years may have passed but the boys in the band still know how to push all the right buttons and conjure up those moments of magic. Few are afforded a resurrection like this, and The Libs know not to piss it all up the wall once again.