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Apr 16, 2025 By Celine Teo-Blockey Photography by Celine Teo-Blockey Web Exclusive

Only three songs deep into The Libertines’ Sydney set, their first Australian show here since 2018, and you’re already overcome with the surging euphoria more akin to singing along with thousands in a major-sized festival field at the climax of a night, than this beginning in a modest, inner-city theatre. On stage tonight after all, is one of the best rock’n’roll bands to come out of this century. Kick starting the rather staid post-Brit rock scene with its own Strokes, The Libertines made heady garage rock like the English Romantics wrote poetry: with rhyme, heart and emotion prized over reason.

At the centre of this post-punk revival were the dual and duelling guitarist-vocalists, Pete Doherty and Carl Barat. They cut Byron-esque figures, flying too close to the sun. They had crafted their own romantic vision of Arcadia, a manifesto in blood of an artful life in communion with likeminded fans that too often devolved into indulgence, excess and danger. By the time they followed up their highly-lauded 2003 debut Up The Bracket with their self-titled sophomore two years later, Doherty’s drug addictions had forced the band to go on tour with songs he had written, without him. In retaliation, Doherty started another band—Babyshambles.

More scandals, a highly-publicized Kate Moss break-up, unrelenting addiction woes and two stints in prison would sully The Libertine’s songwriting brilliance and relegate them as a rock’n’roll cautionary tale. It would take them almost 10 years before the release of a third album, Anthems for Doomed Youth, a fitting title in homage to war poet Wilfred Owen, that delivered the Rudyard Kipling-inspired favourite “Gunga Din.” Yet, despite the passing of time, an attempt to change their doomed narrative and the band’s best efforts, Doherty was still dogged by addiction.

So, it is nothing short of remarkable to have the boys in the band back together, clear-eyed and sober, and in top form, on our shores. The good ship Albion sails again. The show even starts bang on time. The most shambolic occurrence is the punches thrown in the heaving mosh pit that erupts between fans, forcing security to step in.

Sheffield openers Reverend And The Makers, led by frontman Jon McClure set the tone for the night. Performing without a full band, but as a duo with the assistance of a plucky, young guitarist, he covered the British Beat’s “Mirror In The Bathroom,” and band favourites “Heavyweight Champion of the World,” “A Letter To My 21 Year Old Self” and “Silence Is Talking”—in between his winning Northern banter, heavy with expletives, especially against a certain President.

After they exit, and the house lights come on with guitar techs readying for the main event, Doherty suddenly appears! Heavier with age and a diabetes diagnosis but still as fey as ever, he ambles centre-stage with what looks like a stack of pamphlets in hand to greet a bemused audience. He tries to address the room but nothing comes out of the speakers. Doherty’s gravelly but airy-light voice doesn’t carry far but eventually the PA system is turned on, and he says he has some “fanzines of poetry, music—for $20 Australian dollars,” if anyone fancied. To which the crowd, giddy with excitement, waves their $20 dollar bills lapping all the zines up in minutes. It harks back to the Libertine’s storied past in their Bethnal Green flat: they would come off tours then invite fans to house parties there, and charge a small cover so that they could afford to pay rent and buy groceries.

Tonight the camaraderie onstage is ebullient and the band’s timing impeccable kicking off with “The Saga,” “The Delaney” and “What Became of the Likely Lads.” Though the best performances throughout the night feature well-loved two-handers between Doherty and Barat like “What A Waster,” “The Delaney,” “Can’t Stand Me Now” and ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun,” the Libertines are the sum of its parts and songs where bassist John Hassall takes the spotlight on mic, or when drummer Gary Powell steps out from behind the drums to sit with the boys in a circle—each taking turns singing “Man With The Melody,”—best illustrates their chemistry and genuine love for each other.

Four songs in and we hear the first track from new album All’s Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade, the dark and slow Tchaikovsky-speckled “Night of the Hunter,” based on the cult 1955 film of the same name, with Robert Mitchum as a sinister Reverend plotting to steal from a widow her dead husband’s loot. Doherty sings “Love and hate / Tattooed on the knuckles ‘round the handles of a blade” immediately echoing his own demons.

The new album taking in themes of a dashed idealism or depending on your perspective, a rebirth (“Run Run Run”); commentary on the plight of refugees (“Merry Old England”) and the war in Ukraine (“Have a Friend”); plus portraits of post-Brexit Britain (“Mustang”), is a welcome return to form capturing their electric mid-aughts energy and scuzzy guitars.

Barat’s vibe tonight feels sometimes austere against Doherty’s earnestness, an innocence that still seems so pure. Like star-crossed lovers, each time one of them traverses the stage to share the mic with the other, their faces so close their breaths become one, it is Doherty who stares all puppy-eyed at a downcast Barat. But the man did dream up a whole enterprise for his dear friend—building a hotel in Margate overlooking the ocean and bandstand where T.S. Eliot wrote The Wasteland—where Doherty can retreat to write and record without worrying about finances or temptations.

A worthy mention in a setlist bursting with raucous favourites is “Music When the Lights Go Out” where the feathered strums and gentle lilt of Doherty’s voice which has lost none of its commitment to its poetry of expression, is a joy to behold. Likewise “What Katie Did Next” is a Barat-standout here.

The night ends with “What A Waster” which isn’t on their set list but is teased, and finally performed after “Man With The Melody” during the encore. It’s followed by a cracker rendition of “Gunga Din.” The tempo is then slowed down for the Blur-like ballad “Songs They Never Play on the Radio,” before ending on a high with the penultimate “Time For Heroes,” then “Don’t Look Back Into The Sun.”

Finally, after several bows to an ecstatic crowd, Doherty, Barat and Hassell leave the stage, Powell in his trademark, unbuttoned tracksuit, lingers. He feels two things have to be said. One is ‘fuck Donald Trump.’ And the other ‘Free Palestine’— which is met with resounding cheers, claps and clenched fists thrown in the air. The Libertines’ tales of betrayals and addictions central to the lore of the band fade to the background. And what became of the likely lads, we’re still discovering but things look good. As one of their heroes, William Blake wrote “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom…You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.” Now it seems we’re all wiser for it.