BBC Interview 2002

What’s your best feature?
Pete: Probably Carlos.

…

Where would you like to be this time next year?
Pete: Just still playing the guitar in the band.
Carl: Yeah, the same as now.

Dubbed the British Strokes by NME, leather jacketed four-piece guitar band The Libertines have certainly rocketed into the limelight despite only releasing their first single in June.

This summer saw them doing things other bands can only dream of – supporting The Strokes, The Vines and appearing at the Reading/Leeds Festivals.

BBC Southampton’s Indy Almroth-Wright climbed aboard The Libertines’ tour bus for a chat before their gig at The Joiners in Southampton.

Has the sudden thrust into stardom been a bit daunting for you?
Pete: We’ve been given an opportunity if we want stardom – I don’t think we’ve exactly got stardom at the moment, but the machinery’s all there.

How do you feel being filed alongside the likes of The Strokes and The Hives?
Carl: It seems only natural in a way, you can’t blame people.
Pete: To be honest I don’t mind because you can’t complain about people calling you this and calling you that as long as they get the name of the band right
John: If you’re trying to describe a band you need to have a reference to go by.

Describe your sound in three words…..
Pete: Innocent, emotional and simple
Carl: Simple is definitely what I’d describe your music as!

Who or what has inspired you?
Carl: Sid James and Sid Vicious.
Pete: Whatever it is that gives you that feeling inside to get out of bed, get out of London and do something. Whatever inspires you to do that – to be alive and to dream.

How have you all taken to your first tour?
Pete: I’ve had a few nasty surprises and a few pleasant surprises – acts of random violence and acts of random goodwill. It all adds up to a complete tablet of chaos that you have to swallow – but they never told me it was going to be a suppository!

What’s been the best venue so far?
Pete: I’d say Leicester, it was completely barmy.
John: Yeah, it was a great atmosphere.

What’s your favourite smell?
Carl: I like the smell of my Grandma’s soap – I used to sit in the bath and eat it.
John: Felt tips.
Pete: Marzipan – I haven’t smelt it for years, I’d do anything for that

What did you want to be as a kid?
John: A hairdresser, a comedian and a football player all in one.
Pete: And he’s taking it down the wing….OOoooh lovely side parting!
I wanted to play for Queens Park Rangers Football Club to be honest. I thought that was always what was going to happen and then the day I realised that I wasn’t going to play for QPR was the day I started writing melancholy songs.
Carl: It was a different thing every day but nothing ever realistic – my dad wanted me to be a lawyer, but I think he was wrong.

If you could be a superhero what would be your secret power?
Pete: My special power would be to stop the world – but all things like cigarette machines keep on working and I could just wonder around with this lovely girl I met in Aberdeen.
Gary: The power of healing and drumming.

What’s your best feature?
Pete: Probably Carlos.

When did you first fall in love?
Pete: I fell in love with a girl called Emma Frogg with two g’s. I was in Liverpool and I used to play football with her all day she was wicked but she had no teeth.
Carl: The first time I fell in love with a real person was at school when I got beaten up and this girl came and sorted me out when I was all mashed up.
John: It was probably when I was about 13 and I heard the Beatles for the first time .
Gary: When I met Pete, Carl and John.

Where would you like to be this time next year?
Pete: Just still playing the guitar in the band.
Carl: Yeah, the same as now.

NME Libertines LP Exclusive! – October 2002

Death On The Stairs – Barât: ‘It’s a song we find hard to play even though it’s a favourite. It’s very sad but happy at the same time. It’s so dear to us that we could never seem to record it right, so we had to do it about four times.’

Carl Barât and Peter Doherty give a track-by-track preview of their debut – plus where you can hear it first.

The Libertines release their hugely anticipated debut album ‘Up The Bracket’ on October 21 – and NME has had the exclusive first play. Here Peter Doherty and Carl Barât talk NME through the album, produced by former Clash man Mick Jones.

Vertigo – Doherty: ‘I like the line ‘Was it the liquor? Or was it my soul?’ It’s when you can’t work out whether it was genuine or whether you just got caught up in the debauched outside influence. Is it a Hitchcock reference? Well, there’s a hitch and there’s definitely a cock, but that’s nothing to do with the film director.’

Death On The Stairs – Barât: ‘It’s a song we find hard to play even though it’s a favourite. It’s very sad but happy at the same time. It’s so dear to us that we could never seem to record it right, so we had to do it about four times.’

Doherty: ‘That song’s a cry in the darkness. But not from us – it’s when you’re in the darkness and then you hear a cry.’

Horror Show – Doherty: ‘I think heroin is mentioned on this and a few songs – heroes and heroin, soft drugs and hard drugs, days by the sea. But it’s quite an upbeat song and if you’ve been down on the brown the last thing you want to do is thrash about. You’d much rather lie down somewhere or spew up. Dangerous territory, really. You’d think in this day and age it wouldn’t be, but you’ve got to be careful.’

Time For Heroes – Barât: ‘It’s what it says really, it’s just a fairytale. I think that’s got the best guitar solo on the album. What heroes? Sid James, Syd Barrett, Sid Vicious – the usual.’

Boys In The Band – Doherty: ‘Everyone’s been singing along to it, they love it. I always find it a bit weird singing ‘They all get them out/For the boys in the band’ and seeing all the girls singing along. But it doesn’t matter – it is a bit of a sing along number. It’s not actually saying ‘Get your bangers out for the boys!’ It’s more like ‘Roll out the carpets! Get out the drinks!’

Radio America – Barât: ‘We hired all these acoustic instruments and a double bass and a cocktail drumkit. It cost a fortune. I was so mangled that day. I fell asleep, fell over and banged my head on the mic stand. Everyone starts laughing. hey didn’t use it though, because my playing on that one was abysmal.’

Up The Bracket – Doherty: ‘That’s me screaming at the start. There was all this fucking about in the studio. It was frustration. I can still see Mick with his can in his hand going, ‘Right lads, no more fucking about!”

Tell The King – Barât: ‘That’s lovely. Don’t take that line wrong (‘Like a journalist/You can cut and paste and twist’). Is it like ‘Mr. Writer’? You’re not accusing me of listening to the Stereophonics are you?’

The Boy Looked At Johnny – Doherty: ‘Ah! That’s one of my favourites. It’s a blatant sing along. It’s got this amazing riff on it – you’re going to piss yourself with pleasure or laughter when you hear it. It’s restored my faith.’

Begging – Barât: ‘There’s something about the kids ’round where we live (east London) – they’re real guttersnipes. They’re normally a good laugh but they’re so confrontational. They used to call us hippies and say, ‘You’re beggin’!’ That was a cuss they had. That’s our most stonerish song.

The Good Old Days – Doherty: ‘That’s a call to arms really. It’s not nostalgic at all. It’s saying there were no good old days, stop going on about them. These are the good old days probably.’

Barât: ‘It sounds like Vikings rowing oars in the background.’

I Get Along – Barât: ‘(Sings) ‘I get along in the face of adversity/If people tell me I’m wrong then fuck ’em’. That’s what it means. It’s another knees-up. ‘Boys In The Band’-style.’

NME – October 2002 – The Libertines Inteview

Carl: Shut up John, just cos (mutters something inaudible to tape) Have you seen the carpet burn on my knee? Where did I get it from?

John: Gary (repeats Gary many times whilst Carl brandishes his knee at Pippa)

Carl: Gary? Was it?

John: I thought you had a fight with him?

Carl: I can’t remember! I was too drunk..

The Libertines – Permanently in NME and becoming one of the hottest gig tickets in London since the Strokes. Currently touring to promote new single Up the Bracket, Pippa caught up with Carl, Peter and John at their recent gig in Oxford to discuss touring, Cilla Black and the most fantastical stories/fabrications ever heard by Flashers Inc.

How did you all meet?

Peter: It was a long time ago to be honest. There are some subjects which you don’t like to talk about because it brings back bad memories, and meeting Carlos is one of these. I met John on my doorstep with his cat.

John: I was stroking my pussy yeah.

Peter: And he came to the door, introduced himself. I started playing him some of my songs, and his friend heard outside and thought it was the radio. Which was quite nice. And err yeah. We went on a few dates, got to know each other – fairytale romance really.

Pippa: Aww how lovely.

Peter: But you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone, do you!

How’s the tour going?

Carl: It’s rolling!

What’s the hardest thing about being on tour?

Peter: You get a little bit of agro really, like last night in Cardiff, this fella just kept coming up to me and saying ‘Your band’s really shit’ and ‘You’re a cunt’ for about half an hour, and in the end I decked him, and i ended up getting thrown out of the club!

Carlos: (speaking insanely quickly) Yeah and I said ‘What’s this bollocks about…’, ‘What’s this bollocks about?’ and the bouncer said, ‘Is this your friend?’ and I said ‘Yeah he’s a good mate’ and then he goes (puts on welsh accent) ‘Get the fuck away from me!’

John: Yeah that’s probably the hardest thing, to keep yourself together, get on with it..

Peter: (puts on another welsh accent) Whose coat’s that jacket? Whose coat’s that jacket? Whose shoes are those trainers?

What’s the funniest thing that has happened to you on tour?

Peter: Hearing a welsh person go: ‘Whose coat’s that jacket?’

Pippa: Is it really?

Peter: It is quite funny!

Carlos: You’re going to take all the good bits out and make us sound like idiots aren’t you!

Who’s the most untidiest member of the band?

John: Hands down Pete, blatant.

What about the vainest?

John: Hands down Carl, look at him he loves himself!

Carl: Shut up John, just cos (mutters something inaudible to tape) Have you seen the carpet burn on my knee? Where did I get it from?

John: Gary (repeats Gary many times whilst Carl brandishes his knee at Pippa)

Carl: Gary? Was it?

John: I thought you had a fight with him?

Carl: I can’t remember! I was too drunk..

Do you have nicknames for each other?

All speak at once: Pigman, Boggle, Biggles, Mr Spangles, Spaniel….

They launch into strong cockney accents shouting about meat and suchlike (mental note: do not rely on a dictaphone when interviewing the Libertines ever ever again.)

Have you heard of Joan of Ass?

Carl: Yeah we’ve met them!

Pippa: (excited) Ohhh have you really!?

Carl and Peter: Yeah we’ve seen them loads of times! They do the tit flap on stage! I have a poster of them!

Parva are the best new band in Britain. Discuss.

Carl: Disgust?

Pippa: DISCUSS!

Carl: Ohh I thought you said disgust.

Peter: I’ve never heard of them.

Pippa: Yes you have!

Carl: That’s cos you weren’t in Scarborough when we met them. We played with them at the Leeds Cockpit, the singer’s got that side hair.

Peter: Ohhh yeah.

Pippa: Be nice about them cos they were very nice about you!

Carl: Yeah they’re lovely lads!

Peter: One of them has shagged the woman from the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s.

Pippa: Which one? Must have been Ricky..

Peter: Must have been Ricky yeah. He kept going ‘Karen Ooooooooooooooooohhhhhhh’

Carl: I got absolutely hammered in Leeds with the singer. It was all going really well, we were at the bar and he said he could get all of these free drinks, and we got these whiskeys and kept knocking them back and I went to the toilet and came back, and he had his hand on some bloke’s arse. That was the last I’ve seen of him.

(In the background Peter is still saying Karen Oooooooooooooooooooooo orgasmically and repeatedly)

What’s the best joke in your joke repertoire?

Peter: Do you know the one about the evangelical preachers?

Carl: Ohhh no, that will take an hour that joke, she hasn’t got enough tape for that. What about little jokes you’ve got?

Peter: Ok what was the name of the first German chancellor? Otto Von…

Pippa: Bismarck

(Peter and Carl start shouting loudly and scarily in German voices

Peter: No seriously, what was it? Bis…

Pippa: I do German! (trying to avoid saying it again!)

Peter: What is it? Bis?

Carl: No seriously, he was the first German chancellor, Bismar…Bismar…

Pippa: (quietly) Bismarck…

(Peter and Carl start shouting loudly and scarily in German voices *again*

Pippa: (whimpers audibly in fear)

John: BISMARCK! BISMARCK!

(Peter and Carl start shouting loudly and scarily in German voices *again*)

(Note from Flashers Inc – if anyone could please explain this to us I’d be grateful!)

If you were on blind date, what questions would you ask?

Carl: What the fuck am I doing here!?

Peter: I’d say, Cilla, do you remember you babysat for my mum once in Liverpool in the 50’s. She was only four.

Pippa: Awwww.

Peter: She was still young! So I’m related to Cilla Black. She married my Auntie Rose’s cousin. He was a taxi driver and then he married Cilla Black, and they emigrated to London. And then he died.

As a child what name did you want instead of your own?

Peter: For some reason it was Steve!

John: I always wanted Lou, I thought that was well good!

Carl: I wanted to be called Belvedere!

(crazy laughter from group)

If you had a film made about your life, which actor would play you?

Carlos: Chesney Hawkes would play me.

Peter: That little kid in..what’s that film with the ballet dancer in?

Pippa: (giggling) Billy Elliot

Peter: Yeah, that’s it, the kid’s little mate who wears make-up.

Pippa: Awww!

Carl: He looks like you!

Peter: Yeah he does look like me!

John: He’s a good looking kid tho. Some B-List celebrity would play me, probably Barrymore or someone, that would be great.

Pippa: Interesting film!

Carlos: (laughing lots) That would be a great film!

(sings) Do you remember 19899999??

If you were on Mastermind what would your specialist subject be?

Carlos: Masturbation

Peter: Queens Park Rangers programmes, i used to collect them, about 1985 to 1993

John: Beatles

(They start firing questions at him and then sing Beatles songs, all at the same time thus impossible to transcribe. Memories of Parva!)

Do you do any impressions? And will you do one for us!

(Immediately they all start doing impressions for the dictaphone and laughing insanely.)

Peter: Actually I can do one but you’ll have to be really quiet or you won’t get it. It’s an African bull frog..

(makes a sound so froglike it is disturbing. Followed by much laughter.)

Peter: I can also do an impression of Salt n. Pepper: ‘It’s your thang…(carries on)

Carl: Yeah but that’s not actually that good is it?

Peter: ‘It’s Friday night and I just got (rest of line is obscured by much laughter)

John: You can do a really bad Mick Jones!

Carl: Do your guy in the guitar shop in London, selling the American guitars.

John: No man, no way (puts on very deep and hoarse American voice) Game over man!

Peter: You can do cannon fodder, worzel gummidge! Do your General Belvedere!

Two Libertines: CANNON FODDER!

Carl: Do you do any impressions?

Pippa: Only of Biffy Clyro, sorry!

Peter: Can you do an impression of a Flasher?

Carl: Yeah are you gonna flash for us?

Pippa: I don’t know! I’m solo you see, that makes it harder!

Carl: Where’s your friend?

Pippa: She’s at Bangor University.

(Hysterical cackling laughter erupts amongst many shouts of BANGOR!)

Peter: That’s just ridiculous!

Carl: That’s got to go in the Book of Albion! Where’s the Book of Albion?

Pippa: The what?

Peter: Bring forth the Book of Albion!

Carl: It’s funny, it’s a book of tour memoirs, so you’re quite priviledged!

Peter: (Mimicking the conversation) Where’s your mate? BANGOR!!! (more laughter)

What’s the most rock and roll thing you’ve ever done?

Peter: Nothing, it’s all a myth!

Pippa: Ohh come on!

Peter: Well we started a group which turned out to be the best band in the world at the time.

Right who was your most embarrassing childhood crush of the celebrity form?

Carl: Oh there was this magazine, called, no I can’t remember what its called, i was only about 10. And when I used to go shopping I used to stare up at the top rack at this woman on the cover. And the woman in the shop used to always look at me and go ‘Dear oh dear you shouldn’t be looking at that, should you!’

John: I had a crush on the narrator of Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat at the theatre. She used to wear this sparkly minidress and I was infatuated with her.

Peter: How many times did you see her?

John: I only saw it once!

Peter: Actually I had a crush on one of my teachers at school. I was about 8 and she took advantage of it actually. It’s a bit dark really. She stole my innocence. She taught me to read and write, amongst other things! In fact that’s probably the most rock and roll thing I’ve ever done, snogging my science teacher when I was eight!

What about the most embarrassing gig you’ve ever been to?

Peter: Never really been to anything embarrassing.

Pippa: Ohh come on, you must have. Mine was Jason Donovan.

Carl: I know – Appleton! I didn’t go to see their gig, I went to see Supergrass!

Peter: What was that band called who played with The Strokes? You know.. Stereo..

John: Stereo Totale

Carl: They were comedy though!

Do you know the words to the John Barnes rap?

John: Yeahhhh!

John and Peter: My name is John Barnes I come from Jamaica, whenever they see me the crowd go bananas!

Pippa: Nooooo wrong one! I meant the World in Motion one!

Peter: Catch me if you can I’m a matchstick man, You’ve got to get to the line and… No.

What pants are you wearing?

John: Essentials

Carl: Calvin Klein sport!

Peter: I’m not wearing any!

Say something controversial!

(Carl starts jumping up and down on the settee randomly and tells a bizarre anecdote about the Queen which they then deem to be not controversial)

Peter: I don’t really find anything controversial!

Pippa: Well that’s quite controversial!

Peter: Yeah! I mean you look in the paper and you see the bodies of mutilated people, and that’s controversy. Controversy isn’t saying something like ‘Oh I’ve fucked Noel Gallagher’ or something. Which I have.

(much laughter)

What’s the best question you’ve ever been asked in an interview?

Peter: Will you marry me!

Pippa: Awww have you? What did you say?

Peter: I said yes! It was on Spanish MTV Europe, it’s true! I said something about flowers. Ohh yeah, she said, ‘Would you marry me?’ and not ‘Will you’ and I thought that was a good question. But it was the way she said it, Would you! So I’ve been saying that to loads of people, it’s a really good line actually. You say to someone ‘Would you marry me?’ and if they’re switched on then you see their smile and say ‘yeah’! Or they say, ‘I don’t fancy you now go away you stupid cunt..’

Carl: Is that it then? Is there nothing else?

Pippa: Nope!

Carl: Well thanks for the interview, it was really interesting. Made a nice change from all the others!

(Random conversation follows about Oscar Wilde, Magdalen College, Flashing, German, Parva and promises to get on stage and flash that night.)

2003 – The Telegraph – The Libertines Interview

“I haven’t washed my hair in years,” says Barat. “Never had any complaints.”

“If you don’t wash your hair, it cleans itself,” reports Doherty. “That applies to the human body as well.”

The rock band is making a deafening comeback. Neil McCormick jumped on the bus with the Libertines to see if the rituals of the rock tour were back too.

Forming a crazy quilt of laddered stockings, tartan mini-skirts and torn T-shirts, four girls stretch out across twin beds in a hotel room in Glasgow. The mini bar door hangs open, the barren interior looking as forlorn as a bank safe after a raid. Empty bottles of spirits, beer and wine litter the floor, several filling up with ash and fag ends.

John Hassall, thin, pale bassist with the Libertines, lights up another hand-rolled ciggie and enquires in a polite, dazed voice: “Whose room is this anyway?”

It is 2am on the 10th day of the Libertines’ European tour, and Pete Doherty and Carl Barat (joint singers, guitarists, songwriters and polemicists for the London quartet) have slipped away to wander the corridors, looking for another mini-bar.

What they would really appreciate (they let it be known in an odd slang of their own invention) is some “bugle” or some “brackle”, the exact pharmaceutical ingredients for which they leave to the imagination. But they settle for a bottle of red wine in the chambers of a man from Rough Trade records who has come north to watch his young charges perform.

“Can you ever get a buzz better than that?” asks the soft-spoken, otherworldly Doherty. He is not referring to drugs or alcohol. He is talking about tonight’s performance: the clattering of guitars, the charge of bass and drums, the swarm of bodies in a climactic stage invasion. “You can’t get that feeling anywhere else. It’s communion. It’s like being washed away in the ocean, carried aloft on a wave.”

“High seas, low seas, swab the decks, all hands on,” mumbles the foppish Barat. An acrid smell of sweat hangs around the two young bandmates, who appear to be still dressed in the distressed threads they were wearing on stage. Someone suggests that they might avail themselves of the shower facilities before reboarding the tour bus in half an hour to make their way to the next city.

“I don’t look that bad,” says Doherty, offended. He runs his fingers through a greasy tangle of barbed wire curls. “It’s ‘cos I’ve hardly had any sleep. I’ve been hallucinating all night. I’ve looked worse, though.”

“I haven’t washed my hair in years,” says Barat. “Never had any complaints.”

“If you don’t wash your hair, it cleans itself,” reports Doherty. “That applies to the human body as well.”

I fear for the health and sanity of the Libertines. A ramshackle garage rock quartet whose Up the Bracket album sounds like the savage young Beatles colliding with the Jam and the Clash in a pop culture spin-dryer, they may one day be established among Britain’s greatest combos. But first they have to survive life on the road.

Let me take you on a tour round the cramped bus that acts as home for several weeks for four band members, their beefy roadie Paul, exasperated road manager Rob, implacable soundman Nick the Hat, the imperturbable Moose the driver and various strays collected along the way.

Downstairs, behind the driver’s cabin, there is a recreation room that resembles a much abused pimp’s suite, complete with white leather sofa spotted with suspicious stains. Amid the empties, there is a TV, video, stereo and Playstation 2. Above a sink has been taped a notice: “Your mum is not here. Please clean up yourself.” No one has been paying it any attention.

Occupying pride of place in the toilet is the award which the Libertines collected when NME readers voted them “Best new band in Britain”. Upstairs, there are 10 bunks, overflowing with luggage, guitar cases and stray items of clothing. Aft is another small recreation room.

To the fore is a tiny cubby hole which Doherty has claimed for himself. It is not a pretty sight. Strewn with socks and underpants, bras and stockings, butts and empties, rank with the stench of body fluids, it has the ambience of a cupboard in which someone has held a bachelor party.

Interlopers have been banned from the bus in a vain attempt by management to curb certain destructive influences. Nonetheless, Doherty has contrived to spend the overnight journey from Sheffield to Glasgow cooped up with four female acquaintances, all squeezed together on his single bunk. The results are not pretty. When Rob finally departs, Barat pokes his nose round the door and reels back in a display of olfactory horror.

“Well there’s been four stowaways in here all night, sweating it out in the dark with no air vents,” wheedles Doherty, defensively. “Of course its gonna be a bit humid.”

“There’s a massive roof hatch,” Barat points out.

“Yeah but you can’t open it without the key,” counters Doherty. “I wasn’t going to wake Rob up and say, ‘The hostages are getting restless, can we open the air vent’ was I?”

“Hostages, was it?” says Barat.

The friends both start to laugh. The girls, however, are looking rather alarmed to notice that the much feared Rob has returned before they could make good their escape. Doherty turns to his disgruntled road manager with eyes of twinkling innocence.

“And imagine my surprise,” he declares.

It is astonishing to think that even after half a century of this rock and roll lark, touring (certainly at the start-up level) remains as chaotic and ridiculous as ever. It is a life positively encrusted in unhealthy rituals built around bad meals, worse drugs, casual liaisons, sleep deprivation and lack of hygiene.

Between service stations and chain hotels, killing time with uppers, downers and inbetweeners, days consist of endless waiting, waiting for that one adrenaline-fuelled burst of activity on stage. Afterwards there is only the slow comedown, the desperate attempts to maintain that high with hedonistic abandon, culminating in a gradual estrangement from reality, a sense of dislocation that hangs around everyone who boards the bus.

And the truth is: this is what most of them really want. Pop culture myths of decadence and debauchery are embraced with naively open hearts. After all, everybody knows that sex and drugs and rock and roll go together like stock markets and crashes. Booze and hangovers.

The Libertines’ requirements, to be placed in their dressing room before each show, includes the following: “48 large cans quality lager, 8 Red Bull, 24 cans coke, 1 bottle good white wine, 2 bottles vodka, 1 bottle whisky”.

“I like touring,” says Doherty, swigging a huge tumbler of vodka and Coke backstage at King Tut’s in Glasgow. “It’s like a school trip.” Which makes you wonder what kind of school he went to.

“We get more comfort on the road than we do at home,” claims Barat. For the record, he makes this statement while sprawling on a threadbare couch, in a tiny windowless room jammed with sweaty bodies, the floor strewn with cigarette butts.

“At least we’ve got hot and cold running water here,” says Doherty. “We haven’t got that at home. I have to flush my toilet with Evian. Only the best for the Albion rooms.”

Doherty is a notoriously unreliable narrator. The grandly named Albion rooms are, in fact, a run-down East End rental where Doherty and Barat reside. The Libertines’ chief ideologues have created for themselves a fantastical aesthetic of the imagination they refer to as the Arcadian dream, to which they have set sail on the good ship Albion, the latter referencing their arch nostalgia for a certain indefinable quality of Englishness.

They name-check Oscar Wilde, Disraeli, Dickens, Galton and Simpson, Steptoe and Son, Tony Hancock, and a holy trinity of Sids: Sid James, Syd Barrett, and Sid the Sexist.

“People accuse us of being in love with the colours of an old world and dusty tins,” says Barat.

“But it’s an age that exists now. You can own the tin now,” says Doherty, taking up his co-conspirator’s train of thought with the deftness of a double act. “Its not like time-travelling or pretending you live in another era. You can appreciate the beauty of something whenever it was made, whether it’s a charming image of rollers and quaint fags hanging out of the corners of mouths .”

The pair can go on like this for hours, and frequently do. Two girls on assignment from a local college magazine gaze on as if beholding the fount of all earthly wisdom. “What are your feelings about going to war?” asks one.

“I’d never say I wouldn’t fight a war,” says Doherty, who has a penchant for Crimean army uniforms. “In different ages I would have done. I’d have fought the Vikings.”

King Tut’s is jammed to capacity. Condensation drips down the walls. The crowd heaves in expectation. Gary Powell, the incongruously urbane black American drummer, says: “I don’t think we should get anybody up tonight.” Paul the Roadie concurs. “No stage invasions. It’s too dangerous. All right Pete?”

Doherty just gives them his innocent smile. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out what’s going to happen next.

At the conclusion of a performance that is a jolting explosion of primal energy, Doherty and Barat start pulling fans on to the stage. It is one of their oft-repeated tenets that there should be no barrier between performer and audience. Soon the band have disappeared in a swell of bodies.

Someone starts up the anthemic I Get Along and 30 or 40 interlopers jump up and down bellowing the lyrics. Barat’s guitar is unplugged but he sings instead. Doherty occasionally surfaces, looking utterly ecstatic. “There’s no way my stage can take that,” mutters the promoter. But the mood in the room is euphoric. It’s a big punk rock blast. It is, as Doherty would have it, communion.

Then it’s over. The band fight their way offstage. “You can’t do that again, Pete,” warns Powell, who has been fighting people off his kit.

“It was beautiful, Gary,” says Doherty.

“You cannot do that again,” Powell reiterates.

Doherty looks longingly back from the side of a stage still teeming with invaders, chanting for more. “Shall we go out and do another one?”

“With what?” roars Rob. “They’ve nicked all the fucking mics!”

The night after Neil McCormick’s departure, the Libertines were due to play in Hamburg. On arrival, however, singer Pete Doherty was diagnosed with bronchial pneumonia, and the band were forced to cancel the rest of the tour.

‘Up the Bracket’ is out now on Rough Trade records. A new single is due out in May.

NME interview, – 8th June 2002 – The Libertines

What about Arcadia, then?

“You mentioned that in the news story,” chides Pete, “but you twisted it. You mentioned ancient Greece, but it’s not in ancient Greece, it’s in there (he points to his head. God knows what’s in there, but that’s where it is. It’s a vision of a better place. Everything there is cool.”

“Really, it’s just about the realm of the infinite, which is just in the mind,” corrects Carl, “and is capable of anything as radical or as beautiful or as sick as you can conjure up.”

“It’s where cigarettes grow on trees and all benches are made of denim,” adds John, helpfully.

Psycho ex-girlfriends, knife fights, a difficult rent-boy period: pursuit of the Arcadian dream hasn’t always been easy for east Londoners The Libertines – the best new band in Britain.

It’s May 1, and NME is sitting in the Dive Bar in Soho, London. Outside, it’s the day of the anti-capitalism protests and the riot police have just closed off Shaftesbury Avenue to the accompaniment of screaming and broken glass.

Down here, Pete Doherty and Carl Barât – the two frontmen from Britain’s greatest new band (aka The Libertines) – have just stumbled in through the door with their belts undone; for some reason their belts are always undone. They, along with bassist John Hassall and drummer Gary Powell, have just been rioting. Or, as they prefer to call it, “celebrating”.

Carl – side-parting, swarthy good looks, occasionally prone to mumbling – is rubbing his leg. He’s just thrown a bottle at a policeman. In return, the policeman’s just whacked him on the knees with a truncheon.

Meanwhile, Pete – staring eyes, small lips, occasionally prone to walking in front of moving cars – wants to know why we’re doing their interview down here.

“Why don’t we do it outside?” he asks. “We could wander around and get the police involved.” Well… Before we’ve actually had a chance to answer, the idea’s vanished from Pete’s head. That’s because he’s started an argument with Carl. This isn’t a surprise. They’re always bickering. He starts to taunt Carl about a recent Libertines story in NME where he was the only band member to get quoted.

“Most people fancy Carl more than they do me,” he sighs. “For years I’ve been in his shadow, but now the worm has turned and I’m getting all the NME quotes.”

“Yeah, why the fuck do you always quote Pete?” demands Carl. “Every time you ask a question, he starts yapping. And another thing, why did you call him the singer? He’s a scumbag.”

“Well, he does sing most of the songs,” observes John.

“No he doesn’t,” snaps Carl. “And if he ever did, I’d have to have words about that.”

“He’s a psychopath,” confides Pete, turning to us. “He’s pulled a knife on me so many times. I’ve had to call the police about it.”

Carl: “Well, I did nearly have to kill you last night, because you were such a cunt. What was that all about, eh?”

Pete suddenly leans over to Carl and starts singing, “chim chiminee” in his face. Everyone starts to laugh. Carl just sighs and says to Pete: “Look, this time, can you just make sure you don’t say all that kooky shit that makes us sound like some skanky cult?”

Pete shrugs: “I’ll say what I like.”

Just in case you’re wondering, The Libertines really are as brilliant as NME claims. They’re funny, contrary, argumentative and insane. Based in Bethnal Green, east London, their world is an old school compendium of Union Jacks, brittle English vocals and mod stylings. Musically, they’re part of a ‘quintessentially British’ lineage of eccentric, arty and articulate bands stretching back to The Kinks and taking in The Jam, The Smiths and Blur en route. And in a time of amazing guitar music (The Vines, The Strokes, The White Stripes and BRMC) they’re currently the only UK band worth talking about. Their songs are short, sharp and chaotic, and live they have a tendency towards the haywire. The first time NME saw them play (at the Cherry Jam club in west London), Pete and Carl had done so much cocaine, they played twice as fast as the rhythm section and ended up having a fight onstage. Their guitars are still flecked with the blood.

Despite that, every song they perform in their vibrating 25-minute set could be a single. And this week, they finally get around to releasing one; a classic double A-side on Rough Trade featuring ‘I Get Along’ and ‘What A Waster’.

‘What a Waster’, in particular, is amazing. Brilliantly produced by former Suede guitarist Bernard Butler, it’s three minutes of smart, frenzied genius. Unfortunately, because of a verse that runs “What a waster/What a fucking waster/You pissed it all up the wall and round the corner too” – as well as liberal use of the phrase “you two-bob c—” (and a quick reference to the Taliban) – you’re never going to hear it on the radio. So you’re going to have to go out and buy it instead.

The Libertines know the value of a good story. How they got here, reads like a Greek myth. As far as NME can tell, all of them are in their early 20s and they formed at some point in 1996, although as Pete points out: “The past is such a web of shadows and lies, it’s difficult to pinpoint exact dates.”

Pete was born in Newcastle (“Well, it was Hadrian’s Wall actually”) and spent the rest of his childhood moving around the country depending on whether he was staying with his mum, dad or the social services. The same was true for Carl, although for different reasons – he was part of a family of travellers. Eventually the two of them collided “somewhere in the East End”, and decided to make a pact.

“What sort of pact?” asks Pete incredulously. “It was to sail the good ship Albion to Arcadia.”

Right. “The Albion is the name of the vessel,” he elaborates. “The band could have been called The Albion, but it’s a shit name for a group.”

Can you explain it more?
“It’s like photo booths and squeaky beds. What else do you need to know? It’s just a word.”

What about Arcadia, then?

“You mentioned that in the news story,” chides Pete, “but you twisted it. You mentioned ancient Greece, but it’s not in ancient Greece, it’s in there (he points to his head. God knows what’s in there, but that’s where it is. It’s a vision of a better place. Everything there is cool.”

“Really, it’s just about the realm of the infinite, which is just in the mind,” corrects Carl, “and is capable of anything as radical or as beautiful or as sick as you can conjure up.”

“It’s where cigarettes grow on trees and all benches are made of denim,” adds John, helpfully.

“Basically,” concludes Pete, “we just sat down and thought, ‘we’re going to jack it all in and throw ourselves into eternity.'”

As it turns out, the voyage to Arcadia was rougher than they expected. For a start, both Pete and Carl were semi-homeless.

Pete: “Well, I’ve never been homeless, exactly. My nan lives in Kilburn. Admittedly she’s mad and thinks I’m her dad, but it’s not like I haven’t got anywhere to go. He (pointing at Carl) has been in hostels though.”

There was also the small matter of them being rent boys.

“We joined this agency,” explains Carl, matter-of-factly. “We thought it was called Aristocrats, but it was actually Aristocats. We thought it was taking women out to the theatre, or escorting them to dinner. But basically it was shagging old men in hotel rooms.”

How was that?

Pete: “It only lasted for about five minutes. I got all dolled up, but I couldn’t deal with it. I used to push the drinks trolley over and make a run for it.”

After this, they decided they needed some stability. So they moved into a brothel on the Holloway Road in north London – incidentally, located above NME’s Steven Wells’ flat. Did they like it there?

“It was very comfortable actually,” says Pete.

“Well it might have been for you…” retorts Carl.

“It was OK,” continues Pete, unperturbed, “until this girl fell in love with Carl and decided I was the devil. I was working at the Prince Charles cinema in Soho and she turned up with a pair of scissors and tried to stab me in the stomach. She thought I’d stolen money, but I hadn’t. That was enough to make Carl head up to Manchester.”

“When I got back, though, I had to go and live with her again,” shrugs Carl. “One morning she burst through the door and emptied a tin of cat food on my head. She didn’t even have a cat. Sometime after that she left a note on the door, saying ‘Goodbye cruel world’ and I found her trying to gas herself in an electric oven.”

“The whole brothel thing ended in tears really,” agrees Pete. “You can’t really print any of this; she’s got a proper long history of mental illness. She’ll see this and come looking for us.”

“She’s out in the shadows,” nods John. “She’s got scissors and she’s looking for revenge.”

Post-brothel, and as far as anyone can remember that takes us to 1999, Pete and Carl moved to the appropriately named Albion Road in Stoke Newington. There, almost inevitably, they started to live in a squat with someone called Delvin The Wizard. After the upset of the brothel period, these were happy days.

“Delvin let us live and rehearse there,” explains Pete. “We used to put on all these gigs there; it was like the psychedelic underground (a reference to early Sunday Pink Floyd gigs which were billed as “the spontaneous underground” – ’60s Ed.).

“Sandra The Wood Nymph used to play with us quite a bit. She was a French dancer, who used to crawl out of a plastic egg with fire around her. Was it any good? Well, it was a woman dancing out of a plastic egg, so it was OK, I suppose.”

You seem to know some interesting people.

“Yeah”, nods Pete. “We hang around with people I know, people I went to school with, family, lovers, fans, philanthropists, poets, scholars and wasters. We’re from Pandemonia and that’s where we’re going to remain.”

Carl sighs again: “Look, I’ve already told you about this. Do you have to make us sound like British Sea Power or something? We’re not hippies, you know, but that’s what everyone’s going to think after you’ve finished.” Pete shrugs: “I’ll say what I like.”

Somewhere amid this hectic lifestyle, The Libertines occasionally found time to play a gig. Their first one was at a house on Camden Road where the electricity meter cut off halfway through and they had to have a whip round to finish off (Carl: “I also made Pete do his Hitler impression and take this Austrian girl into the bathroom. She came out in tears and slapped him round the face”).

There was also a brief period where Carl and Pete would play acoustic sets at Filthy McNasty’s Whiskey Café near King’s Cross. That was followed by a few months when they played with a 70-year-old drummer called Mr Razzcocks. Then, about two years ago, everything went totally off the rails.

“We were following melodies down the street,” dreams Pete. “We thought we had the songs that were going to save the world and get the girl and cut the ribbon.”

What went wrong?

Pete: “Nothing went wrong. Well, alright, every single thing went wrong. There was incest and greed and disaster. Then John quit and it was all quite lame for a while. The Arcadian dream had been tainted. We’d lost our faith.”

The band were saved by the arrival of a new manager in the form of a girl called Banny about 12 months ago.

Pete: “She said, ‘What’s the matter with you? There are these American kids coming over here and they reckon they’re in rock’n’roll groups, and what are you doing? You’re just lounging around and getting fucked up. Get it together’. So we did. She also said, ‘I’m going to get you signed to Rough Trade’. And she did.”

We’ve been talking for 20 minutes, and Pete and Carl are getting restless. Things are about to unravel. First, though, we manage to ask them whether ‘What A Waster’ is about anyone in particular.

“Yeah,” responds Pete instantly, “it’s about you. And me. And her (points to girl over the other side of the bar). And his mum (points to Carl). Of course, it is. I played it to my dad and he started eating my cigarettes. I’ve never seen him like that before. He was eating cigarettes and telling me to fuck off. He started dancing around the room and saying it reminded him of the Goldhawk Road in 1969. They were German, you know.”

What were?

“The cigarettes he was eating.”

Right. How was Bernard Butler to work with?

Carl: “We’re not talking about Bernard in this piece.”

“I was a bit jealous, actually,” says Pete. “He seemed to get on better with Carl. He was always tickling him. By the way, we’ve got a competition for NME readers.”

Carl: “That’s right. We’re looking for go-go dancers. There’s a casting in about three months.”

Pete: “Do you want my home address? (Gives NME his address)” “Don’t print that,” says Carl decisively. “Well, if you do tell them it’s not our home address it’s the competition address.”

Pete: “Good thinking.”

It’s at this point that sense flies out the window completely, and we start having conversations like this…

Pete: “Everyone’s a libertine.”

How do you mean?

Pete: “At my house, people associate libertinage with sadism, but that’s wrong. By the way, do you see a glorious and illustrious career ahead for The Libertines? Personally I think two of us will be dead by Christmas. (He picks up the microphone) Mum, listen, you know I love you. We’ll still meet you back here next year, though. The only difference is that we’ll be ghosts. That’s alright though, ghosts have good voices.”

We try to get them back on track by asking why they were rioting.

Pete: “Celebrating.”

Ok, celebrating.

“Well, I agree with the redistribution of wealth,” decides Pete. “I’ve redistributed enough of mine recently, so I don’t see why everyone else shouldn’t bother.”

Is there any serious political agenda to what you’re doing?

Carl: “Not to speak of.”
Pete: “We don’t give a fuck about anything. The Queen’s a skanky old hag, but we don’t even care about that.”
Carl: “That’s a bit harsh.”
“Carl has got a patriotic side to him, you know,” confides Pete. “It’s not patriotic,” corrects Carl, “it’s romance. It’s the romance of kings and queens and palaces. I’m up for anything, really.” Pete: “We both are. Fuck it. Can we go outside now?”

The Libertines’ first ever interview finishes after 31 minutes and 27 seconds. It’s been amazing. Everything Pete and Carl say is quotable. They’re confident (when we ask what they want to achieve, Pete says: “I want to be in a position this time next year where you’re not asking me questions like that”), funny (Pete: “Can we read this piece before you print it? I’ll give you a Yeah Yeah Yeahs badge. It’s got two rabbits on it”) and obsessed with NME (Pete again: “NME always tries to play the cynic, but we know it’s a romantic at heart. NME is just another dream, it’s a dream of a better world”).

As they prepare to head off onto the streets again, they ask when they can do “that thing where you choose your favourite songs”. They also say they want to edit the letters page and review the singles. Both Pete and Carl give your correspondent their phone numbers, so we can call them as soon as it’s time for them to “get on with it”.

Better than all this, though, is the fact they’ve also got the walk to match the talk. Their songs are sensational, and live – for all their slipshod diversions (we see them in Southampton a few weeks after this interview and they’re awful) – they’re as thrilling as any band we’ve seen in the last ten years.

They’re on this week’s cover for a reason and the reason is simple: they’re the best British band of the year. No question.