The Libertines
Barrowland, Glasgow
There was a time, between 2004 and 2010 to be exact, when the thought of Pete Doherty and Carl Barat reuniting The Libertines seemed about as likely as Mike and Bernie Winters getting back together (there’s one for the teenagers).
But here they are, still enjoying a successful comeback during which they’ve released a fairly well-received album while getting out on the road whenever possible.
The Libertines have produced some decent records, but they’ve always made most sense on stage. That’s where the camaraderie between the charismatic likely lads and their crowd-surfing, plastic pint glass-chucking apostles fully lives up to the self-styled myth.
When Doherty, who seemed in good spirits, threw his mic stand into the crowd after Can’t Stand Me Now, it felt like an oddly friendly gesture. No one got hurt.
When, towards the end of the show, an overexcited and over-refreshed fan invaded the stage, Doherty embraced him in a sweaty bear hug. It was rather touching.
During the first of two soldout nights at the Barrowlands, I was reminded of just how much they’re happily enslaved to their chief influences, The Jam, The Smiths and The Clash (although the last gang in Lidl likes of Time For Heroes are far more affecting than anything the latter ever wrote).
They’re a band of the people, knockabout romantics, Madness for millennials. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
The Libertines aren’t plodding cynically through the middle-aged motions. They still matter.