Thoughts onBabyshambles: Shotters Nation

There's an old adage in music, attributed to Miles Davis, that goes 'It's not what you play, it's what you don't play.' It's a good quote, and one that a lot of current acts would be wise to follow. Pete Doherty has never had that problem, but amidst all the chaos, he may have stumbled onto an ever greater truth: It's not what you play right, it's what you play wrong.

In an age where music, much like literature, has been turned into a computerized cut-and-paste exercise, an act more akin to editing than creation, The Libertines' "Up the Bracket" was the equivalent of Jack Kerouac's "On the Road". Like the spools of paper flowing from Kerouac's typewriter during the composition of that novel, the emotional torrents of "Horrorshow" and "Time for Heroes" suggested adventure and freedom. In terms of sound, that mercurial album had the sort of wayward production values one would expect. Pete's partner-in-crime (pardon the pun), Carl Barat, once said The Strokes sounded like a badly recorded Velvet Underground. Well, The Libertines sounded like a badly recorded Strokes. You do the math.

Whereas The Strokes, weighed down by the maudlin stiffness of their songwriting, have long ceased to be interesting, Pete has managed, somehow, to stay relevant. That's not to say he hasn't tried to sabotage himself along the way. The second Libertines album, originally scheduled to be produced by former Suede man Bernard Butler, was supposed to be the album of the decade. Instead, owing to the fact that Pete and Carl couldn't resolve their differences, it devolved into an under-produced (even by Libertines standards) and underwhelming presentation of some otherwise brilliant songs. The first Babyshambles album, "Down in Albion", was so unlistenable that even this dedicated fan has yet to sit down and listen to it the whole way through. Miraculously picked up by a major label, Pete brought in former Blur and Morrissey producer Stephen Street to add a bit of studio polish to this album, Babyshambles' second. The question on everybody's mind has been, could Pete's songs be produced in a way that wouldn't dull the improvised artistic brilliance witnessed in the best moments of The Libertines?

The answer is a resounding yes. In fact, "Shotters Nation" contains some of the best music Pete has ever committed to tape. The centerpiece of the album is the fantastic "Baddies Boogie". Musically speaking, it's a chimera: it begins with the sort of Smiths-esque bounce that Pete was so fond of in The Libertines. After a beautiful bridge punctuated by some bittersweet lyrics ('He fell in love, carried her over the threshold, thinking 'she's far too good looking to do the cooking''), however, the song turns downright nasty. A punk sludge bubbles under an angry rant by Pete: 'It's a lousy life for the washed-up wife and the permanently plastered pissed-up bastard' he repeats, his voice building in ferocity with each recitation. It has to be the filthiest use of alliteration in a pop song in a good long while.

There are so many striking moments of spontaneity on the record that it's hard to mention them all here: the way the verse in "Deft Left Hand" is transformed into something quite special, taking the rest of the song along with it; the way the sparkling middle eight in "French Dog Blues" resolves into a Who-inspired breakdown; or the way "Crumb Begging Badhead" references obscure inter-war-period Polish writer Bruno Schulz before exploding into a 60s-organ-based freakout. This is why people originally gravitated towards Doherty, these little moments that make the listener chuckle at his nerve and marvel at his talent.

There's nothing more boring than a band that tries to make a "perfect" album, and you could never accuse Babyshambles of doing such a thing. This album has its flaws, whether it's the clumsy drumming on "Unstookietitled", the predicatable, Oasis-lite opening riff of the aforementioned "Deft Left Hand", or the relatively weak choruses on several of the tracks. But these are minor complaints.

On the confident and infectious opener, "Carry on up the Morning", Pete intones, 'In the morning where does all the pain go? Same place as the fame--straight to your head'. That may be true, but the tabloid furor has apparently done nothing to dull the only thing worth caring about in the first place: Pete's ability to craft memorable songs.

Rating: 9 out of 10

Listen to "Carry on up the Morning":

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