Heart of a Punk - Soul of a Rasta

The Problem With Peter
I have always been envious of my Fanzine cohort The Bigot, he is blessed with one attribute that has always eluded me, he is somehow able to blot out all the extraneous nonsense that surrounds a band or artist and completely and exclusively immerse himself in the music he, she or they produce. With regard to Peter Doherty the Bigot's ability to focus purely on the boy's music alone astounds me, if only I could do the same.

In-between releases especially, I find the silliness that has surrounds Peter Doherty "the junky" and Peter Doherty "the celebrity" simply causes irritation and threatens to taint what really matters, his music. But at the end of the day as The Bigot says "it's all just fucking fluff on the breeze". What has to be borne in mind is:

1/Peter Doherty - Junky "The Story" should be listed in the Guinness Book of Records as being the longest running and most tedious media event of all time.

2/I have taken recreational drugs (I don't think I'm alone in sharing this connection with Peter), I have been addicted (slightly ironically) to prescribed drugs and I have been addicted to alcohol. Ok so I'm not Peter Doherty or a musician, but I have nothing interesting to say about drugs other than the dull facts. Even in the hands of an accomplished writer like William Burroughs the novel "Junky" is not an enthralling read or the account of an interesting life, "Slaughterhouse Five" by Kurt Vonnegut that is an enthralling read, and an account of an interesting life, and drug free too.
3/But for those people who don't like druggies just remember Mr Doherty is a song writer & a musician. He is not driving your kids to school, he is not flying the plane that is taking your mom on her hols, and he is not about to perform life saving surgery on your Aunt Eva. If he was a bus driver, an airline pilot or a surgeon I'd be pretty pissed off with him too, but he's not, he's a bloody musician, so let's not get preachy here.

4/Finally, the most important thing about "Drugs" is it's just a great song by Talking Heads from their Fear of Music album.

5/As far as Peter Doherty "the Celeb" goes, if it annoys me then I shouldn't read the red tops should I? The Bigot revels in the fact that he hasn't read a tabloid newspaper since 1983 when he stopped frequenting the house where The Daily Mirror used to plop through the letterbox on a regular weekday basis (he still swears blind that the Daily Mirror used to have a great music section, but who's left alive to corroborate such fanciful reminiscences). To spare myself unnecessary irritation all I have to do is stay clear of the dailies, the internet, the music weeklies, the music monthlies, and the biographies and hope the space between albums is not too great.
Problem solved?

25th March 2009
Peter Doherty/Red Roots/The PD Collective

I hate getting to a gig late to find the support band have already started playing, but hey, the guy in the car accident that had delayed me and many others on the road was now in hospital fighting for his life, while I was full of it and simply fighting my way through the crowd to find a decent spot to take in the band, so why be miserable about a few missed minutes. Anyway it took only five and twenty seconds for the four piece band of "Red Roots" to put the biggest grin back on this poor old ugly face of mine and also produce in me the warmest glow of elation to the very marrow of my being. For why, I hear you ask, easy, I've been waiting a long, long, long time to hear a band of young whippersnappers sounding like this.

I watched Red Roots play four or five tracks that were each to some extent a skilful blend of punky reggae indie ska. The lead man commanded the centre of the Academy stage, reversed black trilby hat tilted back on his head like a young Neville Staple demanding attention at all times. The interplay between both bass and lead guitars drove things along well, the drumming was tight and tidy. The backing vocals of the constantly motive bass player impressed too. Oh yes Red Roots have got something, but can they make us have what they've got?

Then from nowhere Winston Hubert Macintosh appeared in my minds eye, and before I could contain his appearance in the confines of my head, before I could send him back into the recesses of my damaged brain he was out and off riding his unicycle across the back of the stage as Red Roots continued playing, there was nothing for me to do now but leave him be, as he continued to move back and forth with perfect balance, a pipe held firm between his teeth, puffing away in total contravention of the smoking ban. What had brought him here? Had I finally lost it? I ain't licked no stamps or eaten mushrooms for years what was going on? Who knows but he vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared, leaving Red Roots to confidently complete their set.

So what does the future hold in store for Red Roots, well, with graft, intent, spirit, and passion, and with Peter Tosh watching over them, Rudy can't fail. http://www.myspace.com/redrootsmusic

What happened between Red Roots and Peter Doherty?
The individual members of PD band performed solo one by one using the same acoustic guitar. The Style Council Royal Albert Hall 1989 is all I'm going to say.

At last - Black suit, large black hat, I can't decide whether Peter Doherty's look these days is that of an orthodox Jew or strict Amish, either way the pain is over, the lights go out and the tall thirty year old Mr Doherty appears alone, chords are strummed on the now familiar acoustic, the chords he begins with are the chords of The Libertines "Music When The Lights Go Out", the crowd instantly becomes a fluid connected mass. Looking back now, in my mind anyway, the evening splits into three wonderful sections. The opening section of Libertine tracks played solo, a middle section and core consisting of Peter Doherty latest Grace / Wastelands album, played in its entirety and finally Babyshambles stuff with full band to close. It's not strictly how it happened but as R&M once said "it doesn't really matter".

When the opener is followed by The Libertines debut "What a Waster" the crowd fractures and becomes a disparate entity in agitated flux. Ditto for "Can't Stand Me Now". With a crowd this boisterous its a little bit like the old days, all that's needed is beer glasses made of glass, cigarettes to smoke and cigarettes to burn, a good deal of self harming, the smell of glue wafting into the hall every time the toilet door is opened, and the National Front waiting outside the venue. "What Katie Did" calms the crowd slightly as they Shoop shoop, shoop de-lang-a-lang along.

But being the only stone cold sober person in the Academy places a heavy responsibility on my particularly weak and irresponsible shoulders. Tonight I find myself having to do the needful on two occasions, firstly I'm required to drag out of the mosh a young lad in a red officers jacket who is bent double in pain, with a face as white as the paper I'm scribbling this rubbish upon. I manage to drag him to me, and then push him as far back as far as the mixing desk, where he immediately throws up over the barrier. Bollocks its "Time for Heroes" thanks Peter their off again. Intervention number two, in front of me two extremely pissed young fellows square up to each other chin to chin because neither of them will move out of the others way. When both reach the stage of informing the other that they were a F***in C*** the poor old smiling non threatening bald sober guy is forced to amiably place his arm around the one and coax him to take a trip in the direction of the bar. Before he was consumed by the sea of human bodies and lost from my sight forever he turned and smiled inanely at me and showed me a fist, I took this to be his way of saying thank you. His face would not have been out of place in Zola's L'Assommoir. Sometime later the fellow who had stood his ground also thanked me for my intervention. Yeah whatever, fight if you want to fight just not right in front of me for f***s sake!

And so to the recreation of Grace / Wastelands, Mr Graham Coxon was announced, and then sheepishly took up his stage position for the majority of the twelve songs, a string section trio drifted on and off where necessary, so too a melodica toting geezer, Lee Mavers (La in exile) strummed gamely along to a couple of the new songs, double basses were plucked, all manner of percussion was percussed, all this was done in the pursuit of a quality live reproduction of the album, and a quality live reproduction of the album was what we got. But please allow me to dispense with the live recreation for a moment to say a few words about the album itself.

Grace / Wastelands is a set of twelve perfectly constructed songs, musically beautiful, lyrically haunting, each one astutely produced. The LP is such a well defined whole I don't really want to deconstruct it into its constituent parts and talk about each individual song, I'd rather scribble on and on about the effect of the whole, but to do this effectively is probably beyond my scribbling capabilities so here I go with my (slight) picking apart.

"Arcady" opens the LP in a musically bright and breezy fashion setting the semi acoustic tone for what follows, "The Last of the English Roses" is catchy and crafty, a rambling rose with French overtones; "1939" broods along nicely like an "Eleanor Rigby" for the 21st Century to what for me is the core of Grace / Wastelands, the subtly exquisite "A Little Death Around The Eyes" segue to "Salome". Throughout the album, whenever he is called upon Graham Coxon uses his guitar with a deft and sympathetic precision, here on "A Little Death Around The Eyes" segue to "Salome" his plectrum is transformed into a solid silver needle which he uses to intricately weave a golden thread of lead guitar in and out of the piece, allowing Peter Doherty's unique vocal phrasing to be given the stark and fragile starring role. A truly great 6 minutes 46 seconds of music.

Then musically simple and almost solo plaintive poem of "I am the Rain" moves us along to the "Ronnies Scott's Soho Club George Mellyesque" infusion of "Sweet by and by" we are then driven off along the snaky road towards the "Palace of Bone" by means of Graham Coxons slide guitar. In "Sheepskin Tearaway" Doherty again displays his natural ability to harmonise. OK he has had a lot of harmonic practice over the years but here with Dot Allison not only do their voices are beautifully intertwined but their breathing is in perfect harmony also. "Broken Love Song" follows, undulating splendidly between the poise of the verse and the ecstasy of the chorus, almost done now, two final aide-mémoires; "New Love Grows On Trees" and the brief but beautiful "Lady Don't Fall Backwards". ("Lady Don't Fall Backwards" is the title of the frank biography by Joan Le Mesurier, concerning her adulterous affair with Tony Hancock. But you don't need to know this so I won't mention it). What I will mention is:

"Once upon a time,
When the cold wind that blows,
When the cold wind that blows in my heart,
It was a summer breeze"

Peter Doherty is not a poet but poetry underpins and somehow finds its way into every nook and cranny on Grace / Wasteland. Whilst the prattlers waste time marking the album out as the "Doherty at 30", "as a change of direction", "as not a new album or a solo album at all", "Grace / Wasteland" is simply an album that achieves all that it set out to achieve. I'll say it one more time, "Grace / Wastelands" is a set of twelve perfectly constructed songs, musically beautiful, lyrically haunting, each one astutely produced to create a strong and coherent whole, it is an album that will endure and endure and endure and endure and endure.

So we are back at the Academy Birmingham for some full blown Babyshambles stuff. "Fuck Forever", "Beg steal and Borrow" a pause for Lee Mavers to don his acoustic once more and sing "There She Goes" how fuckin' good was that, before finally, "Albion" the listing of all stations local and gone. Only the churlish could have expected or wanted more, a truly great evening.

Now a brief pause will be necessary prior to the unveiling of "Pedro, Carlos and the Bambinishamleros" later in the year. Several nights at the Royal Festival Hall with the ghost of Tony Hancock watching on will be necessary - believe.