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Rating: Pete Doherty has perhaps crossed the boundary between glory and (artistic) death, just to quote his most beautiful song, a long time ago. I started rooting for him right from the start, from the first time I got my hands on "Up the Bracket," the first album of his Libertines. I continued to defend him in the face of his more stupid and trivially provocative behaviors, I witnessed his disheartening ascent to the covers of the worst gossip magazines, becoming for (almost) everyone Mr. Moss. And in the end, I surrendered to the evidence that the guy was probably not this champion of authenticity and artistic sincerity.
However, I have always found his "public" image incongruent with the quality and craftsmanship of the music he has written. I still believe that beneath the sea of foolishness of which he has been more or less consciously a protagonist, his talent remains intact, although perhaps not fully expressed, if it is true that his first album with the Babyshambles shows enormous potential, sacrificed to a deliberately neglected production.
Monday night at the Piper, Doherty offered a show in line with what one could expect from him. He respected each and every cliché of rock and punk music, without shocking anyone, I think, except for the reporters of Repubblica, Corriere della Sera, and others who had to absolutely report that something incredibly obscene and violent had happened at his concert, and indeed they talked about a fight and destruction. The only moment of tension was when someone from the audience threw a plastic wrapper toward the stage, which completed its parabola on the head of the Babyshambles' drummer, who, after collapsing on his instrument, withdrew from the stage for five minutes, only to return to his place.
Doherty reacted by threatening the prankster with the microphone stand, but he must not have been overly upset if a few seconds later he tried to play the drums himself, with rather embarrassing results.
In any case, beyond the stereotypical rock behavior mentioned, which added or subtracted very little from the concert, the Babyshambles offered a powerful performance to the congested crowd that filled the venue. Doherty brought out the best of his musical repertoire, compensating for a decidedly questionable technical quality with the raw energy of extraordinary songs like "Time for Heroes," an old libertine anthem, "Killamangiro," "Sticks and Stombs," passing through the sweetness of "Albion," supported by the singing of the entire Piper, concluding with the burning violence of the extraordinary "Fuck forever".
His heritage is these songs, his music, which remain where they are, beyond any nonsense, beyond Kate Moss, drugs, newspapers, and publicity.
And in the end, from the chaos of the beautiful venue on via Tagliamento, I emerged sweaty and satisfied.
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