Picture this: Camden, London 2003. You're standing next to a small, knee-high stage as four young men recklessly clamber onto it.
Led by a Baudelaire-ish bard and a jittering ball of energy wearing a singlet, they launch into a seething set of fuzzy guitar melodic punk. The hairs on your neck stand as you tighten your grip on the freshly poured beverage. This isn't a result from the sonic slam, but from lager spillage thanks to a room heaving full of bodies.The energy this band conjures see them fill rooms across UK. They then fill the cover of NME and Melody Maker, and notoriously, The Mirror and The Sun. It's the new punk riot. A hedonist revolution of the new millennium that takes no prisoners. Fans, the press and the gossip-eating public feed off it. We all know how it turned out.
Fast forward to 2025. The Fortitude Music Hall (17 April) is the destination for the aforementioned revolutionists – The Libertines. The air feels electric through the venue as it slowly fills. There are still tickets remaining, creating ample elbow room and a bizarre feeling for those still harking back to their early shoulder-to-shoulder gigs. A trusty contingent of ex-pats bring the craic as the expectation for relived youth grows.
Reverend and the Makers are travelling with the headliners and kick the night off. Singer and originator, Jon McClure is joined by bassist Antonia Pooles. It's a stripped-back acoustic set covering a handful of songs from across the seven albums.
McClure's literally 'The Reverend' as he commands the stage. He knows the crowd is here for The Libertines, but he's ok with that. His Sheffield accent and whip-smart humour is brilliant glue between the songs. His voice is big and comforting and shows off his knack for lyrical storytelling.
The meagre beat produced from a tablet is more a metronome than a drum machine. It is intentional, and never treated as 'the drummer', as McClure cheekily asks the audience to "make your own fun, yeah".
Reverend and the Makers - image © Chris Searles
The fun set starts with 'Miss Brown' from their excellent 2007 album, 'The State Of Things', followed by 'A Letter To My 21 Year Old Self' that smoothly integrates Gnarls Barkley's 'Crazy' to see if the audience is paying attention.
McClure explains why Reverend and the Makers have never been to Brisbane (for reasons best left unsaid here) and, as always, promises to be back with the full band to actually make the audience jump about.
Opening for a band like The Libertines would be a tough gig, especially if you're playing an acoustic set. The crowd is mature enough to understand this and cheers wholeheartedly for the wonderful 'Heavyweight Champion Of The World'. McClure and Pooles are a treat and would not have offended even the most impatient of fans salivating for the headliner.
With a respectable crowd built, elbow room remains. The rabid fans are already cemented at the front. These are the dedicated few that follow the band to as many gigs as their bank account will allow them. Pork Pie hats and buttoned-up Fred Perry polos are seen dotted through the crowd – a tribute to The Libertines ecclesiastical co-frontman, Pete Doherty.
Now, picture this: Brisbane, 2025. You're standing in front of a large stage that's swathed in swaying red and blue lights as 'Get Ready' by The Temptations plays. A group of men saunter onto stage, casually waving to the crowd as they collect their instruments.
The Libertines - image © Chris Searles
They turn their backs to the audience and wait for their drummer, Gary Powell, to count them in. It's big. It's on-brand attitude. It's anticipation. It's strangely. . . empty. Hold that thought, please.
They launch into collection of tracks including 'The Saga', 'The Delaney' and 'What Became Of The Likely Lads'. The band flows through the opening salvo with their backs often turned to the audience.
The first audible, official greeting to the audience comes via dual frontman, Carl Barat. The delay in greeting makes this reviewer feel ignored. A bit gypped, in fact. I get the whole rock attitude shtick, but simple things like a decent greeting can do a lot for the connection between the stage and the paying audience.
The Libertines - image © Chris Searles
Maybe I was being too precious. The band is tight and well practiced. Barat and Doherty's voice and guitars are harmonious. It's been their signature since day one. While key changes and obtuse chords trick the ear to hear three-chord punk songs, they're actually melodically and technically stacked.
Realising this increases the amazement of how they were able to create such music during the calamitous dawn of their career. They somehow crammed creativity in-between high-level substance abuse, felonies, jail, arguments and a prolific celebrity relationship. I tip my Pork Pie hat to them.
Powell's watertight timing is the hero of the night. He's a powerhouse on the skins, even during a somewhat out-of-place drum solo. Bassist, John Hassall, is the quiet achiever that does his bit. His basslines are often super simple, but they pack a punch through 'Boys In The Band' and 'Merry Old England'.
The Libertines - image © Chris Searles
It seems Doherty required at least eight songs to warm up to the night. He came alive and asked about the Brisbane Lions score, recited a 'how' yer farver' type ditty and generally exuded his bard-like personality.
His 1997 street interview on British TV, while queuing for an Oasis album, constantly came to mind. It shows a young, very articulate Doherty replying to the question with the most unlikely youth answer possible (look it up!). His tertiary study of English literature is evident through all his lyrics, combing the wit of Oscar Wilde and the heart of Shane MacGowan.
Barat's songwriting is built with the DNA of The Jam, Parliament and Jah Wobble-era Public Image Limited. It's unpredictability is what thrust the group to stardom.
The Libertines - image © Chris Searles
Still holding that thought? This is where things become a bit unstuck. Two-thirds of the gig felt flat. The songs are played at the highest level and nothing is out of place. That's the bizarre predicament – it's all just too. . . rehearsed.
The front ten rows absolutely felt the energy, but it dissipated beyond that. The Libertines were built on chaos and spilled beer, and we wanted a beer spilled somewhere, even a 0 per cent beer would have sufficed. Thankfully, it kicked off again with 'Up The Bracket' and the recent 'Run Run Run'.
A quick, but very necessary ciggie break (encore) is the closest thing to anarchic disruption. They close the night with the big ones, letting everyone release the energy stored through the show. It's the best tonic for the somewhat mystifying night. 'What A Waster', 'Gunga Din' and 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun' are blistering and wholeheartedly embraced.
The Libertines - image © Chris Searles
Picture this: Brisbane, 2025. The lights come up after a loud rock show. Your mind races as you exit the venue, quickly unpacking what you've seen and heard. A word hits you – 'survival'.
The band you've just experienced have survived epic upheavals, the darkest of lows and separations that would see other bands move to opposite sides of the planet. They've stayed the course and matured to play songs that have survived, and yet still drawn new fans.
Lulls or not, The Libertines need to be seen at least once in your gig going life. At least then you'll have your own 'picture this' story to tell.
A stanza from the Siegfried Sassoon poem, 'Suicide In The Trenches', that Pete and Carl recited at the 2004 Brit Awards, remains vitally poignant.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye,
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know,
The hell where youth and laughter go.
More photos from the concert.
