BABYSHAMBLES

Academy, Bristol | September 11^th

Pete Doherty is on his knees, his suit trousers are ripped and after an uncomfortably long pause, it becomes clear that he’s going to need a hand getting back up. The band finish off Pipe Down then escort him backstage. At this point, we’re only halfway through the show.

It doesn’t start off so bad. Early tunes in the set like Delivery and The Blinding see Babyshambles on sturdy form, with Doherty looking reassuringly chubby and proving that he still knows how to make a decent racket with his Epiphone Coronet when it’s required of him. We try and refrain from sniggering at Doherty’s badly dated, melodramatic shtick because he once fronted one of the best guitar bands since the turn of the millennium, and we’re not about to let the tabloids’ successful character assassination spoil that. Plus, to be honest, the idea of Peter picking up a copy of Crack and reading our smartarse review of the new Babyshambles record gave us a small pang of guilt, so our inner teenage Libertines obsessive is desperate for the chance to write something nice about him.

But after a few tunes, the gig rapidly descends into chaos. “I’m reading a book about sleep deprivation … my head’s going to be fucked … got to persevere, I suppose”, Doherty mumbles, making Babyshambles’ bassist Drew McConnell look seriously anxious. And while the band plough on, and Doherty becomes increasingly disorientated, stumbling into the drum kit, clumsily lighting fags, downing drinks (to rapturous applause) and asking the crowd “Who likes shoplifting?” after sharing an incomprehensible anecdote about an “embarrassing “incident that happened on “Bristol high street”.

After returning to the stage for the post-Pipe Down encore, Babyshambles knock out a couple more tunes – Gang of Gin, Stranger In My Own Skin, Loyalty Song and Fuck Forever – then the band make a swift exit. And this is where shit gets really, really weird. Doherty refuses to leave the stage, ignoring the pleas of various entourage members. Guitarist Mik Whitnall somehow gets roped into playing new song Dr No and a ska rendition of I Get Along, before Doherty invites a crew member called Brucey or something to play the drums. He agrees. Brucey can’t play the fucking drums. Mik gives up, and Doherty runs through a medley of murdering era defining classics, some by him (Albion, Time For Heroes, What Katie Did, Can’t Stand Me Now) and some by others (Twist and Shout, Cigarettes and Alcohol and The Smiths’ Ask). He fails to finish a single song. Eventually, the venue resort to cutting out the sound and turning on the lights. We can finally leave, and on our way out, we notice a queue forming at the merchandise stall.