The Libertines
All Quiet on The Eastern Esplanade
CASABLANCA/EMI
As the central core of The Libertines, Carl Barât and Pete Doherty have proudly held onto their renown as the Lennon and McCartney of the Three Ds—despair, drunkenness, and druggy-ness—all rolled in a rotten yet somehow often beautiful ball of Anglo-punk energy and shambling, memorable melodicism. If the original membership of the New York Dolls had lived longer or died sooner…well, you get the drift. Now, almost 30 years into their existence and coldly sober, Libertines Barât and Doherty (along with longtime band members John Hassall and Gary Powell) have funneled all of their most-engaging elements into the strikingly clean sound of their fourth, most tightly wound album, All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade.
Building upon their empire’s blocks as salvationists, these Libertines make quite a punk ruckus on the opening cut “Run Run Run” and the ferocious mid-album “Oh Shit” to let listeners know that their youthful fire hasn’t dimmed. Things, however, smooth out considerably for their glassy Morricone-meets-Bernstein epic “Night of the Hunter” and the jazzy neo-noir of “Baron’s Claw.” Lyrically, too, have Barât and Doherty changed their tunes, as heard on the ruminatively philosophical “Songs They Never Play on the Radio,” the post-traditionalism of “Shiver,” and—in the album’s most surprising shift—a look askance at all things sociopolitical on the caustic immigrant song “Merry Old England,” the tender pro-Ukraine battle cry “I Have a Friend,” and the Stepford Wives–esque “Mustang.”
Better than their initial comeback album, 2015’s Anthems for Doomed Youth, more concise (not always for the best) than their 2002 debut, Up the Bracket, the new Libertines album shows how cleaning up one’s act can lead to something taut and charmingly punchy without ever sounding tired or out of the game.
