• Southampton
  • United Kingdom
  • Joiners
  • 2005-05-27

Babyshambles aren’t a band that one may feel partial too. They are quite possibly the Marmite of the current British indie scene, they are undeniably to be loved or hated. The antics of poet/twat/performer/twat Pete Doherty is undeniably the most important element in Babyshambles. However, it should be remembered that there is other criterion, namely the rest of the band, which should be remembered when forming a final opinion on the Babyshambles live experience — I promise I’ll try my best.

…the lyrics were impeded by intoxicated slurs and whimsical ulilations

Lets first deal with the issue of Doherty, as that pretty much is what lovers and haters are both looking for in a Babyshambles review. Is Doherty a poet? Judging on his live performance I sometimes thought I heard some lines containing pleasantries. I then discovered that the times I didn’t hear such apparent splendour, were times in which I simply couldn’t hear what the fuck he was saying — the lyrics were impeded by intoxicated slurs and whimsical ulilations.

Is he a unique and pleasing performer? Sometimes his onstage nonchalance is ‘cute’, but still not ‘good performance’. I suppose if you align yourself in the boring cliche of abundances in live smoking postures and ‘dad at wedding dancing routines’ you’ll love him with all your heart and your ignorant, small mind. A pretty straightforward inventory of items to offer in performance displayed; a far cry from the enchanting joys offered in hundreds of other acts the world currently has to offer.

…they continously failed to maintain correct timing

As I forced my mind to wade through the sweat and other nauseating factors forced upon me by crowd members that seemed to have evaded various steps in evolution, I found loopholes in these off-puttings and decided for myself what the actual ‘music’ was like. My conclusion was that it was absolutely fucking dire. It lacked anything but lament and a worrying ability to be utterly portentious in regard to the credibility of future ‘NME bands’. The shadows of Doherty didn’t show any respect whatsoever; they continously failed to maintain correct timing (woeful when considering they very rarely escape one signature), and never once made me think there was anything different from them and the rest of all their British garage band equivalents. With the ominous nature of the exponential j-curve in population growth, it would be much more rewarding for my ears to hear that these inept bastards have been shot into the earth’s core.

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