The Libertines’ Arcadian Dream and December Set at Brixton’s O2 Academy
A winter night of Arcadian dreaming and punk poetry - The Libertines are joined by Trampolene and Luke Wright for the penultimate show of their 2019 sold-out tour.
Thursday 19th December 2019
As the afternoon darkens and evening encroaches, I grow more and more excited for the night to come. Tonight marks the – god I’ve lost count – perhaps 13th (or so?) time I’ve seen The Libertines since they reformed for their monumental, chaotic, and beautiful 2014 BST Hyde Park reunion show. Getting crushed and buried beneath a sea of fallen people in the crowd that summer day truly introduced me - sink-or-swim style - to The Libertines and the world they have created. One entrenched in an existential lyricism and to-the-death Romanticism that harks back to the lost world of Byron and Shelley. A world that beckons with a promise of identity and belonging, beholding at its heart a cavern of riches; poetry, philosophy, and enough chemistry to appease any Romantic. A wealth of truth and art lined with a passion that passes from artist to fan and translates into the rowdiest of crowds.
Tonight they play Brixton. First up to support the band are Trampolene, fronted by Jack Jones. The Welsh three-piece have been supporting The Libertines on-off for the past three years, with Jack Jones even going on to join Peter Doherty & the Putas Madres. With this in mind, it is fair to say that The Libertines and Trampolene have become increasingly connected in the minds of many fans – and it is a beautiful pairing. Trampolene have deservedly received much critical acclaim over the past few years for they, like The Libertines before them, are trailblazing their own take on Rock.
Trampolene’s body of work is a collection of rock and indie-rock ballads adorned with screeching guitars, slow-tempo whimsical melodies, and raw poetry spoken only to soft backings of every-day sounds. Listening to their spoken-word poetry will have you giggling, open-mouth gasping, and transfixed. Shocking you with bouts of uncouth honesty, humouring you with confessions all-too-much in detail, and captivating you with fresh and witty perspectives on pop-culture and society. Their set at Brixton tonight is a great curation of these, performed electrically.
Beginning with an intro to Artwork of Youth, Trampolene smash through a number of hard-hitting rock ballads before delivering their iconic poem ‘Ketamine’ – much to the crowd’s pleasure. Their blending of Indie, Rock, and Bohemianism makes their set the kind of complimentary performance for The Libertines most support/main act relationships can only dream of.
As the clock strikes half-past nine, The Libertines are due on-stage. Already restless in nature, their crowd reach a peak tension at set-time, for Peter hasn’t always been the most tardy or reliable of frontmen in the past. However, it turns out there’s to be one more support act for the night, unannounced and undocumented on the bill, in the form of poet Luke Wright. In-keeping with the spirit of Bohemianism, and the beautiful Rock-Indie-Punk infusion of The Libertines’ mythic world, Luke Wright’s performance is of passionate Leftist, anti-Boris poetry. To my great surprise, Luke’s inspiring words are met with a great portion of the crowd erupting in violent disapproval. Boos and overpriced-beers are thrown in abundance, coating the stage in sticky puddles and the atmosphere in a sinister aggression. It is hard to imagine that this is what The ‘don’t-let-it-be-the-Tories’ Libertines expected, and equally difficult to know what this reveals about their London (or post-election) crowd. Whilst one may shrug it off as representative of a nation tired and irritated by the last 3 years of intense identity politics, it no doubt shows a society that has emerged increasingly and passionately divided. Despite its intelligent prose and heartfelt delivery, it is sadly a warm relief when Luke Wright’s set ends and with it the stage is cleaned - or cleansed - and The Libertines enter centre.
All faith is restored, and passions turn from sour to sweet. Walking on-stage to Vera Lynn’s dreamy wartime vocals, and bursting straight into power ballads The Delaney, Heart of the Matter, and Horrorshow, the boys in the band are finally here and as great as ever. Packing an impressive 22 songs into their set they hardly stop for breath, let alone for audience participation. I cannot help but wonder if this is the crowd’s punishment for their earlier verbal abuse. Yet what they lacked in engagement they made up for in performance, polish, and tribute to golden songs too often left on the shelf (The Saga, Last Post on the Bugle, The Ha Ha Wall).
Such masterpieces as Can’t Stand Me Now, What Became of the Likely Lads, and Don’t Look Back into the Sun (the favoured finale) were given the gravitas they deserve, both by the band and the crowd. Each and every lyric exchanged simultaneously from artist to audience with a kind of intensity and love I imagine makes the fame worth it.
