It's less than three years after the Peter Doherty-less Libs bowed out after an emotional final show in Paris and already we're presented with the inevitable 'Best Of'. There again, bearing in mind both Carl and Pete seem ensconced with Dirty Pretty Things and Babyshambles respectively, perhaps it really is time to draw a line under the rock'n'roll media storm that was THE LIBERTINES.
Of course, if you're a regular visitior round here, you'll know it's rare for your reviewer to be in agreement with the dear old NME, but there was always something about The Libertines that set them apart. Having said that, I'm not about to waste yet more column inches about the pros and cons of the guerilla gigs, burglaries, drugs, more drugs and incendiary gigs here, but instead I'm going to take Rough Trade's Geoff Travis's advice (invariably a good move) and simply "listen to the music", because it's still more than worth the time of day.
First some mild carpring, though. Yes, this 13-track affair does include virtually all the crucial stuff, but it's a bit of a missed opportunity in the respect that it could have dug a little deeper. Yes, we do get 'Mayday and 'The Delaney' from the band's exuberant, raggy B-sides (always an alternative Libs worldview) but where are the likes of 'Cyclops', 'Plan A' and more?
Even more pertinently, wouldn't this have been a good opportunity to release a lot of the stuff recorded around the time of 'Up The Bracket'? Yes, I know The Libs have always encouraged huge amounts of bootlegging and file-sharing, but this would have been a good time to 'officially' release songs like 'Breck Road Lover' and more. I seem to remember a 'stop gap' release along these lines being mooted around the time of the first major Doherty schism, so couldn't some of these recordings been put to good use to flesh out 'Time For Heroes'?
Still, Rough Trade have been very good to us all over the years, so I don't want to spend too long criticising them. They were, after all, sharp (and brave) enough to take on The Libertines in the first place and - divorced from the reams of hyperbole - these songs are still pretty damn seismic. For starters - at last - the philosophy-defining debut single 'What A Waster' sees the light of day on an album. One of the two great Libs' 'profanity' songs (along with 'I Get Along') it's still a powerhouse and demonstrates just how much Bernard Butler's beefy professionalism brought to their sound. Inevitably, his rigid recording methods put an immediate strain on his relations with the free-spirited Pete Doherty, but - despite a reputed Gehenna of a crack-addled session to produce it - Butler's input again topped and tailed the hugely popular 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun', which also finally makes it to a 'proper' Libertines album at last.
The two Libertines albums, of course, found The Clash's Mick Jones manning the desk and, while his rather less conventional methods perhaps allowed for more backsliding, certainly for the duration of their debut 'Up The Bracket', his approach paid dividends, for the songs from it still reek of debauched, urchin class. Both 'Up The Bracket' and (of course) 'Time For Heroes' represent quintessential lippy Libs: chock full of Barrow Boy charm, punky aggression, infectious tunesmithery and a distinct undertow of underworld danger. Then there's the tremendous, happy-sad indie-Motown of 'Death On The Stairs' and the deceptively gentle 'Tell The King', charting the development of Carl and Pete's more poetic leanings. All of these (plus the blueprint for individuality that is 'I Get Along') are basically the songs that sold a hundred thousand guardsmens' jackets - and along with the daffy B-sides 'Mayday' and 'The Delaney' - define the era before the drugs began to destroy the Libs' skewed vision of Arcadia.
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The 'tween album spell was marked by Doherty's horrific burglary of Barat's flat during his first estrangement from the band, followed by his brief incarceration and the infamous 'Freedom' gig. The press, of course, lapped up every little detail, but by the time they came to make their eponymous second album, The Libertines were on shaky ground. The press and drug dealers were everywhere, their co-frontman's energies were frequently concentrated away from the band and that they even got a second album recorded is little short of a miracle.
Hugely anticipated, 'The Libertines' was inevitably gnarly and inconsistent, but still harboured moments of magic such as the loopy doo-wop of 'What Katie Did' and the towering album cornerstones, 'Can't Stand Me Now' and 'What Became Of The Likely Lads': basically the sound of Barat and Doherty playing out the band's soap opera existence for the world to hear and all the more gripping for that. At this point, I feel it's vital to point out the crucial role played by the band's stupidly unsung rhythm section, John Hassall (bass) and drummer Gary Powell, whose patience and professionalism in the eye of the hurricane played a huge role in ensuring these later songs sounded as potent and fluid as they did.
So there you have it. Featuring 13 tracks and with most of the utterly unmissable stuff in there, 'Time For Heroes' is by no means extensive, but definitely a great pocket compendium for those either too late on the scene or who didn't get it at the time. As always, when a talented band falls apart it raises the 'what if?' factor, but as people who wore their debauched rock'n'roll credentials with pride to the end, The Libertines were probably never destined to burn anything but brightly and go out in a messy blaze of glory. Until the box set arrives, 'Time For Heroes' is a timely reminder of The Libertines' fantastic voyage until the Good Ship Albion went aground on the rocks.
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