Sometime around the decline of Britpop, two romanticists happened upon each other in atypical circumstances, before conceiving a common dream that shaped the rest of their lives. In 2002, with firm foundations in the form of bassist John Hassall and drummer Gary Powell, the starry-eyed duo of Carl Barât and Peter Doherty began their voyage into the whirlpool that is the music industry, with their debut album, Up the Bracket. Shipwrecked – the record crawled to a somewhat disheartening thirty-five in the UK Albums Chart. Twelve years later, it is thought of as one of the most important and influential releases of the century thus far.
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAusT_Yl1gE&w=740&h=422]
Pre-Up the Bracket, the state of British music was that of a barren wasteland. There was no indication of life, toxic pop polluted the air, and green pastures of yore seemed a million miles away – the likes of Atomic Kitten, Kylie Minogue and Daniel Bedingfield topped the charts and the days of Damon Albarn, Noel Gallagher and Morrissey being at the centre of attention were long forgotten. The Libertines sent an airdrop of vital aid to an industry on death’s door, granting it the resolve it needed to stand on its own two feet once again. If this record did nothing else, it provided music with the credibility of yesteryear; the youths unwilling to surrender to the cheap pop of the early 2000s had lost their voices, but were soon hollering once more, to the sound of this record.
Unlike the naff resurgence of the Mohawk at the dawn of the new century, this modern take on punk and garage felt remarkably natural. The influence of producer Mick Jones (The Clash), is blindingly obvious. Written, recorded and performed with an attitude of clenched fists and gritted teeth – songs like ‘Horror Show’ and ‘I Get Along’ are surely the product of copious anger and unremitting passion. From the stuttering riff at the heart of ‘Death on the Stairs’ to the wistful poetry of ‘Tell the King,’ you can’t help but believe in The Libertines’ Arcadian dream, as the band’s oh-so alluring charisma and charm immerses you in a sound that, to this day, has not been captured to the same fervent degree.
Like all albums, it has weaker tracks; the dozy ‘Radio America’ and sluggish ‘Begging’ still manage to exemplify the loneliness, longing and lust of The Libertines. As far as subordinate tracks go, these two would surely have outshone anything else getting airplay at that point in time, which speaks volumes about the pure quality of this release.
The twelve tracks of the record co-exist in such a way that gives the album the feel of a finished jigsaw – all of the parts fit perfectly and no objectionable piece has to be forcibly hammered into place. To speak in the language of musical clichés, the album is best described as complete. It is so very easy to say a record is nigh on perfect, but after sitting down for the full forty minutes and listening, it’s difficult to think of any other way to put it.
Stand-out track ‘Time for Heroes’ plays as I think of the importance of this release. For every generation, there has been a certain sound that perfectly captures the emotions of the youth, and in turn influences their outlook on life in general. For the generation that stands on the brink of adulthood, the teens of the new millennium, that sound is this album. Though the boys in the band are growing older by the second, they are as relevant today as they were over twelve years ago.
Words by George Birch