Rock god or just a shambles?

(Morning Star, Saturday 22 April 2006)

LIVE: Babyshambles, Spring and Airbrake, Belfast

SINCE the inception of the rock'n'roll star, few candidates have so embodied the live fast, die young template as Pete Doherty.

The idea that all his waywardness could be close to an end is enough of a catalyst for the ambulance-chasing media to follow his every public utterance.

And the added intrigue of the off-on relationship with one of the world's most famous supermodels throws any music actually produced into stark relief for the former army brat.

On record, the Babyshambles sound lives right up to its name - as such, a live crowd cannot approach their shows with high expectations.

And yet, the clean, lean and healthy Doherty that bounds onstage this evening is a far cry from the tabloid whipping boy pissing his talent up the wall.

The form of Babyshambles gigs seems to be at the discretion of Albion's favourite son, but, after dodging last night's show in Dublin, Doherty seems in a positive mood, showing up on time, running through the hits and fucking off without incident.

The crowd, resplendent in tracksuits and hollering football chants between songs, are all well versed in the lyrics, singing along to Killamangiro and 32nd of December.

But even Doherty wanes sometimes. The promised anthemic Fuck Forever doesn't materialise in the encore and the assembled kids drift home despondent, let down by their hero. Rock'n'roll indeed.

A new love

(Morning Star, Saturday 22 April 2006)

ALBUM: Morrissey - Ringleader of the Tormentors
(Sanctuary)

AS Ringleader of the Tormentors thrills into being, all Boz Boorer's rumbling guitar and full of eastern promise on I Will See You In Far-off Places, many a heart will skip with delight.

To Morrissey fans, Stephen Patrick is the god of literate lyricism and a withering wit who takes his cue and hands it on, holding court on a variety of topics.

This release is no different. The Roman ex-pat is in fine voice, with his amazing throaty croon which seems to have been gifted him for his 45th birthday.

He has his targets - such as US imperialism - but, overall, the record is overshadowed by a new-found passion. For who, who can say.

But the new brand of supposedly autobiographical love songs sit at odds beside acerbic solo standards such as The Father Who Must be Killed and In the Future When All's Well.

However, it would be churlish to complain about the album on the whole - the gift of a well-crafted, beautifully sung and intensely felt record is one too seldom in the world of popular music in 2006.

Naked emperor

(Morning Star, Saturday 15 April 2006)

ALBUM: Flaming Lips - At War with the Mystics
(Warner)

LIKE Murdoch from the A-Team, Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne is someone whose annoyance level cannot be overstated.

Both men are crazy, whacked-out kooks, determined that the world should function on their level and that, as such, they are called creative, strategic visionaries.

Well, Murdoch is a fictional construct, so the annoyance that he fosters is a limited problem. But Coyne, with his pseudo-intellectual, neurotic sex-and-death confrontational bull, seems to be entirely real and, as such, is 100 per cent irritant.

So, At War with the Mystics comes highly commended, with some no mark calling them the "greatest US band."

Blink hard, my friends - the emperor is entirely nude. Coyne's daft squeaking rasp, cheap Prince take-offs and Jeff Wayne-style balladeering has no home on my stereo, even if Coyne is one of a crack team of military... oh, wait, that's the other guy.