Shotter's Nation

My love for Pete Doherty is, granted, irrational. I'm a few years too old to fall for such a young pretty boy and his music. At my age I should just be nodding gently to the Rolling Stones' back catalogue and popping on Snow Patrol, Coldplay and Keane when I really want to go comatose. But here I go again...Shotter's Nation is such a wonderful collection of songs and, for the first time in his scrap-book slung together mess of a career, Pete's had a producer to guide his studio efforts. For all that Mick Jones fitted the crazy world of The Libertines he didn't appear to bring a lot to the table with his anti-producing production (compare and contrast the Bernard Butler produced Death on the Stairs with Mick's subsequent album version. Not so much raw as a barely improved demo recorded in a metal bucket). Yes, Stephen Street, Morrissey's old mucker, brings spit and polish and focus and everything that Babyshambles lacked, although somehow retains the looseness that makes this raggle taggle, skinny-trousered outfit so unique. And Shotter's Nation really does feel like the work of a band rather than the bad poetic outpourings of Kate Moss and Carl Barat's ex.

I don't care for Pete's dirty fingernails, I wish he'd leave his bad habits behind and guarantee himself a long life. But, unlike The Sun, I do realise that, smack 'n' crack interludes aside, Pete is, heart and soul, all about the music. Shotter's Nation won't change anyone's mind about the man, I shouldn't think, but it is a nicely crafted piece of work that proves something to someone, although I'm not sure if he had to prove anything to me - he's a majestic live performer, and even Down in Albion did it for me. Hell, (and after the Mick Jones rant I realise this may sound a tad hypocritical) I quite happily listen to hours of Pete's acoustic demos and workouts, which, even in their shoddily recorded state, outdo many an indie band's output.

So, here are songs. Real, fully-formed songs. Lyrically, Pete's always a toss-up between a sixth-former scribbling away in the back of an exercise book and a 21st century Ray Davies. 'She's far too good looking, to do the cooking,' he belts out on Baddies Boogie, 'It's a lousy life with a washed up wife, and a permanently plastered, pissed-up bastard'. How can you not love him too? Cathartic self-obsession? Oh yes: 'In the morning where does the pain go? Same place the fame goes, to your head,' he warbles on natty opener Carry On Up The Morning, bringing visions of Brian Jones floating in a swimming pool, Ian Curtis dangling from a rope and Kurt Cobain blowing away his face and, admittedly, inducing an 'oh, Pete, put the pipe down, get over it and get on with it' sentiment. And, glory be, for the subsequent eleven tracks he does, bowing out with the beautifully sublime Lost Art of Murder, with Bert Jansch noodling away on a steel-strung guitar.

I don't alphabeticise, I place CDs in order of gravitas. Shotter's Nation will sit between The Libertines first and second albums on the top - ie most important - shelf and I'm in no doubt that this is a piece of work that will stand up decades from now. And the album that confirms that Peter Doherty is not a waster, but a genius.

Pete delivers, then, straight from the heart of all his recent (mostly self-inflicted) misery. My love shows no signs of abating.

Tags: Babyshambles, Pete Doherty, Libertines, Shotter's Nation, music

A music-based meme...

Occasionally, you'll see a meme that tickles your fancy, eh? Which I did, yesterday, on a myspace bulletin, but it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, deleted by the poster. But, after a bit of Googling, it goes something like this...

Before you do anything else, pick 10 favorite bands/artists-

1. Babyshambles
2. Josh Rouse
3. Dirty Pretty Things
4. Rolling Stones
5. Prince
6. Libertines
7. Bob Dylan
8. Oasis
9. The Cure
10. The Smiths

What was the first song you ever heard by 6?
Death On The Stairs. And we jumped around on a matress as it played. It still makes me want to jump around on a matress.

What is your favorite album of 8?
Definitely maybe Definitely Maybe.

What is your favorite lyric of 5?
I'm avoiding the comedy smut here and motherf*kin' funk to bring something more, well, spiritual to the table...

Everybody's looking 4 the ladder
Everybody wants salvation of the soul
The steps U take are no easy road
But the reward is great
4 those who want 2 go

(The Ladder)

What is your favorite song by 7?
Don't Think Twice It's All Right. There really ain't no use in turning out your light, babe.

Is there a song of 3 that makes you sad?
Too much guitar thwacking to get all melancholy with this bunch. Bang Bang Your Dead, if it was written about Carl's former sidekick, might induce a bit of "oh dear me" and "what if" and "if only". But sad? Nah.

What is your favorite song by 2?
Oh, the sing-a-long Love Vibration, swiftly followed by Sad Eyes.

What is your favorite song by 9?
Close To Me. Like Robert, I, too, have made myself so sick.

What is your favorite album by 1?
Not a great deal of choice right now, so shall we settle for Down In Albion? High hopes for Shotters Nation, though.

How did you get into 3?
Via 6 and after 1. The completist in me also made it so.

What is your favorite song by 4?
Sympathy For The Devil. I was working on a building site and use to nip out for several pints during a 30 minute lunch at a working man's club, and used to stick this on repeat play - much to the annoyance of the rest of the clientelle.

Who is your favorite band member in 9?
That Robert dude with the big hair and cute lipstick. Indeed, I am currently wearing his hair.

Is there a song by 8 that makes you sad?
Talk Tonight. Because, well, sometimes you don't and all you're left with is songs.

What is your favorite song by 10?
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now. I wish I'd appreciated it at the time.

Which album of 2 has influenced you the most?
Nashville. It influenced me to actually attend the gig, as I'd never heard of the bloke until someone at the venue thrust it in my hand.

Will the East rock?

Hull's a bit like Berlin back in the days of the wall. Plenty of concrete everywhere. Only we have a river instead of a wall, and Police Community Support Officers instead of the Stasi and traffic wardens instead of Checkpoint Charlie. The wall comes down today, without the need for David Hasselhoff to come and sing, and all those cool kids that hang out on Princes Avenue in their smart indie clothes will be making the trek over the river to watch East Park Rocks, headlined by everyone's little chums The Paddingtons. It's in East Park and it involves Hull's choicest bands and it's free. And the sun's shining. Heck, it might even be good! I shall let you know. I'm off to purchase some party snacks to make the day go by without hunger pangs. My only caveat is that the fake, advertising-led "ooh we're so cooool we're down with the kidz just don't tell everyone we're a part of the Hull Daily Mail, it's a secret, we're coooool, we're really coooool, we go clubbing, we're on myspace and bebo and buzznet and dontstayin and everything" Hull Vibe are involved. But, well, an event needs its sponsors, eh?

Talking of the river, I noticed the other day that some of the riverbank appeared to be sliding River Hullwards at the site of a new property development (more 'luxury' apartments) and next to the bridge we call North Bridge. Yesterday, they were making sure that the new building would be on the riverside rather than in the river by shoring the whole thing up.

As one building goes up another comes down, it seems, adding to the blitzkrieg skyline we so enjoy in these parts, and half of this beauty on the right goes the way of the controlled explosion tomorrow.

Youth...

The train was crammed full of young 'uns en route to Carling Leeds this morning. As they all pushed through the barrier at journeys end I did feel slightly envious and wished I was going with them up to Bramham Park. Although, as they all looked about 12, that would have been a bit of a weird move. I couldn't even think of a way to broach the subject with them. And, well, I sort of assumed they'd say no as their parents will have told them before they set off not to talk to strangers. Ah, the wrecklessness of youth, giving up four days of their school holidays to go and listen to some rock music and drink cider round a two-man tent. So, without so much as an introduction, never mind a tearful goodbye, I left them with their ruck sacks and ground sheets and skulked off to the opera company, leaving them with their dreams of the greatest gig ever to be performed by Arcade Fire, The Twang, The New Young Pony Club and all the others. I couldn't help but check the festival website this morning, where this little ditty amused me: "With only hours to go, the final things are being put into place. Thanks to all those that made this possible." The final things? I wonder what they could be? And who are all those making the putting into place the final things possible? Are the final things heavy? Is one of them Devendra Banhart's bong? Or are the things more likely to be the Cajun Dance Party's filé powder, chopped green peppers, onions and celery rider? I may never know, unless BBC Three's backstage coverage is exceptional.