The Libertines - London Infinity [Dirty Pretty Things] - 26th July 2004

What it is about this band? From the fans' point of view, it's surely an easy question to answer. From anyone else's, they're something of a public enigma; smack habits and bedroom gigs aside, the very cynical might be inclined to suggest they are, musically at least, little more than a Jam tribute band. Yet it's an Event if one of them turns up to a gig somewhere, and an even greater Event if they play the odd impromptu show or ten.

On the ball as ever, your correspondent trundled merrily along to Infinity to see the Rocks, and got there late, little knowing that an appearance from London's most infamous band for years was in order - less aware still of the guest vocalists for the evening - one Har Mar Superstar, and ex-Charlatan Tim Burgess, both of them looking short and unscrubbed. Accordingly, the limited floorspace before Infinity's stage is populated by sprawling, sweaty, mainly female bodies, hair and hands flying, all vying for a place at the front before falling, domino-like in their multitudes, onto the row of eager photographers that line the stage. The fact that Har Mar and Burgess are present is irrelevant to this display; it's a Libertines show. Even to the belatedly virgin observer, it seems this is par for the course.

It's a short set. No self-indulgence; it's 2am, the room is drunk and energetic, and the band, minus the fallen but ever-resurrectional Pete Doherty, race through five or six songs. On record these songs sound like a likeable but pissed-up shambles. Live, they're much the same, yet something indefinable makes them sound taut and focused. 'What A Waster' is over almost before it's begun, a fizzy, shouty racket that could only have been written with the intention of recruiting every available voice within shouting distance. Har Mar's vocals, it must be said, contribute little to 'Don't Look Back Into The Sun', which sounds exactly the same as it ever has. A camped up disco version would have been rather delightful, if perhaps sacrilegious in the eyes of the hardcore fans. Tonight The Artist Formerly Known As Sean Na Na even keeps his clothes on.

Perhaps their magnetism arises from the fact that they will, by the looks of things, play anywhere, anytime. Perhaps it's the breakneck energy that props up otherwise catchy but often unremarkable songs. Without doubt, a lot of it is due to the volatile relationship between frontman Carl Barat and the absent Doherty - yet they are still enjoyable without Doherty. They have by this point summoned enough appreciation from the masses that the enthusiasm ricochets back and forth between the crowd and the band, adding a palpable tinge of electricity to the atmosphere. Or perhaps what makes them special is that they manage to combine an real sense of grit and grubby humour with the kind of rare, enticing and perhaps misleading glamour that draws people in from every direction. Their fans can get right up close and touch them, but for better or worse, they'll never be quite like them. It's a trick that few bands manage to pull off with such charm. Tonight, they even have this cynic convinced.