Dickensian geniality is all well and good, particularly in an age when chivalry is prone on a stretcher in the morgue. However, surely it's time to clean your shoes from the mud of London's Victorian ditches and doff your cap elsewhere, Carl? The fact is, the professionalism of 'Waterloo To Anywhere', the single mindedness shown in his not-so-private Libertines feuds; and most of all, Barat's undeniable charisma means he doesn't need these gimmicks. By and large, the songs can easily speak for themselves.
A defiant 'Deadwood' kick starts a triumphant delivery of energy, cohesion and ultimately, unprecedented determination. Barat's enduring love affair with The Clash is consummated on glorious 'Bang Bang You're Dead': a brutal shot in the face to critics, doubters and cynics. From the sauntering melancholia of the horn intro, to the lyrics of lament and loss, this showcases Carl's finest ability. A true Bruit, he retains a stiff upper lip when all around is crumbling – be that into the crack-pipe or elsewhere. Through the jolts of punk confrontation in 'You Fuckin Love It' and the ska-jaunts of 'The Gentry Cove', there is a gloomy shadow looming that won't shake. From the appropriately murky sleeve art and lyrics riddled with sketchy, morose qualities; no amount of spiky guitars and clattering drums can shield the sadness.
And there's no doubting the song writing skills, which show off Barat's knack for a grubby-beautiful tune with style. His vocals are as ever arch, dignified, and ultimately, drippingly sexy, the thrashing punk energy undoubtedly rambunctious and edgily sweaty, yet pervaded by a jaded hollowness. Carl's vices are his paranoia: there's a constant sense of looking over his shoulder. But with songs so tarnished with the shoe shine charm and urchin dignity of the Libertines, it's painfully difficult not to sense an almighty tall and spoon-faced shaped gap. This is an album of gin-fuelled laments, uprisings and battered beauty: such dignity and sharp proficiency shows he can only do better. Facing firmly forward and ignoring the past, Dirty Pretty Things could soon surely go from Waterloo to Anywhere – just perhaps not yet.
