No dead baby jokes about Pete Doherty's so-called shambles; no talk of coke-habits and skin-and-bones supermodel girlfriends (except as back-up vocalists): Down in Albion is the opposite of Up the Bracket, and not just for prepositional reasons. Departing from the Libertines' work by slowing-down, shaping-up, Down in Albion doesn't out-do Up the Bracket's gritty unruliness (and the less said about the self-titled follow-up the better), but doesn't flop as self-indulgently/destructively as it could, either
Doherty appropriates William Blake's Albion here; his motifs are death, drugs, fucking. Oasis once intoned immortality-- "You and I are gonna live forever"-- but "Fuck Forever"'s the mid-90s anthem's morbid antithesis, death and glory's fuzzy meridian. The second of 16 tracks, Doherty's "fuck forever, if you don't mind" should've usurped the inane "La Belle et la bete" (featuring the vocal stylings of Kate Moss-- la bete?) as Albion's enthroned first-song, flipping off "Live Forever"'s na\x95ve cheer. Even if Doherty's an asshole for saying so, someone had to: "Now is not the time to cry" for some guys, but when life's lousy-- fuck it, kick shit over, send it flying, cry your eyes out.
Coming across as shambolic and rough'n'tumble can be both a blessing and a curse; here, it's blessing first: If "Fuck Forever"'s meant as counterpoint to "Live Forever," most of the album's other songs are doubles, scruffily reinterpreted. "Back from the Dead" is "Lust for Life" weary from having come full-circle and gotten its wish; "What Katy Did Next" is a revamped "Wishin' and Hopin'" ("So if you're thinkin' of havin' true lovin'/ All you've gotta do is hold him and kiss him/ And squeeze him and love him/ Do it, and after you do you will be his") meant for you-know-who. The catchier stuff retrofits 60s acts, while "The 32 of December", "Killamangiro", and "8 Dead Boys" are looser, weirder Clash and Pistols.
So when Babyshambles try pulling shit like "Pipe Down"-- a crappy "Fuck Forever" for kids still missing Kurt Cobain-- swagger uninspired through "Up the Morning", misstep with from-nowhere reggae stunts "Sticks and Stones" and "Pentonville", the whole precariously fragile mess is busted and broken. In parts, Albion's shambolism is stunning, but that's no excuse for moments of total sloppiness. Production's tidied to a fault; vocals stray too often-- perfect in doses, exasperating otherwise. Cut shorter, Down in Albion could've topped Up the Bracket, with its fed-up rock star-cum-zombie-isms-- feelings we commoners know better. As it stands, Down in Albion's charm lies mostly in its tenuousness and tightrope-walking; an unfussy love coming in spurts.
