More about: The Libertines

With a plethora of B-sides, rarities and demos, as well as classics with clever but catty lyric changes, the options are endless when attempting to narrow down The Libertines' catalogue.

Their lyrics are consistently sharp and often beautiful, and the relationship between the two frontmen is, at the very least, overwhelmed with love. Here are eleven of their most underrated songs:

'The Boy Looked At Johnny'

Crashing us into action is the best song on Up The Bracket: ‘The Boy Looked At Johnny’. It was an abandoned album track for years until The Libertines finally resurrected it for their tour in 2021. Filled with London romanticism and hilarious lyrics (“Don’t you know who I think I am?!”), it’s two minutes of pure chaos. It feels as though you’ve bumped into two friends in a grotty pub: one of them starts slurring a story, the other one shouts in agreement, before they both, pissed out their heads, throw their arms around your neck and force you into singsong. In that way, it perfectly encapsulates the band. 

'Hooray for the 21st Century'

The year 2000 gave us the now cult-classic EP Legs 11, on which The Libertines recorded eight of their best songs at the time (these included ‘You’re My Waterloo’ and the original ‘Music When The Lights Go Out,’ in which Peter Doherty sounds like a baby Brett Anderson). It also gave us the wonderful ‘Hooray For The 21st Century’, whose bridge was later lifted for ‘Narcissist’.

Burning with energy, class consciousness, romantic woes and dying flowers, it’s an early gem that sowed the seeds for what they were to become. Carl Barat performs some of their most gorgeous lyrics to date, cutting the figure of a desperate and betrayed lover, while an almost feral Doherty snarls and spits back out the chorus. Truly one of their greatest songs, it shows the magnificent dynamic between the pair and how their performative energies complement each other in a way that is unparalleled.

'Anything But Love'

Another gift from Legs 11 is the adorable, Beatles-esque ‘Anything But Love’. Doherty’s angelic voice is almost unrecognisable here, and the band once again make use of the complementary contrast between his and Barat’s tones. Before they discovered The Clash, The Libertines were a bunch of cherub-like softies singing sickly sweet images of romance and poverty. This one’s a charming and tender pop song that illustrates their knack for poetics; Barat’s melodramatic lament during the bridge is a particular highlight.

'Belly of the Beast'

Another, more recent, example of their penchant for poetic genius is this track from their long-awaited comeback album Anthems For Doomed Youth. Full of wonderful wordplay and references to their spotty past, it’s three minutes of controlled wit before it bursts into bedlam, hung together only by the crescendoing voices of a gospel choir.

'The Saga'

Produced by The Clash’s Mick Jones, ‘The Saga’ is a haunting semi-ska punk track that’s sonically reminiscent of The Specials at their eeriest. Recorded during the peak of the band’s breakdown and break-up, it’s a tough listen. Doherty argues against any opinion that he may have a substance abuse problem, or that he’s on a very narrow path into self-destruction. Its openness and vulnerability forces the listener into the uncomfortable position of onlooker as the relationship between band members disintegrates before our very eyes. 

'Plan A'

Another spooky one, though this time the frustrations are with the music industry rather than each other: “I read every review/No one’s got a fucking clue.” Barat’s almost undetectable humming at the beginning of this ‘Up The Bracket’ B-side is an unsettling addition to the bitterness that oozes from Doherty’s cold, emotionless voice. Menacing and stunning.

'Never Never (Hancock Version)'

Serene and care-free, the whimsical B-side to ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’ is the antithesis of ‘Plan A’. Featuring samples from Hancock’s Half Hour, it’s a delightful and sentimental number that is effortlessly lovely. The softness of Doherty’s voice makes the lyrics almost inaudible, while the jaunty guitar makes it the perfect soundtrack for a vintage romantic montage.

'Tomblands'

Just like ‘The Boy Looked At Johnny’, ‘Tomblands’ is another pirate-like album track. Scattered guitars twist into a sprawling riff as John Hassall keeps the ship running with a tight and taunting bassline. Operatic and turbulent, ‘Tomblands’ tells the type of stories shifty strangers would tell you down a darkened back alleyway. Barat’s theatricality enhances this song into a peculiar and surreal folk tale.

'France (Legs 11 version)'

Two recordings of ‘France’ exist—the hidden track at the end of The Libertines, and the original on Legs 11. The original is the best: Doherty introduces Barat’s acoustic ballad like some deranged circus ringmaster before the latter recounts a tale of lost love and heartache. It’s not often you hear the two of them harmonise in such a delicate way, and the occasional laughs you hear them exchange in the background is a sweet reminder of their closeness as a duo. 

'Cyclops'

‘Cyclops’ is difficult to define. Its structure is so haphazard that it’s impossible to really say what’s going on, and it’s such a strange song that I think there’s even an attempt at rapping on it. It’s definitely the weirdest they’ve released...but the lyrics are astute and delivered excellently.

'I Get Along'

Certainly their most underrated single, ‘I Get Along’ is charismatic, arrogant and brilliant. Not only did Barat’s self-defiant anthem give us the lyric “people tell me I’m wrong…Fuck ‘em!”, but it also gave us the iconic amped up performance on late night American TV, where he switches the profanity with “Your mama!” and a restless Doherty screams so loudly between verses that, despite not being anywhere near the mic, it’s still perfectly audible.

More about: The Libertines