Pete Doherty in drugs shock. Pete Doherty in Daily Mail exclusive. Pete Doherty and Kate Moss, pictures in the Sun. Pete. Kate. Crack. Music. Fight. Marriage. Break-up. Band. No Show. Documentaries. Rehab. Sackings. Album? What album? Riots. Bollocks. It seems about time to accept that any goodwill that remained towards Doherty after the break-up of The Libertines has not only been spent, but has been mortgaged to the hilt, the repayments unable to be met.
Surely it’s now appropriate to say: a) we’re bored, b) we’re bored and c) we’re bored. He blew it. The others didn’t. They walked away from the detritus, dignity intact and intent on doing their own thing. Which for John Hassall means Yeti. Who have quietly turned into something absolutely ace.
Pleasingly for those who enjoy numerical symmetry, support tonight on the second date of their second UK wide tour was two-fold: The Mardous, Scottish, bouncy, raucous, vaguely Crib like and, for a band third-billed, not half bad. They were followed by Spencer who were earnest, epic and dull. Big ideas for sure, but ideas that fell flat within the confined spaces they worked in, leaving the audience listening to what sounded an awful lot like white noise.
Finally, Yeti. Despite the name they are neither hairy, mysterious nor prone to eating Arctic explorers. What they do is mine a seam ofblissful melody started by The Byrds and not revisited this successfully since The La’s came this close to releasing thegreatest album ever. On paper it might sound like a hackneyed nightmare. In reality it succeeds because it’s so utterly charming.
A bigger stage surely beckons. The tremendously catchy bounce of new single Keep Pushin’ On, the ska-tinged chug of Working For The Industry, the oh-so pretty wistful nostalgia of Never Lose Your Sense Of Wonder, all sound ready for larger audiences, bigger stages and, in this current environment of noise driven punks spitting licks at you, are all strangelyreassuring; like a Werther’s Original and a pat on the head from a beloved grandparent in a time of need.
Strolling on at about 10:30pm had given pause for thought of (Baby)shambolic last-minute withdrawals, but there really was no need to worry.It’s that kind of music: carefree, whimsical and uplifting. A foot planted in the past for sure, but not problematically; revisiting what went before is fine provided it’s done well, with a sense of your own personality coming through. Which it does in spades here. So we’ve been looking in the wrong direction. We’ve been seduced by lurid tales of tabloid excess. It’s time to return to a friendlier time. The time of Yeti.