#buffoonery at best and harmful at worst!!

[erotetica]

Hey? Hi? I haven't had the

Energy

to write since April bc of sundry disabilities. I'm in the demographic being kindly remembered there.

Instead of conflating my work to the flaccid mimicry of a calculator mb get my name out of your mouthhhhhhhhhhh

just saw a fanfic on ao3 have a dedication for chatgpt... that section is meant for your horny perverted mutual who proofread your work, you violated sacred law and you will be torn apart and laid bare btw

[dailycharacteroption]

Court Fool (Bard Archetype)

(art by Lucy-Lisett on DeviantArt)

  With the sheer variety of performances that the bard class can be associated with, it’s strange to think that it took until the later years of first edition for us to get a jester-themed archetype, but here it is! The tradition of the court fool is a long-standing one providing much-needed levity in the politically-charged environment of a royal court.

The exact duties of a jester vary by the culture involved, but they are typically expected to tell jokes, perform feats of acrobatics and physical comedy, sing and play music, and generally play the butt of the joke.

However, despite the assumptions of some unaware nobles, a professional fool is anything but, and it pays off for these figures to be well-informed, all the better to make their comedy more refined for their audience, as well as mock truths that the court would rather ignore or conceal, speaking what no other person could get away with.

While it is not the place of a jester to get involved with the politics he parodies and mocks, some do, becoming true political players in their own right, which is only enhanced in a world of fantasy magic, where a jester/spymaster only adds to their arsenal of tricks.

 A good gesture masters the art of the gaff, becoming skilled acrobats to do pratfalls without being harmed, to say nothing of peppering their speech with biting double entendres and skilled mimicry.

Sometimes it only takes an absurd shock to break someone out of a stupor or reverie, and these jesters know just the buffoonery to do that, helping break allies or themselves out of mind-warping effects.

With a joke and a smile, court fools can help other ignore minor fear and fatigue, though this performance cannot help against more extreme effects.

Part of what makes a jester’s performance good is their absolute confidence, and they are adept at doing routine performances and providing ample distraction with ease, and can even perform perfectly in short bursts.

While not as focused on skills and buffing as other bards, this archetype is quite effective at both agility and deception, not to mention their own fun support abilities. If these appeal to you, try the archetype out. I’d recommend at least some focus on being a mobile combatant, perhaps focusing on combat maneuvers to make fools of foes, but you have plenty of flexibility to build as you wish.

 So with a court fool being implied to have a cushy job in some royal court, one would ask the question: “Why do they go out adventuring?” The reasons may be as simple as “the campaign is an urban intrigue story that never really leaves the city, so they still have their job” to things like the jester having taken a joke too far, being forced into exile instead of some other punishment because they were just funny enough to escape such a fate. (That’s actually happened before in the real world, look up Nicolas Ferrial some time!) Regardless, a good court fool knows to keep their eyes and ears open when others dismiss them as nothing more than a buffoon, which can serve them well as adventurers as well as their profession.

  A minor adventurer before retiring, Bendelvitz the Braggart enjoys telling tall tales of his exploits which are exaggerated at best, and fabrications at worst. However, now the jester finds himself in a bind, being asked to show proof of having seduced a kuru prince away from the bloodthirsty ways of his people.

 A natural bringer of chaos, Motley Jane finds the work of a court fool to be right up her alley as a ganzi. However, not everyone appreciates her disruption or tendency to overhear secrets. Indeed, there are several who would delight in silencing her particular brand of merriment for good.

 Asked to meet a contact in Redwater, the party finds themselves with no idea who to look for, that is, until a mirthful clown appears before them, playing all manner of jokes on them, but suddenly growing serious, revealing himself to be the one they have been waiting for.

[thetedpanda]

The Coronavirus Just Makes U.S. Look Dumb

It’s a shame to be an American, nowadays. Or at least, that’s how I feel. We’re one of the strongest countries to ever exist in history. Yet, the way we handle this pandemic just shows us that we’re the most foolish.

First, it’s stupid that there are people who deny that the virus exist. There’s many credible sources around the world, regarding the nature of the virus. Many medical professionals have confirmed that it is real. There are numerous reports of the virus and its effects in various countries. But, there are still Americans who claim that the virus is fake. Many of those in denial argue that the virus is fake and that “God will protect me from it.” Well, no. I’m Christian, and God did not promise us that He will protect us from a certain virus. Instead, He promised us everlasting life, protecting us from living eternity in Hell. Therefore, the religious argument is stupid. Additionally, in a Christian perspective, their flawed argument just proves that they have a major flaw in their faith.

Second, now is not the time to spread misinformation. Recently, there was a documentary called Plandemic, which endorsed the falsehood that vaccines were dangerous, that masks did not protect us, and that the coronavirus was a plot by rich people to gain money. Gosh, the nonsense that the documentary spewed out just infuriates me. Also, we’ve eradicated so many viruses with the help of vaccines. Such viruses include tetanus, measles, polio, etc., so the ill argument that vaccines are harmful simply is buffoonery. Don’t get me started with the masks... These claims are so dangerous because they affect our health. If people start believing that vaccines are fake or that masks are useless, they have a higher chance in contracting the virus. Also, it’s unethical to spread such conspiracies because they can play a huge role in other people’s life, or death.

Third, there are people protesting stay-at-home orders. Seriously? I understand that staying at home sucks, but I’m doing it for the sake of my health, for the sake of my community’s health, for the sake of my country’s health. There is no cure or vaccine to the coronavirus; the number of cases are only rising; the fatality rate is worsening. So, protesting by going outside in large gatherings can increase the rate at which the virus spreads, which will only lengthen the time that we need to quarantine ourselves. Also, there are medical workers, risking their lives, to alleviate the current situation. There are many medical facilities that are at maximum capacity. There is a limited resource of masks and gloves that are necessary in combatting the effects of the virus. Yet, here we are complaining about how “we need haircuts!” There are so many people who are struggling given the current situation. So, to the people who are are protesting, your haircut argument is inconsiderate. Also, YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT THE ECONOMY! Your concern for the economy is secondary to your concern for a haircut. You only care about yourself. You just want service from others. You’re just plain selfish, and that’s the truth. Just shut up, and go watch your TV show or do something that is actually productive. If you really care about the economy, make a donation to coronavirus relief organizations that provide money for people who need it or support medical facilities.

Fourth, we could have at least prepared for the virus, but we chose not to do so. After the troublesome spread of the Ebola virus, former President Obama made a guideline about procedures future presidents should take when there is a risk of global pandemic. However, President Trump removed the pandemic response team in 2018 and refused to follow the guideline. Also, considering that the United States wasn’t the first country to be affected by the coronavirus, we had the opportunity to have a head start and prepare for the virus. We could have observed the virus’ effect on affected countries and take appropriate steps. In other words, WE COULD HAVE BEEN IN A BETTER SITUATION THAN THE SITUATION THAT WE ARE CURRENTLY IN! South Korea wisely started making test kits before their first case. The country was able to test patients in massive numbers. Now, the country is a success story because they were able to avoid the worst situation possible and now have a decreasing rate of cases.

Finally, the United States’ position as a global superpower is laughable. I mean, just look at it. We are performing the worst in the world right now. We have the highest number of cases. The rate at which people are contracting the virus is only increasing. Also, one would expect that a global superpower would have the best systems. Instead, the opposite is happening. The U.S. is barely surviving, and the situation is only becoming worse.

I hope that this pandemic will foster major change in our country. We need better protocol for the next time this happens. We need to bolster our healthcare system because this pandemic has revealed that our healthcare is too weak. We need better leadership. We need to better support for those who are considered essential workers: those who work in hospitals, those who work in stores, those who work deliver goods. We just need to improve as a whole by learning from this situation. And if this situation doesn’t lead to any significant change, we’re going to continue living in a stupid world.

[theonewhopoops]

Something I have been thinking about (dwelling on and muttering like a goblin possessed) is this one person's godawful take on Steven Universe. Yes this is about SU and it's novel length, so buckle up or go get some tea and scroll past it.

The user I'm referring to cited the Steven Universe Future plot where Steven literally turns into a monster when pushed to his breaking point in their Garbage Take of why SU is bad. Now, SUF was certainly flawed from a writing standpoint and I hate the general need for more and more and more from every beloved IP and generally don't like expansions.

But this person's take is that SU (more specifically SUF) is harmful because it "implies that people with mental illness are dangerous."

HOMIE. It does NOT. Literally the entire goddamn show from start to finish is about figuring your shit out and finding family and love and meaning and happiness where no one else will look. About seeing the forgiveable, vulnerable centers of even the most heinous villains. Every mentally ill person in the show is shown love, tenderness, forgiveness, and a desire to help from the protagonist of the show and from many other characters at different times. We are shown time and time again that being angry or hurtful or violent or sad or misunderstood or misguided - none of these things make you unworthy of love. So no matter how you acted, or WHY you acted the way you did, you are still deserving of love and understanding. There are even moments where it's pointed out that Steven is exhausting himself extending a helping hand to those who don't treat him well in the midst of their emotional issues. This is painted as okay and understandable, as it is important to show love to these people, AND important to show yourself that same love and step back when it's too much to handle because you have your own limitations.

Steven's literal monstrous eruption in SUF is ACCURATE. I, as a mentally ill person, have harmed those close to me and those that I love both physically and emotionally. I've broken things. I've screamed and yelled and have lost any semblance of control over myself. And I know other people that have done far worse than I did in the throes of their worst days.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT???? The WHOLE TIME leading up to his breakdown, everyone around him was trying to help and support him - and it's ultimately their misunderstanding of his needs that staunches their aid, and his own [willfull] ignorance of his own pain and poor choices that keeps him on the path of breaking down. The WHOLE TIME he is "monstrous" and destroying things, the people who love him are trying to reach him and help him and talk him down. And the WHOLE TIME afterward, they are STILL trying to help him, support him, and look after him.

At no point is anything permanently broken. Physically, walls and tables and chairs can be fixed, rebuilt, or replaced. Mentally, the friendships and family ties remained strong and unyieldingly connected throughout the event. No one abandons him. No one fusses at him for being so mean or angry. They're WORRIED about him. They now see that their efforts to help him are not enough - AND THAT'S OKAY; IT'S NOBODY'S FAULT. It's not Steven's fault for being "too much" or "unhelpable." It's not his family and friends' fault for "not doing enough" or "not trying." Sometimes things HAPPEN and everyone involved did THE BEST THEY COULD and something still needs to CHANGE and THAT'S OKAY.

And basically I've been stewing on this for WEEKS OR MONTHS because I read this absolutely tone-deaf, nigh-purposeful-misinterpretation buffoonery about how SU is harmful and "did a lot of damage" because of it's portrayal of mental illness. I'M SORRY BUT WHAT????

I could go on. I could write a novel. I'm in my thirties and I consumed SU in it's entirety THIS YEAR. I cried numerous times from shear catharsis, and watching this show with my partner opened the door for us to have many conversations about mental health, love, and trauma - which is so fucking important. Like, sure, it's not a perfect piece of media, but nothing is???????? And it is something I've NEVER seen attempted in any other piece of media [before, but even since], much less a show for CHILDREN???????

If I had had a hero like Steven when I was younger, I think I would be in a much better mental state than I am today. If I got to see this stuff talked about and worked through with a loving and heroic cast like that, I'd have been less alone. And I know very few people will see this but I felt the burning need to SAY it - whether SU is "old news" or not.

[aelin-and-feyre]

The Seer and the Shadowsinger

Requested by @illyrian-queen, @couldilienexttoyou and @breiflyburningcomputer 11: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” 12: “Stay the night, please.” ‘small one wearing big one’s clothes’ trope and ‘cuddles and soft kisses’ trope

Elriel - FLUFF

Sometimes, Azriel thinks that perhaps Elain isn’t the only Seer in the Inner Circle. It seems that his friends have an amazing talent of timing things so that Azriel and Elain had optimum interactions. He is fairly certain that they have a bet going for who can force the two together more. Currently, Feyre is winning. 

Of course, sweet Elain knows nothing of the bet, remaining in ignorant bliss while Azriel’s so-called ‘friends’ torture him by dangling something in front of him that he can’t have. 

It isn’t that Elain is another male’s mate - Lucien and her had mutually decided over a century ago that they weren’t the right pairing to make each other happy. Lucien had proceeded to apprentice at Helion’s court, learning how to be High Lord some day. 

Rather, it is the fact that she’s Elain. Sweet, loving, beautiful Elain Archeron who Azriel would never dream of sullying with his dark, scarred, bastard self.

Of course, he did dream. A lot. 

Elain and Azriel, over the past century and a half that they’ve known each other, have become very good friends. Best friends, one might say, although they don’t because Cassian get’s jealous. Azriel and Elain are silent companions during the worst of times and pranking buddies during the best. Only Amren has been spared from their buffoonery, though Elain has tried to convince Azriel many times. 

The Seer and the Shadowsinger. The light and the dark. Who knew that the dark could love the light so much that he refused to cast his shadow in fear of dimming her glorious light. 

It was true, Azriel was avoiding Elain and had been for weeks. After a revealing and rather embarrassing conversation with a certain Mortal Emissary last month, Nesta being the last one to confront Azriel about his feelings and finally open his eyes - because let’s face it, if Nesta is trying to make you open up about your emotions, you’re a little too closed off - Azriel finally admitted that he is hopelessly in love with the Seer.

However, the confession had probably the opposite effect that his friends had been hoping for. Instead of making the Shadowsinger rush to Elain and tell her of his passion, Azriel had become closed off, and refused to talk to Elain unless it was absolutely necessary. 

An order from the High Lord to stay back and watch over Velaris while the remaining Inner Circle visited the Summer Court had been fine with Azriel. A couple days without his friends was a welcome break. He loves the gang, but sometimes the Shadowsinger needs a little bit of peace to unwind after months of their antics. 

It is raining the day they leave, and Azriel spends much of the time inside his apartment, reading and sipping tea - which he is only able to do on days when his brothers are gone or he would never hear the end of it. He collects reports from his spies, assigning new missions and making sure everything is in working order. He is just settling in for bed, shirtless with a pair of gray flannel pants on, when there is a knock at his door. 

It is still pouring outside, and rather dark as that day was coming to a definitive end, but the knock is incessant. He steps through the shadows to his front hall, peering out the window, darkness masking his face from the view of his visitor. And then he sees Elain, drenched and shivering on his door step. immediately, he swings open the door and Elain’s still fisted hand drops to her side.

She stares at him and he stares at her. Elain’s eyes drift a little lower to Azriel’s shirtless chest, a sight she has only seen a few times in the last century... and she sneezes. The action breaks the Shadowsinger from his trance. “I thought you were in Summer.” He says quietly, then realizes she is still standing in the rain. Feeling foolish and thoughtless, he gestures her quickly inside. 

Grabbing a towel from the hall closet, the biggest and fluffiest he could readily find, Azriel wraps it around her shoulders. She takes it gratefully, closing the door behind her, sniffling all the way. “I’m sorry. I got sick last night so Feyre decided I should be left to recover. They said I could come to you if I really needed it.” 

Even though he and Elain have proven again and again that they would always be there for each other, the fact that she feels comfortable coming to him when she is ill makes Azriel endlessly happy. However, he is still confused. “What about Nuala and Cerridwen? I thought they were staying at the townhouse.”

Elain, still shivering, wraps the towel closer around herself as she shakes her head. “They went with them to the Summer Court. They knew I would have you if I needed it.”

“Of course they did,” Azriel mutters, the order from Rhys suddenly making sense. How timely it was that Elain got sick the night before they were set to leave. Azriel swears another one of the Inner Circle must also have the Seeing gift. Looking down at the female, the flower that has rooted itself into his shadowy heart, Azriel knows what his friends are trying to tell him. 

Taking a deep breath, Azriel sets his hands on her shoulders, ignoring the contrast between his scarred and her flawless skin. “They are idiots for leaving you in this state. I’m going to take care of you, okay? Stay the night,” Elain looks like she truly doesn’t want to intrude, but Azriel knows better. Besides, why would she walk all the way here, in the rain, if she didn’t want to spend time here, with him? Azriel decides he isn’t going to dissect that any further. “Stay the night, please.” He amends. 

Elain smiles - her grin never fails to make the Shadowsinger’s heart skip a beat - and nods. “Okay. Thank you, Az.” 

“Anytime, now let’s go get you into dry clothes.” Leading her swiftly up the stairs, Azriel notices that his shadows are dancing up and down her limbs, wispy checks that she isn’t outwardly harmed. Whatever illness she possesses, it is probably more comparable to a head cold. “You must be freezing,” He comments as they make their way to his spare bedroom. He doesn’t mean to say it, but the words just slip out. “Do you want to talk a warm bath before you go to bed?” 

Elain looks at him, half amused, half weary. Before she can make a joke, something she definitely learned from Cassian, Azriel shakes his head, a silent plea not to start. Elain bites her lip to contain her laugh, drawing Azriel’s eye to the pink flesh turned white under her teeth. How many times has his mind betrayed him and thought of doing the exact same thing? Probably too many times to count. Averting his gaze, Azriel opens the door to her bedroom for the night, quickly realizing he has nothing for her to wear. 

“Um... Give me a second.” Stepping through the shadows quickly and back again, Azriel appears before her, holding a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt. He awkwardly thrusts them towards her, both of their cheeks slightly flushed from the outcome. 

The Seer ultimately shrugs, grabbing the articles and walking over to the bed. “Sorry for just showing up here. I Saw it and figured you had known I was still in town.” Over the years, Elain mastered her Cauldron-blessed abilities. She became able to understand and explain her visions, know when they were about to come and what time they were showing her. 

Azriel however, is barred from responding when Elain begins taking off her shirt. Being over one hundred and fifty years old, Elain is no longer as modest as she was when in her twenties, but never has she started undressing in front of him. He’s not sure if he should be insulted or flattered that she feels so comfortable about it. 

A choked sound leaves Azriel’s lips and makes Elain turn around, now only wearing her skirt and a white wrap around her breasts. “What, so you’re allowed to be shirtless around me and I’m not?” She asks, one eyebrow raised. 

He gulps. Working exceptionally hard not to look down, keeping his eyes trained on her face, Azriel is only able to shrug. Her expression seems pleased as she pulls the shirt over her head. Azriel tries not to notice how it dwarfs her. And he surely tries not to be too turned on by the fact. 

She shimmies out of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles. Azriel is helpless as he watches, enraptured by the suddenness of his dreams coming true, though not in the circumstances he imagined. Only when the shorts are secured around her slim waist is Azriel snapped out of his reverie. 

He clears his throat, turning towards the door slightly. “Do you need medicine? Or some tea? How sick are you?” He asks, shadows twirling around his wrists as he contemplates what to do for her. Taking care of ill people is definitely not his forte. 

Elain, obviously still cold, slides onto the bedspread. She backs against the headboard, lifting her legs so she can pull back blanket. The movement makes the bottom of the shirt bunch up at her waist and display cream white thighs. They are gone just as quickly as they came when the Seer slips under the duvet. It is such a backwards way of getting into the bed that Azriel wonders if it was deliberate. 

“Some tea would be wonderful, thank you.” She requests. As had become habit the past few decades, Elain’s wish is his command, and Azriel is gone in seconds, drifting through shadows down to the kitchen. 

He takes the time away from her to splash some water on his face. What is wrong with him? if he doesn’t stop staring at her, he will not be able to control himself. 

Seeing her in his clothes. That might just be enough to send him over the edge. Once again, it is uncanny how it rains the day the Inner Circle leaves. And crazy how Rhysand forgot to tell him about Elain staying behind. 

When the tea is made and Azriel has readjusted his state of mind, the Shadowsinger makes his way back up to the spare room. Elain is sitting up, sniffling slightly, and holds her hands out for the cup. 

Her delicate, soft fingers brush his own. Azriel needs to take a deep breath to steady himself. After the first few sips, he finally speaks again. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

Elain sets down the tea on the bedside table, and then pats the bedspread next to her. An invitation. Hesitantly, Azriel sits down. The Seer takes no time sliding down further under her covers and adjusting so her head rests on the hard planes of his stomach. 

“Elain,” Azriel starts. He knows that she is doing this on purpose, and doesn’t understand why nor does he fully want to. Nevertheless, his fingers reflexively find their way to her hair and begin to brush through the strands absently. 

“I know why you’ve been ignoring me, Az,” Elain mumbles, fingers tracing light sketches across his abdomen. Azriel has to work very hard not to purr at the sensation. “And I need you to know that I am not Mor.” 

His fingers halt halfway down her back. “What?” 

Elain sighs, pushing up into a sitting position so that she can meet his eyes. “I don’t prefer girls, nor am I going to let this thing between us fester for another four centuries.” 

Azriel stutters, eyes darting between her own. “There isn't -” 

“Yes there is, Az,” She insists. Her hand grasps his, interlacing their fingers but never taking her eyes away from him. “I’ve seen us.” 

“Y-you’ve seen... us?” Truly, he must be dreaming. Azriel contemplates quickly that perhaps there was never a knock at the door, and all this had been some elaborately concocted dream. Especially when Elain’s hand travels up to cup his cheek, her eyes boring into his own.

“Azriel,” She whispers. Her thumb brushes against his cheek bone. Her gaze drifts down to his lips. “Kiss me.” 

Yep. This is a dream. Azriel is sure of it now. And he says so. Elain laughs, the sound sending a shiver through his body that the Seer is quick to notice. “This is not a dream, Az. Just kiss me.” 

“B-but you’re sick.” He tries. 

The devious smile that appears on the female’s face makes him realize that he’s been tricked. “For a spymaster, you aren’t very observant, Az.” She taunts.

His friends aren’t Seers, it’s just this beautiful woman in front of him who planned the whole thing. She made sure the group would leave on this day, when it would be raining, made Rhys have Azriel stay back but take the shadow twins, she faked being sick, all so that her vision would come true. The future where she saw them together. “You pulled a prank on me,” He whispers, slightly awed. Her responding smile erases away all of Azriel’s doubts. “Cauldron, I love you.” 

It felt so good to admit it, to tell her what he has kept bottled inside for more than a century. “I know,” She grins, fingers combing through his hair, over his shoulders and along the tops of his wings. Where she had learned how to do this, Azriel only has two guesses. Maneuvering her legs out from under the covers and then situating so that she now sits on his lap does not help matters. “You want this. I want this. Let’s have this.” 

“Okay,” Is all Azriel is able to say, and then her smiling lips descend upon his own, and Azriel thanks the Cauldron that instead of his shadows diminishing her light, it seems to be the other way around. And the Seer is somehow able to brighten his shadows.

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Next oneshot will be posted Sunday July 23

[juliayepes]

The Prism of Pete Doherty’s Lyrics

Babyshambles? More like shambles, judging by Pete Doherty’s public buffoonery and substance abuse. Yet beyond that façade lies a poet deliberately testing limits. 

Some people may neglect to take him seriously because of his antics, but Pete Doherty may be one of the best lyricists of his generation. For Doherty, who famously won a scholarship to study poetry in Russia while in his teens, songwriting is the primary form of expression. And it is his lyrics, good-natured but defiant, that should be regarded as his only real answer to his public. Even as his life grows increasingly hazy, Doherty’s lyrics remain simple, poetic, and clear.

With his first band, the Libertines, Doherty was half of a great songwriting pair with Carl Barat. Their songwriting process was precarious; the music was inspired by their power struggles and, to a large extent, contingent upon them. Doherty was the happy-go-lucky merry prankster to Barat’s more sober and structured older-brother figure, and the ongoing clash of their personalities invigorated their music. But even though their songs depended upon their own stormy relationship, they had a liberating effect on the listener. Doherty himself was a surprisingly sunny presence amid the gloomy, moody rock scene. He never went too far into petulance; instead, he played a kind of rock-and-roll Peter Pan, incorrigible but inspiring in his romanticism. On “Campaign of Hate,” from the second Libertines album, Doherty cheerfully proclaimed, “Don’t believe them when they say / That you don’t get nothing for free / It’s all for free / Follow me!”

From the beginning, Doherty insisted on freedom but beneath his willful defiance, he displayed a deep-seated yearning for approval. On “The Man Who Would Be King” from the Libertines’ self-titled second album, he sang, “I lived my dreams today / … I’ll be living yours tomorrow / So don’t look at me that way!” And while he often made the suggestion that he was just following his heart, on the earlier “Don’t Look Back Into the Sun”, he uncharacteristically suggested that other people were just jealous. On “Eight Dead Boys,” from the first Babyshambles record, Down in Albion, he sings, “I want love / I want it all”. And therein lies his particular frustration: He longs for total freedom, but total freedom can lead to chaos.

This tension creates pathos. A restless longing for freedom, coupled with the intimation that he knows he can’t handle it, is a lyrical theme that dates back to his earliest songs. His lyrics make it clear that his belief in personal freedom is what he holds most dear. When on “A’rebours” Doherty sings, “If you really cared for me / You’d let me be / Set me free”, freedom is a ringing affirmative but also a desperate necessity. In retrospect, his choruses of “Let me go” and “Set me free” seem a bit desperate. While in the Libertines, Doherty wanted to break free from Barat, but now it is less clear what he wants to get away from. Doherty is still “too polite to say / I defy you all!” as he sings on “A’rebours,” but on Down in Albion, he continues to plead for understanding and acceptance.

But acceptance was becoming harder to find, even as his public persona inflated. By the time Doherty formed Babyshambles, he had become noticeably unhinged. It’s clear Doherty has had trouble dealing with the freedom that large-scale success has brought him. The scene in these songs is bare: There’s almost no one around. Those that present are only too happy to serve him a wince-inducing dose of reality. “You look better now than last time / But you still look better from afar!” someone tells him on “Eight Dead Boys.” Then they get even harsher: “You look better now than last time / But you’re still no better than before / The life that you wanted was not in store / You’re going to be in the dark once again.” Many of these songs are composed of other people’s reproachful monologues, and the cumulative effect is convincing. When he sings, “There’s nothing nice about me / And almost everyone agrees” on “Back from the Dead”, he sounds truly sorry.

But the edge has always been there. Many of Doherty’s songs contain a variation on this kind of conditional statement:

I think I now understand what I misunderstood before, How your love gives me so much more. I’m free again I can see again But if I should fall…

Similarly, when he sings, “If I had to go / I would be thinking of your love” on “Last Post From the Bugle”, you know that it’s not a matter of if but when. Even when he’s reassuring someone, “We’ll meet again some day,” he knows that “there’s a price to pay” for every action or deferral he makes.

As a Libertine, Doherty wrote songs in which he dreamed of reaching Arcadia, a mythical, utopian place “without rules or authority.” But because of fame and the extra freedom that it brought, he became able to live a life that more closely resembled his utopian ideal. And what happened? Confusion led the once frolicsome singer astray. Like William Blake, the radical visionary poet, Doherty seemed powerfully gripped by his vision of heaven and hell.

But a flight of fancy is especially powerful when you can practically touch it. In Doherty’s case, he dreamed about a world (and a life) that was fanciful, but that could practically come true. But as he spiraled deeper into addiction, the ideal seemed more and more out of reach. On Down in Albion, Doherty seems helplessly caught between Heaven and Hell, Innocence and Experience. His experience of hell permeates his songs, but even more powerfully, they demonstrate his awareness that heaven still exists. Doherty’s adoption of the nickname “Baby Shambles” validates others’ opinion of him—he is the most striking contemporary example of a public figure as little-boy-lost.

Yet there’s no lingering bad taste for this scapegrace. Though his songs are often dark, they don’t seem bitter. Maybe it’s because the music is melodic and his voice is sweet that Down in Albion doesn’t leave an impression of spitefulness. Although there are certain injuries he can’t seem to forget—on “Eight Dead Boys” he sings, “When it suits you, you’re a friend of mine” eleven times in a row (!)—Doherty’s hopefulness doesn’t crumble. A perfect example is in “Eight Dead Boys” when Doherty first talks about disillusionment, then mentions love as a saving grace:

Promises, promises, promises I know: you’ve heard them all before Love is, love is, love is Love—oh well, it’s just around the corner.

This may be his defining lyric. Though he can’t believe anyone’s promises anymore, he can’t help but come back to his hope in love. Even when his intentions seem skewered and confused, he demonstrates his resolve to be true to his childhood dreams. Like another famously prodigious romantic, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Doherty knows it’s the dream itself that matters, not its fulfillment. The problem is he can’t remember exactly what the dream was in the first place. The best part of “Loyalty Song” (which deals with this issue) is during the chorus, when he starts clapping in an effort to keep his band’s accelerating tempo steady. The rhythm of his band is speeding up, and he’s clapping to keep time, just as his lyrics belie his confusion: “And there’s nothing gonna keep me from my… / What did I dream?”

Yes, it just might be that reality is too crude and vulgar for one of the UK’s most gifted songwriters. So why is Doherty such an affirming rock-and-roll presence in spite of all his escapades? The answer: his self-awareness. Doherty has always seemed to know exactly what people think of him. On “Don’t Look Back Into the Sun” he recognizes that his public, which remains both fascinated and dismissive of him, begrudges him his success. At the same time that he begs for liberty, he acknowledges that it’s killing him. Success may be the worst thing that ever happened to this singer. In “Loyalty Song” the line “I found solace in the flood / Every body knew that I would” runs like a punch line. And on “Fuck Forever,” one of Doherty’s personal favorites from Down in Albion, he ponders “how to choose between death and glory”:

I can’t tell between death and glory Happy endings don’t bore me They, they have a way A way to make you pay And to make you toe the line

Justice, he says here, has a humbling effect, but he seems willing to play by the rules if he’s allowed his happy ending. This willingness to give and take has been characteristic of Doherty’s relationship with his public as well. He has always been courteous. Though he hates to be scolded, the closest Doherty has ever gotten to an all-out rebuke of his public was on a live (and unrecorded) song, the still polite “Do You Know Me (I Don’t Think So).” Instead of turning hateful when others deny, condemn, and judge him, the singer, who on “East of Eden” likens himself to a wounded sparrow, becomes doleful; he just can’t understand why people aren’t nice. In “Fuck Forever” the only criticism Doherty offers is similarly soft: “You’re so clever / But you’re not very nice.” But then Doherty turns introspective and identifies the reason his own free-and-easy ways harm him: “I’m so clever / But clever ain’t wise.”

—Julia Yepes

June 3, 2007