#libertine liquor bar

[careless-with-your-heart]

An au wherein Peter grew up on the other side as a cocky, womanizing, libertine grifter, haunted by dreams of a woman he's never met.

Chapter one is posted after the cut, but the other 40k of this still-in-process brainworm is at AO3!: Click here, my lovelies.

Chapter One

Erbil, Kurdistan

Sunday Morning, 2:00 a.m.

Peter’s skin is on fire. Not the pleasurable, touch-of-a-lover kind of fire, but the exotic-ants-and-fever fire that he still remembers from childhood—scalding and torturous, still vivid in his mind nearly thirty years later. The fire burns in a way that makes his mind white out. But he can’t move, can’t search for relief, can’t do anything but let his head loll back against the soft upholstery behind him. Everything in him regrets the decision he’d made just an hour ago.

The air around him is thick with smoke—so thick, in fact, that Peter has to squint to see the young woman passed out next to him on the dark, velvet settee. It could be that the squint is also an attempt to try and focus his reeling head, to bring down the speed of the spinning room. He isn’t quite sure which reason causes him to lurch in his less-than-sober state, only that he’s suddenly turned his head and squinted. The room slows, a bit. The girl becomes a less-hazy outline.

He can’t remember her name, but he can recall that, after they’d met in the bar at his upscale hotel, she’d led him here in exchange for an absurdly low sum in American dollars and his promise that he would pay for the night’s party favors. He’d assumed she meant drinks, maybe a joint or two, after which he could stumble back to his hotel and pass out—hoping against all odds to sleep a dreamless sleep.

This is the best club in Erbil, she had said. Very exclusive.

After an hour of lounging on the very settee he now found himself unable to get up from, drinking strong, anise-scented arak, and smoking honey-soaked tobacco from a tall, ornate hookah, a man had walked by them, speaking low, rushed Arabic to the girl before disappearing into the shadows of the club. The girl—Peter now remembers that her name is Amira—had leaned over Peter, a knee on either side of his hips, her dark eyes distant and glassy with liquor. He’d thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him, and he’d put his hands up to cup her shoulders, his pulse kicking up despite the fact that he was blitzed-out-of-his-mind drunk. 

She was beautiful, curvy, with dark hair and red-stained lips, and those lips had hovered over his, so close that he’d been able to smell the arak’s licorice perfume on her breath.

“Pay him,” she’d whispered, the words gliding out of her mouth to traverse the hot, dry air between them. He’d licked his lips, causing her to draw back slightly.

“What?” he’d rasped. Was she asking him to pay for her company? In all his years of using his father’s money to escape, he’d never paid for sex. The thought that he might have stupidly gotten himself into a situation where he’d have to decline this girl’s services irked him. He considered himself savvier than that.

Maybe it’s lack of sleep. Eating up all those big, beautiful brain cells. It was true, in part. The IQ that his father was so proud to have passed on didn’t function well on two hours a night of fitful rest.

“He has DMT,” the girl explained, sitting back so that she could cup Peter’s face. “Do you know what that is?”

He’d shaken his head. In the soft haze of his intoxication, starting to tire, he’d tipped his head to the side to rest more heavily into one of her palms. She’d slapped him lightly on the cheek, which had startled him momentarily half-sober. He’d batted her hands away and rubbed his own palm against one stubbled cheek, glowering.

Her laugh, low and promising, turned out to have nothing to do with sex. “It’s a drug, pretty boy. It lets you choose your dreams.”

His fingers had stilled against his jaw, and his breath had caught. “Choose? How?”

Choose to not see her? Choose not to wake tangled in empty sheets, arching blindly into the imagined silk of long, lithe legs? Choose not to wake reaching for the ghost with wide green eyes, who had haunted him now for what seemed a lifetime?

The ghost knew his name. She whispered it across his skin and into his open mouth, and she followed the two syllables with fingertips he could almost—almost—feel and taste, if he was caught in just the right place between conscious and not.

Amira had shrugged, rocking back to settle on his knees. “I don’t know the magic. Only the magician.”

Peter had followed the toss of her delicate chin to where the mystery man sat, just across the room.

“How much?” Not that he cared. It was Walter’s money. He just needed to know how much cash to untuck from his wallet to regain control of his dreams. Because he needed the ghost girl out of his head.

Amira named a price that he suspected was double the going rate. That was okay. Peter was often on the take, too, even if it was just for the thrill of things. Peter had handed the cash over and watched his temporary friend as she’d disappeared into the smoke.

She’d come back with a small baggie and a big smile.

That had been an hour ago.

Now, Peter sits in the redolent air, and the fire will not go away.

He lets his eyes slipped closed, willing his breathing to slow, balling his fists against the crawl of heat over his chest, his neck, his cheeks. Every breath gets harder and harder to draw.

Suddenly, relief floods him. There is a brush of cold against his forehead, and then the press of a palm that spreads the chill down both of his cheeks.

“Peter,” she says. Not Amira.

Oh, it’s the ghost. Fuck this drug. It’s only making her realer, adding insult to injury against his fever-ridden flesh. “No,” he groans. “Go away. Let me sleep.”

“Peter, open your eyes.”

The blessed relief of the fingertips against his throat makes the fever retreat briefly—Peter imagines it as the same sensation as falling through thin winter ice into the clear, startling cold that lay below. His eyes fly open.

The ghost kneels in front of him. Her wide, plush mouth, the one that he has plundered in endless loops in his own private hell, is pinched in a tight line. Her brow is furrowed. He can see the worry in her startlingly verdant gaze.

And in that moment, it comes to him, inexplicably. The name of the ghost, which he’d never known before this very moment. It comes out on a rushed breath, and he reaches up to grip her hands, which are still at the open neck of his shirt.

“Olivia.”

Beneath his grip, she is solid. He doesn’t know how it is possible, but his ghost…she’s real.   

[yaycheese]

KYOTO Shijo West - Kohchosai (bamboo items)🪑 - Weekenders Coffee☕️ - Daishodo woodblock prints🪑*** - Isoya (veggie focused izakaya) 🍗** - Bungalow (yummy izakaya) 🍗** - Bar rocking chair 🍺 - Calvador 🍺 - Ki no bi🍺 - Nishiki market / Aritsugu 🔪 - Nishiki market / Kitchen shop Kawataki🪑*** - Mumokuteki (Large homewares shop) 🪑 - Muku / teramachidori (ArchDigest reco) 🍵 - Wakabaya (ceramics) 🍵 Gion - Shinmonzen-dori (antique shopping) 👺*** - Maiko antiques 👺 - Kishin kitchen (Japanese breakfast) 🍗 - Bar Talisker 🍺 - Birdland (piano) 🍺 - Kyoto Handicraft center 🪑*** - Black cat lemonade 🍋*** - Jazz spot yamatoya (12-10p)🎵*** Philosophers path - Kanaamitsuji (metal strainers) - Kodaiji temple🪑 - Kiso artech (wood items) 🪑 - Brown eyes coffee☕️ - Suirokaku water bridge🏛️*** - Ofuda👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺👺 Kyoto station - Kurasu (Coffee) ☕️** Sannenzaka - Otowa Waterfall (longevity spring water) 👺*** - Kiyomizu dera (large wooden structure) 🏯 - Arabica ☕️ - Nittodo☕️🪑*** - Unir coffee (has flan, cakes) ☕️ - Koma Gallery Coffee☕️ - 高台寺中谷本店 (chinaware)*** - Minatoya Yurei Kosodateame Honpo (spooky candy) 🍬 - Ichinenzaka street - Kongoji temple # TOKYO Daikanyamacho / Nakameguro - Tempura Motoyoshi Imo (micheline star takeaway tempura sweet potato)🍵 *** - Drip☕️ ** - Jasmine Yi Jiang Nan (Chinese)🍗** - Monkey Cafe & Boutique ☕️* - Café Façon Roaster Atelier (small roaster) ☕️ * - Debris (event venue, check calendar) 🎵 - Maison Kitsune (nice interior) 👚 - Minä Perhonen (nice interior)👚 - Udatsu Sushi🍗* - Kinto (tableware)🪑 - Tableaux (jazz lounge) 🎵 - 3110NZ (modern gallery) - Tam (used clothes)👚 - Lanterne (modern izakaya)🍗 Harajuku and Omotesando - Binowa cafe (canneles)☕️ *** - Funktique - vintage👚*** - Ragtag - vintage👚*** - Kinji - vintage👚** - Rakeru - omurice🍞*** - Cafe Mameya ☕️*** - No.501 - natural wine shop 🍺*** - Roastery ☕️ - Local coffee stand ☕️* - Cafe Reissue ☕️** (3D latte art) - Double Tall - near hotel ☕️ - Pain Au Soirire - near hotel 🍞 - Chatei Hatou ☕️ - Chachanoma 🍵 - Cibone + HAY🪑*** - Spiral Market🪑*** - Found MUJI🪑*** - Nihonbashi Kiya (Tokyo plaza Shibuya)🔪*** - Kihara🪑*** - Grapevine by K3 👚 - Boutique Takenoko 👚* Aoyama / Roppongi - Aoyama Farmers Market (Sat+Sun 10-4)🥕*** - Jazz House Alfie 🎵 ** - Sakurai (Tak) 🍵* - Spiral (Tak) * - Down the Stairs (Arts & Science)🍗* - Cusavilla (italian, lunch available) 🍗* - Butagumi 🍗 - Kyu Yasui cocktails🍺 - Bunon (japanese vibe) 🍺 Ginza - Chuo Dori (no cars Sat+Sun 12-5p)*** - Okuno Building (many galleries)🛒*** - Yurakucho food stalls (below station built into brick arches) 🍗** - Chukasoba Ginza Hachigou (French-trained ramen) 🍗** - The Stand (Yurakucho) 🍗** - Heart's Light Coffee ☕️* - Dover Street Market 👚* - Daimaru Department Store 👚 - Itoya 🛒 - Chanoha - in a mall 🍵 - Tachigui Sushi Akira🍗* - Shibire Noodles Rousoku-ya (Chinese-Japanese ramen) 🍗 - Higashiya (sweets and tea) 🍵 Akihabara - Chuo Dori (no cars Sunday 1-5p) - Tonkstsu Marugo (pork cutlet)🍗 Misc - Gotokuji temple (lucky cat temple) ⛩️** - Manhattan (Asagaya) tiny jazz bar with Thursday 19h jam sessions 🎵** - Gout de Jaune 🍺 - Vineria Il Passaggio (bread with faces) - very small 🍺 - Tanakaya Liquor Store🍺 Shibuya - Shin-pachi Syokudo (breakfast)🍗 *** - Heart's Light Coffee ☕️*** - Nojima (yellowtail bowl) [Kei]🍗** - Body & Soul Club 🎵** - Ahiru Store 🍗🍺* - SG club🍺*** - Libertin (natural wine) 🍗🍺 - Fuglen ☕️** - Tamotsu (ramen) [Kei] 🍗 - Watarium museum (contemporary) [Tak] - Nezu museum (traditional) [Tak] Shinjuku - Edomae SS (4000 JPY counter sushi) 🍗*** - Bar Benfiddich 🍺*** - Akomeya 🛒** - Jazz Bar Samurai 🎵** - Bar Hermit 🍺* - Zoetrope 🍺 - Don-Don Yakiniku 🇯🇵 * - Jazz SPOT Intro🎵 * - Shinjuku Pit Inn 🎵*

[gildedhq]

BIENVENIDO A IBIZA!

Nobody knows how it all started: perhaps with a whisper, a joke gone too far, a playful suggestion taken too seriously—but whispered fantasies soon begin to materialise, and soon preparations were made. After dinner is over, a plane is chartered and all those willing to escape into the night were invited to meet on a private hangar somewhere in Rome Ciampino. Free from the shackles of a formal event, and away from the leering eyes of those who would otherwise disapprove, adventurous members and initiates alike seemingly meet each other anew once more. And as the sun starts setting on Rome, the chartered jet finally takes off, bringing with it a crew of hedonists and libertines with more money than they knew what to do with and all the world as their oyster to pluck. 

THE SOCIETY ESCAPES TO IBIZA.

As their plane lands on Ibiza, glittering turquoise waves and picture-perfect white sand beaches welcome them in all their glory. A member-exclusive five-star hotel and resort had been cleared out for their perusal through the generosity of one Felix Salamanca, using his influence (and money) as if to seemingly endear himself to the members in a show of goodwill. Elsewhere, Oliver Vaga was put in charge of the booze, bolstering the rather impressive selection that the resort already has while entertainment of a more lewd sort was seemingly spoken for by the Duchess of Norfolk. In other places still, in the dark corners and in spots you’d only know if you’re in the know, illicit substances gets traded and given away like candy, spoken for by the heir to the Duchies of Escalona and Frìas. The beach is also populated by the faces of people who walk through catwalks and the like, all of them seemingly familiar with Milo Baptiste, who receives them with the traditional European cheek kisses and a warm smile. Everywhere one looks, some place or location seems to be filled to the brim with the promise of a good time, all dancing to the beat of a DJ invited last minute by the Princess von Thurn und Taxis. This is no formal dinner party, and they are in Rome no longer. Instead, they are unleashed, wild and free, into the night and the welcoming embrace of Ibiza.

THE IBIZA BEACH PARTY.

Pop-up bars: Here, the drinks are free-flowing and endless; but they serve no mere middling fare here. Instead, Ace of Spades and Dom Pérignon bottles are passed around from one hand to another, the fount from which they come from seemingly a gift that keeps on giving. Bartenders are on standby, ready to assist with the creation of any cocktail that one’s heart desires. 

Fire performers and fire shows: As the darkness of night descends, luminous fires are set which dazzle all those who see it. Golden-orange flames dance like spiders in the dark night, bodies contorting in graceful movements, burning embers falling down performers' throats for the sole purpose of entertainment of those who watch. For the brave and daring, the dancers may even come close and dance with them, drawing excitement and adrenaline.

Chartering a yacht: As evening slips into night slips into early morning, those who still have the energy to carry on find themselves congregating into one place. It starts out like how this whole escapade starts out: a joke met with laughter before a certain enterprising someone says why not? Before they know it, they charter a superyacht and begin sailing into the seas, floating on until the light of the dawn catches them at long last.

THE OLD VANGUARD REACTS.

In the morning after, blurry pictures get posted in middling gossip sites and sites dedicated to tracking the activities of royals and nobility alike. While the pictures are by no means damning—simply showcasing a night of carefree, liquor-filled fun and nothing more scandalous than that—it is more than clear to society members with a hawkish eye where the other members and initiates have gone to after dinner. While some of them have been made aware of the party to Ibiza, some of them still have fallen prey to the embrace of sleep never knowing of such developments. While a few are amused at such antics, some still are outraged at such actions. Yet as they all depart one by one from Rome, their purpose here fulfilled, it seems as if there is no choice but to stew in their anger—unless they have the initiative to contact other members by themselves.

OOC NOTE.

We now have the second-parter to Gilded’s first event! Just to recap: this event is optional, so if you don’t see your character joining in on the party, please don’t feel at all pressured to make them join in! You are all also free to continue on existing threads and the like, should you so wish, so there is also no pressure to wrap them up or even drop them. Think of this event as less of a requirement and more like an add-on to the first one. For the purposes of this event, you are free to write your character as either having been invited and turned down the invitation or having been snubbed, whichever works best for your character! 

Otherwise, however, please feel free to post starters, edits, playlists, and other stuff related to the event with the tag gilded:ibiza. There will be no restrictions on setting character interactions, as your character may or may not have attended the Ibiza Beach Party, so feel free to set your starters whenever and wherever!

————— THIS EVENT WILL RUN FOR ONE WEEK FROM  [ 28TH OF APRIL 4PM GMT / 12NN EASTERN ]  TO  [ 5TH OF MAY 4PM GMT / 12NN EASTERN ]

[if-tomorrow-never-comes]

Carl Barat@carlbaratmusic

Mick said if this album turned out great, we would be here dissecting it in 15 years, and if so we could be very proud. Cheers everyone x Cheers @Tim_Burgess

I hope we all have many more to come...

What a time, thank you all so much for being a part of this journey, thank you Mick Jones, Bill Price (RIP) and Bill Bones.

I wouldn’t have though I’d still be getting along after all this time, but for the best of it I am, and so are the band. ...Ahhhh.

I Get Along... So proud of how this one came out. Mick Jones nailed it (and so did Bernard Butler). You can hear my whisky bottle (Famous Grouse) being chucked in the metal ashtray at the end of the take. Job well done.

Tim Burgess@Tim_Burgess

The Good Old Days: I recorded a version of this for a covermount

@NME

CD. I’ll tweet it after this. Hoping I did it justice : /

Peter Doherty@petedoherty

The Good Old Days: We also recorded a never used version of Wolfman; where Wolfman recorded inimitably 'you're from the estate - you've got enough on yer plate' and Mick said 'he's not a nice boy like you is he Pete!!'

Carl Barat@carlbaratmusic

The Good Old Days... Still as true as the day she was penned. These are the good old days. It’s a fucker they changed Bodecia’s name to Boudica though. Really fucks the song up if you sing it like that.

#TheGoodOldDays

Apparently she’s buried under platform 9 of Kings Cross Station.  That may explain a thing or 2 with the place. Also, they say Merlin is buried under Filthy McNasty’s.

Begging... These little kids on a Kings Cross estates used to take the piss out of us as we sauntered by in our charity shop finery en-route to rehearsals shouting “You lot are begging mate.” And so it became rather a thing amongst. And

@gdogg27

gets a (very fine) moment to showcase his unrivalled drum solo prowess...

This one does cut deep though about one of the bands sister’s time on the unmentionable drug. Used to bring a tear to my eye to sing. This middle 8 used to have the lyrics ‘Mozart’s off his face, stumbling round in cyberspace’.  So we cut them out and just had the music.

Tim Burgess@Tim_Burgess

Those two voices together

#timstwitterlisteningparty

Carl Barat@carlbaratmusic

The Boy Looked at Johnny... Rotten, not Borrel. I remember one of the technitians at the rehearsal room sneered “Don’t you know who I think I am” at me. He was right.

Love the li-de-di moment. Actually quite pertinent if a Londoner happens to find themselves homesick in the Big Apple. Tell The King... This one starts with a creepy Jarvis Cocker impersonation, “Got a little secret for ya” which wasn’t meant to be left in. You can’t get more fairy tales and romance than this with an acerbic nod to the tabloids of the time. Legend has it that there is a version out there with Jai Stanley doing the vocals, which frankly knocks the spots off the album version. Peter Doherty@petedoherty·The song 'Up The Bracket' - Written in Dalston Lane at Maraid's gaff was about standing up to muggers and has a secret coded bar chord historical theme... Carl Barat@carlbaratmusic serious tuning at the end there Radio America... Such a sweet and innocent ditty and a nod to the @Libertines’ skiffly beginnings, taken with a massive dose of drugs ‘n liquor and subsequently mangled. I fell asleep and banged my head on the mic and Danny Goffey of @SupergrassHQ came running in unannounced in a pair of green tights if my hazy memory serves. Love the line about President Clinton and the Queen. Works now with “Orange faced President” instead. Boys in the Band... This one takes me back to the time when we were working behind the bar at Filthy McNasty’s and the vodka and cokes (@thestrokes) had hit it big and we felt a little left out. I never thought it would have inspired as much nudity as it ‘as done over the years. Peter can often be seen forgetting his lines onstage to this one whilst surveying the crowd. ...And someone sold one of their girlfriends some acid or something or nothing… Hard to explain really. Time For Heroes... This one does what it says on the tin, brings back too many memories to possibly do justice here, riots and dreams etc… #UpTheBracket #TimeForHeroes I remember when I met @grahamcoxon and he told me he’d seen me on Top of the Pops and had loved my ‘anti guitar solo’. I’ve no idea what he meant but I was fucking happy. I still fuck up the anti solo pretty regularly as it goes. Horror Show. Still too much of a horror to play, this one sometimes. Fucking fast. We filmed an amazingly bad video in the 90’s of this in St Pancras Graveyard and an abandoned mental hospital in Dalston with Pete’s then girlfriend. It looked like a student re-make of Nosferatu. I remember the three of us played it sans bass player for reasons I shan’t go into, at our Rough Trade showcase where we got signed.  Pete and I were swapping bass and guitar. It’s a wonder we did get signed looking back… Death on the Stairs... This has always been my favourite song of ours.

[missoneminute]

Les Inrockuptibles Interview with Peter Doherty

May 2019-05-15 

Transcribed by  @theoriginalcollectorglitter12 Thank you! 

Rescued by a fortnight of excess, Peter Doherty has just celebrated his 40 years and, health flickering but inspiration intact, reveals a peaceful album. meeting with a lucid rock-star for whom composing is life itself.

The day before our meeting, Peter Doherty celebrated his 40th birthday in Margate, a small seaside resort in the south-east of England where he now lives. Looking at the photos and videos of his evening with Carl barat on Instagram, we must admit that we had some doubts about his ability to tele-transfer to Paris the next morning. He is however at the rendezvous, to charm a whole team photo with his sparkling banter, to seize his acoustic guitar very often for improvised serenades, to tell his incredible journey to get here in full strike customs.

This unpredictable side, which has always been part of his personality, is as much a strength as a weakness. His fans have learned to accept that anything is possible with him: he can decide on a whim, to play in the intimate setting of La Maroquinerie early April, announcing just a week in advance. a month later, he may be forced to cancel a concert in Belfast by invoking the most far-fetched (but truthful) excuse that has ever been heard: he was struck down by a hedgehog sting he was trying to remove from the mouth of his dog. To love the music of Peter Doherty has long been to defend an underrated singer, portrayed as a cartoon character by the tabloids, better known for his legal troubles and his excesses of narcotics than for what he does best: write songs. When he sits by our side, in a baste deserted room, the agitation that accompanies him usually disappears. "I do not understand how a song is born, I do not really have the technique to write, all I know is that it's essential for me to have these songs," he says. Songs in my life, I'm hoping it'll be okay as soon as I make new songs, that's all that matters, if I can still compose, it'll be okay. " We ask him if his creativity had already abandoned him. He whispered, "I do not even dare to whisper it, it would be my death sentence, it's a permanent threat, I do not even want to think about it, it'll break my heart, and I'll be done." All those who did not pay dearly for the skin of Peter Doherty, predicting that he would join the club of 27, were wrong, fortunately. We find his troubadour quickdraw on the cover of his new album, signed Peter Doherty and the puta madres. "It's a picture of the wall of my room, where I drew my figure, on the peeling paint. The final visual was supposed to be seen from the front, with the title along the right side, but the result has been rotated for a reason that escapes me. "

When the Englishman lets things escape, it can also give moments of grace, as evidenced by the opening of the album, All at sea, a jewel of tenderness and regret. This piece is one of the treasures that had been dormant in her drawers for years - this is also the case for two other songs here in the credits, A fool there was and Narcissistic teen makes first XI, sometimes heard in concert or on acoustic sessions. For the record, this sensitive storyteller was used, in the early 2000s, to put online demos he had just recorded, a taste of sharing that reached its peak in 2006 when the entire file "my music "from his computer appears on the internet. We ask him how these three songs came back to him, which we thought were lost forever in the limbo of his memory: "they never left me, just to find the right moment and the right people with whom I could to play them, people who would not hurt me by talking or changing rooms while I'm making them listen to what I believe are some of the most beautiful things I've ever done. A fool there was very important to me, All at sea too, the Puta Madres understand them. "

We are curious to know if it happens to him to listen again all these old sessions which are still available on the net; "For a long time, no, but recently, I've reviewed them all during an emotional night, I've read everything on youtube and read all the comments - I do not understand why these songs had evaporated while I'm so proud of it, not that I'm desperate for commercial success, or even fortune, maybe they're even more valuable if not many people know them on stage, I never prepare a setlist. Song just calls another, like a memory that goes back to the surface. "

After playing with libertines, babyshambles and various ephemeral collaborators (Wolfman, littl'ans, Graham Coxon, the streets, dot allison ...), Peter Doherty surrounds himself today with a mixed and cosmopolitan group named The puta madres, after the favorite expression of their Spanish drummer Rafa Rueda. This troupe also includes a Welsh guitarist, 2 French, and the prodigious American violinist Miki Beavis. By crossing their fingers so that the brexit never materializes, they carry this album towards folk lands and relaxed atmospheres. This reflects the relaxing setting in which they have recorded :  in a family house on the heights of Etretat with a view overlooking the sea and wild cliffs for 4 days last summer. Far from the sloppy draft of Hamburg Demonstration, his last solo album in 2016, the songwriter has regained his superb and his voice on these touching ballads, in turn intense and patraques, imperfect and overwhelming. his season in hell seems behind him.

Change of scenery has obviously made him feel good. For 2 years Peter Doherty lives in Margate, a small town in Kent, by the sea : "lately, I spent a lot of time alone with my 2 dogs, a husky and a malamute, they need freedom, open spaces and attention, so I walk them on the beach or on the beach. It’s a very peaceful place, Margate has a special water, a special light, people like Keats, TS Eliot, Stephen Spender, Coleridge and Dickens lived in the area. Albion Rooms, the Libertines studio-hotel, Carl even has a license to sell liquor, so we have a bar in the basement, The Wasteland, we're going to put a scene for small local concerts, sessions It is still a small town, but it is booming, sometimes there is a strange smell that comes from the sea: the gentrification will never pass by! We have space to breathe calm and think about what you want to do is the last stop of several train lines, if you are in London, lost or broken aye, you jump on a train to get away from it all and find yourself in Margate. Terminus. You wake up with a start because someone shakes you saying, "Hey, you can not stay here, get off the train!" you leave the station that leads directly to the beach, and here you are in Margate. if we can see beyond its dangerous side and its gangs, chances are there will be a way out, loneliness, peace. "

It is there that the Libertines have planned to record their new album, still under construction, just like the hotel they want to open in the coming months. These vast projects, this serenity, have not, however, completely softened the rocker with the airs of a cursed poet, who continues to flirt with danger. We can not help but notice that people are constantly coming and going around and asked if it is a way for him to escape the routine. he takes the time to think before making an implacable and distressing statement : "I would love to have a boring, predictable routine that would make me work all the time with the same people I love and respect, but People are disappearing from my life: I think they need to protect themselves, I have no structure, no discipline, many people with whom I have collaborated, like Carl or Graham, need to relate to landmarks and protect themselves from self-destruction, they do not want to risk falling into the precipice. "

His palpable passion for music obsesses him. on his new album, he pays a vivid tribute to two of his heroes on Someone else to be, taking up passages from Velvet Underground's Ride into the Sun and Oasis's Do not look back in anger. In full interview, he sings us the beginning of a piece that haunts him at the moment, Signed D.C de Love, that he will play at La Maroquinerie three weeks later. When asked how he discovered the power of music, he responds that the click occurred when he heard Smiths' I started something I could not finish, and immediately he played a good half of the music. The song in decorticating why each verse resonated so well in him : "all I want is to write a song that touches people, which makes them exclaim: 'but what is it? ? how dare you?' I try to find a way to express who I am and what I feel, what I look for in music is to find myself there.” A powerful impact but a shaky beauty, this new album reflects wonderfully its author, both fragile and indestructible.

[somekeepsakes]

German interview with Peter (May 20, 2019) on drugs, love and new beginnings

I noticed that another version of the interview with Peter which @koidivisions translated some weeks back has emerged. The newer, longer, and presumably full(?) version can be found here. I’m only adding the translation for the bits that were missing in the earlier version. Since there are quite a few of them, maybe some of you are interested in reading the entire thing.

cut cut cut and off you go

Why did Hamburg change you so much? I felt privileged that Johann Scheerer opened his door for me. He trusted me.

He said: "You may live in the apartment and use the studio." He gave me his house key at a time when not even my own family would have trusted me with a key. Yes, it was a wonderful time in Hamburg! It was a shame that there was such resentment between my management at that time and the people from Clouds Hill as, much to the dismay of my management, there was someone who trusted me; that I stayed in Germany, recorded music, and took more control.

Did you feel something close to freedom? Yes, I believe so, there were no paparazzi lurking around every corner. And doing spontaneous gigs in the Golem, this wickedly expensive place, was great. I loved it there.

For some people, you’re a gifted song poet, whereas others tend to associate you with your drug antics. Yes, they believe me to be a caricature. There are even people who are disappointed when they meet me and I’m not all fucked up. This is really sad. But, then, it used to be like that for a long time. There used to be all these negative stories about me that had a nasty pic of me attached to them all the time.

And on the few days where I was alright, they manipulated the picture, or took one of me sneezing. This really killed me. It inwardly killed me.

And everything went hand in hand… The police were obsessed with getting hold of me. They arrested me repeatedly. That made me feel as if I was a dangerous person or a threat to society. That was sheer insanity.

But you’re out of the woods now? That’d be wonderful. But addiction is an illness – a mental illness. It’s self-destructive…

How safe are you feeling right now? Difficult to say. I’m feeling safe. But if I think about it, I don’t actually know what feeling safe means. At least I don’t want to go back to where I was.

[Regarding Margate] But why did you buy a hotel there? Because it was so cheap, so incredibly cheap!

It was said to be the most rundown hotel in Kent or even in England. That’s not entirely fair. The Nigerian woman who ran it had a bad reputation because she used to kick people out of the hotel whenever they complained. But saying that it was the worst hotel… No, I went to one in Aberdeen once which was worse!

And you invested money in yours? Sure, the whole thing was Carl’s idea. He decided that The Libertines needed headquarters. He then found this old five-storey townhouse. He didn’t pay me for five festival gigs for he knows I’m prone to wasting money. The others saved their share. And now I’m one of six investors.

Our studio has already been finished, and the hotel is supposed to come about bit by bit. The liquor licence is also there already so that Carl is able to open a bar beneath the hotel. The bar is going to be called "Wasteland" like the book by T.S. Eliot who lived four doors away. His father owned a bed and breakfast in Margate 100 years ago.

It’s supposed to become something similar to Andy Warhol’s "Factory". The Margate version of it. Carl wants to gradually set it up in a way so that different artists will be able to live and work under the same roof.

You’re said to have started a company for that business. I’ve read that article, too. What a load of bollocks! It said that I was worth 5.3 million pounds – crazy! Carl was really angry when he read that since he’s the businessman among the two of us. I would be completely unfit for a thing like that.

[Regarding the cat incident] There’ve been worse stories about you. And still, you were angry about it? Sure, because it was this incident that brought paparazzi to my doorstep again. That was the first time in two years, prior to that, everything was peaceful. There were no negative stories about me. And even on this day, I was kind towards the photographers. But they didn’t like that.

They claimed that I stood there in the doorway laughing. It broke my heart cause I love animals. And I love cats.

Does the sea inspire you? Tremendously! Every morning when I step outside. The light is unbelievable and the dark, wild sea – it’s calling for me. Sometimes, that’s dangerous. I’d like to run naked into the sea.

But so far you haven’t answered the call? I will do so in summer. Due to their arctic background, my dogs are used to freezing temperatures. They can step into the water when it’s cold, and they love it. But it’s not as nice as it may sound for humans in Margate.

In what way? We get these weird weather fronts. Every ten years, über-storms are causing serious damage. Just last week, the roof of the huge Tesco market got blown away, just like that. The buildings can take a lot but there are also lots of tunnels beneath the bases of the houses which were constructed in old smuggler times. That’s why the whole thing is unstable and causes buildings to collapse. It really is a weird place, Margate.

[Regarding the Puta Madres album] It probably won’t make you rich. That’s the reason why Drew isn’t part of the band. He preferred to make money while touring with Liam Gallagher. But it’s not always about money even if I’m not less greedy than others.

But I also know what damage money can cause. I need to take care of myself so that I’m not going to suffer from tunnel vision and therefore miss the genuine things that inspired me at a time when I didn’t have any money. If we make any money with that, which would be great for us, we’re going to build our own studio.

You’ve recorded the album overlooking a fishing village in the municipality of Étretat in the Normandy. Why not in Margate? Because Carl insisted that the new studio would be Libertines only. So we went to France where the family of our keyboarder Katia lives. That was great because we were able to record the album within a few days. Just like the Beatles did with their first album: one microphone in the room, press record, play the songs, and go back home.

[Regarding Someone Else To Be] Why do you quote Oasis in this particular song? "Please don’t put your life in the hands of a rock’n’roll band" has always been one of my favourite lines from a song. The warning it includes is probably justified.

[Regarding his stance on relationships] As complicated as Brexit? That is indeed complicated for the Puta Madres as so many nationalities come together in this band! We need to move freely, otherwise the knell will sound for us. But we’ll somehow find our way to France, Spain and Germany.

Where does the funny "Puta Madres" band name which literally translates as "goddamn mothers" come from by the way ? "Ah, it’s the puta madre!" – our drummer Rafa used to say that very often in the beginning when he referred to something positive as well as to something negative or something inbetween.

I didn’t really know what it meant but thought we might use that as our band name. Everyone says that in Spain and South America and it means "fucking hell".

It’s a casual curse word like "motherfuckers". It means everything and nothing. Technically speaking, it refers to the mother of a prostitute.

Do you speak Spanish? Sí. There’s a bit of German, a bit of Spanish, and a bit of French on the album.

How are your German skills? (in German) Not that good.

Do you have a favourite German word? Radiergummi! And I also like Creutzfeldt-Jakob and Methadon.

You presumably were given the latter as a substitute during rehab? Yeah, sure, horrible stuff. Sickly sweet. I call it the bad absinth.

Do you still think about Amy Winehouse? Yes, often. Constantly, actually. I met a girl called Jade Goldsworthy, an incredible singer. She reminds me so much of Amy. She hasn’t recorded anything yet, we’ve only met. But I’m planning to release something with her. We’re working on it. Amy would’ve loved her. I’m sure of that.

And The Libertines will continue as well? Of course, forever! Carl and I are stronger than ever.

Are you working on the new Libertines record at the moment? Yeah, but it was all a bit tragic. Ollie, The Prodigy’s guitarist, came round and wanted to help Carl and me with writing and producing. The next day, the news of Keith’s death – who was also a friend of Carl’s – broke. He committed suicide. The last thing Ollie texted Keith was a picture of my dogs as Keith was a fellow husky lover. And Keith replied saying how beautiful they were. And the next day, he hanged himself. We haven’t seen Ollie since.

How did you react to Flint’s death? I listened to all the old Prodigy records. There’s unbelievably good stuff among them, sometimes scaringly sinister.

Given the many deaths surrounding you, do you ask yourself why you’re still alive? No, I don’t think about that.

There are lots of discussions going on at the moment about whether it’s appropriate for radio stations to still play Michael Jackson songs or not. How do you see it: Should we separate an artist’s work from the artist? Wow – that’s a damn good question! His songs are being played every few seconds somewhere in the world. It’s amazing music, some of the best songs ever written. It’d be a fucked-up situation if he’s guilty… A part of me would die – a major part of my childhood. I loved his music.

Did you see the documentary? No, the film might have a significant impact on me – I can’t bring myself to watch it at the moment. I need to be careful with it, it’s too important. Michael Jackson used to be such an important factor in my life. It’s similar to Woody Allen: He’s a great filmmaker, he’s got a good sense of humour. It would annihilate so much culture if we didn’t separate an artist’s work from the private individual. But it’s tricky.

[gretagarbosdirtysocks]

Star Wars/ DJ Imagine We Met In A Jail Cell Part 4

This was supposed to be a oneshot for DJ and then I went buckwild as the thirst increased.

Character Pairing: DJ and OC from the Last Jedi. Summary: DJ meets a woman in the jail cell before Rose and Finn arrive. He frees her, and stows her on board The Libertine. I like to draw out my romances. I hope you enjoy it. Word Count: 15k in total. I’m uploading them in parts.  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7

She headed back to her boss’s daughter’s room to change back into her clothes. It might be her room for the time being, unless the man decided to leave her somewhere. She put her energy sword away, wondering what would be next for her.  

When she went to look for him, she found his workspace empty. The object he was building was missing too. He must have finished it. She eventually found him in the bar room. She’d never been allowed in here before. It was where her boss entertained important guests, and held a few meetings. The lights were out, save for the illumination the open door brought into the room.

He was surrounded by shadow. The single light shining on him, he didn’t seem to react as he relaxed on the couch. In one hand was a glass of brown liquor, and in his other what looked like a small pen, which she guessed must have been the item he was building. He didn’t look up when she entered.

Looking at him, she wondered if she’d interrupted some time he wanted to spend alone. When she began to turn to leave, she noticed him glance up at her. His eyes questioning, and soft.  Feeling drawn to him, she sat down. He gulped the last of the brown liquor in his glass. He looked rough, rougher than usual at least. His hair was still a black mess. Leaning in, he looked intently at her face, his dark eyes conveying something which excited her. No, his eyes weren’t dark, she realized. They were a light shade of hazel. They looked darker when he narrowed them, but his eyes were wide as he looked into hers. His breath smelled sweet from the drink. His presence felt intoxicating, as she felt trapped again in his gaze.

“When I look at you, I feel all my worries go away shadow-lady. How do you do that?” Her hand had been sitting on her leg, he put his hand over it. Her skin tingled as her breathing became slightly erratic. His touch sent a pleasant chill down her body. “I barely know you,” he said with a soft chuckle, picking up her hand and examining it.

He was so certain in his advances. Normally with men, they’re much more hesitant to even look at her because of how easily she could kill them. When he looked at her, he knew. He knew she felt something between them just as he did. He also knew she could kill him easily. She could see it in his eyes; it wasn’t fear. It was a craving. He wanted her, and she wanted him. She only hoped he wasn’t looking for someone to hit him, because she wasn’t into that.

He took the pen from his hand and placed it on her bracer, “Are you a jedi?” he jested, looking at her arm.

She scoffed, “I have an energy sword, not a laser sword.” The bracer snapped. At the same time, the door to the room automatically shut behind her, closing off the light and leaving them in total darkness. The man removed the bracer, and rubbed the spot where it had been. The woman felt her ears begin to ring, as the man continued to stroke her arm.

“That’s what you were building,” she said in a whisper.

“Mmhmm,” he said faintly. His large hands, continued to caress her arm. They felt more intimate in the darkness. She didn’t know where they might trail. She could hear his breathing….long deep breaths with a slight hoarseness to them, almost like a growl. The darkness had heightened her senses, making the moment seem to last forever. Her thoughts trailed in the way she hoped his hands would.

“Was I a part of that deal?” She asked. It was stupid question, but she wanted to hear the words from his lips.

“Of course,” he said with a whisper. It made her heart race. He let go of her arm and leaned away from her. She tried to relax. “Do you feel more comfortable in the dark, shadow-lady?” he sounded amused.

“Why?” she asked him, ignoring his question.

Suddenly, he leaned in towards her. “You know why,” he said with a low growl in her ear. He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“I’d like to hear a reason,” she said. After a moment, he leaned back again in his seat, laughing quietly to himself. She felt a little embarrassed. This was a game they were playing and she couldn’t tell when it ended…only that he was winning. He was teasing her, and she enjoyed it.

She was impetuous, and he made her feel so. When the woman wanted something, she normally went after it. But he was enjoying chase, and she didn’t want to take that from him. For a change she enjoyed being sought after. They sat in the darkness a moment more. Then he went to the wall and turned the lights on. He was wearing a loose brown shirt she hadn’t seen before, one perhaps that’d been on under his coat.

“Okay.” He said as he poured himself another glass.  “I’ve been t-t-thinking of hiring someone to protect me. I prefer to stay out of the fighting, and you seem to…” he pointed at her, “enjoy running into it.”

His response took her aback. “You put me in the deal because you wanted me to be your bodyguard?”

“Oh, I want more things from you than that.” He implied, locking eyes with her while taking a sip from his glass. She felt her cheeks turn red, as she clenched her thighs together instinctively. He noticed and smirked, turning to pour himself another glass. “But guarding seems like a good place to start,” he said.

She tried to compose herself, and get her head back in the game. This was her future, but she also wanted to play too. She didn’t want to tag along behind him. She stood up and gestured to his drink, which he happily gave to her. She took a big swig and coughed. It was stronger than what she was used too.

As he patted her on the back, he assured her, “I would pay you of course.”

She looked at the empty glass, pondering what to say. She wanted a bit more freedom than having to watch over someone. He watched her with amusement.

She then turned to him, offering a hand and said, “I’d rather be your partner.”

His eyes shined as she said this. He firmly grasped her hand, respecting the handshake. “Whatever you want-t-t, shadow lady.”

She nodded her head, and made herself another drink. As she went to take a swig she thought better and instead gave it to the man. He took her glass and poured it into his. Other than the extreme attraction between them, there was another elephant in the room. Neither of them knew one another’s names. She wondered how necessary it was to really know what his name was, and whether it’d make a difference. She had a name her boss had given her, and she didn’t know what her birth name had been or if she’d ever been named anything at all. The thought of him calling her shadow-lady made her smile.

“What?” he said peering at her, trying to read her expression. He had been watching her. He hardly took his eyes off her. He looked at her as if she were some work of art he couldn’t understand but was in marvel of. Usually, she’d mistrustful of a stare like that, but his eyes were genuine. She was beginning to get used to it.

“I was just thinking how insane all of this is. How different my life is right now in this moment.” She grabbed his glass and took a gulp. He patted her on the back again, as she continued “Where I was yesterday, who I was...My new name. It’s all changing, and I’m comfortable with it. I don’t know why I am…it should worry me but it doesn’t. I have the instinct to trust you, which makes no sense.”

The man took his drink back from her, taking a final swig from it. He stared at the bottom of his glass.

“If you ever want to leave. I won’t stop you. This ship can be ours.” As he said ours, he put his hand on her shoulder. She glanced at his hand, as a few of his fingers went to touch her hair. He had a knack for leaning the front of his head towards her, and almost seeming to peer through his raised eyebrows. It was a compelling way to look at someone, and it worked on her easily. She thought of kissing him, but she remembered she was trying to play the game.

“I don’t understand you,” she said plainly.

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” he said, lightly touching her hair. She moved his hand away from her. He didn’t seem offended. She went to the exit of the room.

“And I suppose I should call you Don’t Join?” she meant it jokingly. She hadn’t expected him to take her seriously.

“DJ.” But he did.

He had a devilish look on his face. She could tell he liked when she resisted him. In that moment, looking at him she realized he was looking for power, and he wanted her to give it willingly to him. He wanted her to fold under him, like a lamb before a wolf. She could finally see it in his eyes. The craving he had behind them intimidated her. She wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted, but she was intrigued. Maybe he needed her permission. She didn’t want to resist too much, but she didn’t want to throw herself at him. He still had to know she wanted him, but he needed to be certain. He didn’t seem the type to act on assumed feelings. Maybe he wanted to wait for the right moment. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him yet. At least that was what the woman told herself. Her thoughts raced, as she went back to her new room, and tried to sleep, unable to get his hungry eyes out of her mind. She imagined herself as a lamb caught in a wolf’s terrible embrace, and found she enjoyed the bite.

Part 5

if you made it this far, thank you so much. follow me. i made this tumblr just for fan fic. also if you have any advice thanks

[viscommolly]

Libertine Liquor Bar by CODO, United States

Libertine is a bar and restaurant, located on Indianapolis’ Mass Avenue, that celebrates the pioneering American spirit with an emphasis on classic cocktails, craft distillers, boutique wines and an evolving menu. It is recognised as one of the best restaurants and bars in the country, and as being instrumental in the city’s growing and continued support of local food and independent restaurants.

A successfully example of how a mono typeface can look effective with a more blocky sans serif front, this combination does make it feel quite industrial, nodding back to the theme of the bar well. 

[perfectmixstudiosdotcom-blog]

Recording season 1’s penultimate episode of Classical Pairings. Talking innovation in both music and cocktails. (at The Libertine Liquor Bar) https://www.instagram.com/p/B1uBi6KA6ay/?igshid=poq09brfamdl

[gd2-massart-2017]

Libertine Liquor Bar by CODO — Interesting combo of references: “CODO describe their approach as one that explores historic cocktail artistry, dressed down with a carnival-esque aesthetic.”

[ericfruits]

New Orleans’s controversial clean-up

IT WAS supposed to be a triumphant announcement, made only days before Mardi Gras, New Orleans’s signature celebration. A long-awaited repaving of the busiest blocks of Bourbon Street, the city’s most famous thoroughfare, was finally complete. But the news conference organised by city and tourism officials on January 31st was hijacked by a band of strippers and their supporters, protesting a crackdown on clubs at what is usually the busiest time of the year.

In recent months eight of the 13 strip clubs around Bourbon Street have had their liquor licences taken—temporarily, in most cases—after authorities said they discovered violations such as prostitution and drug-dealing on undercover visits. Three clubs have closed permanently.

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The dragnet comes as the city wrestles with several changes. They include a law that requires strippers to be aged at least 21 and a plan to shrink the city’s number of adult-entertainment venues. Residents are also debating a new security plan proposed by Mitch Landrieu, the outgoing mayor, who wants to create a city-wide network of about 1,500 video cameras that would be monitored by law enforcement. Every bar room in the city would be required to have one. The city has begun installing dozens of cameras along the parade routes for Mardi Gras, which falls this year on February 13th, and other heavily trafficked areas.

These changes have given New Orleans, which is justifiably proud of its libertine nature, something of an identity crisis. In this freewheeling city the giddy brass-band anthem “Do Whatcha Wanna” serves as unofficial civic motto alongside the more genteel “Laissez les bons temps rouler.” 

New Orleans is also one of America’s most dangerous cities. But campaigners say that authorities are eliding efforts to make the city safer with a cosmetic clean-up that will strip it of character.  In 2014 a Carnival parade dubbed “Dizneylandrieu” sent up the sanitised vision of New Orleans that some believe the mayor and other leaders would like to present to the world. Critics discern a plan to imitate New York’s makeover of Times Square, once a haven of peep shows and adult theatres, and now the most family-friendly of destinations. Hence the banners waved by strippers at the protest in January reading, “It’s Bourbon Street, not Sesame Street.”

The crackdown's detractors argue that it is fraudulent. Though authorities frame it as a strike against sex trafficking, the strippers note, correctly, that no one has yet been charged with that crime. Instead, police and regulators cited club operators for offences that do not shock most New Orleanians—allowing drug-dealing and inappropriate touching on the premises and strippers to parade around half-naked while not on stage.

The strippers also argue that a move purportedly made to protect women is instead depriving them of their living. As one, writing under her stage name Reese Piper, put it in a recent opinion piece in the Advocate, Louisiana's biggest newspaper: “Many see strip clubs as a symptom of the city’s dark underbelly, a place of exploitation and abuse. But to me, they represent student loan payments, education and freedom.” Some dancers have said putting them out of work may have the unintended consequence of pushing them into prostitution. Lyn Archer, a leader of the Bourbon Alliance for Responsible Entertainers, says strippers would support a genuine effort to crack down on human-trafficking. But this crusade, she says, means that topless dancing and isolated acts of prostitution will be conflated with trafficking in the public imagination.

Richard Campanella, a geography professor at Tulane University and author of a history of Bourbon Street, says there is truth in the view that the sex trade has been intrinsic to New Orleans. But the city also has “a long history of trying to curtail it. Both are part of the city's culture, and my bet is that both will continue.”

http://ift.tt/2EY7Fcn

[airyyell]

Bernie Fucking Sanders (at The Libertine Liquor Bar)

[marthawelsh]

FHBM #624: There’s No Better You Than the You That You Are

Las Vegas podcast #624 includes:

Bernie Mac show opener

Become a Five Hundy Patron, get bonus stuff

Mandalay Bay cuts employee hours

The Linq plans a zipline

Self-driving bus mishap

Palms announces renovations

Tropicana wants you to Savor, The Buffet

Mandarin Oriental has a creepy robot

Papaya King closes

The Venue is available

J.Lo, Pitbull, Reba/Brooks & Dun and Rod Stewart add 2018 dates

Troy Liquor Bar replaces Gold Diggers

Reviews of breakfast at Libertine Social and Eyecandy

Listener calls about Xavier Mortimer, Excalibur’s 4D Experience, Gold Spike and more Vegasy stuff

Call us at (702) 866-9494

Direct download of the podcast: Five Hundy By Midnight 11/12/17 (55:31 min, 53:5 MB) or subscribe.

FHBM #624: There’s No Better You Than the You That You Are published first on http://ift.tt/2lsgkJd

[lesalina]

Last fling before ring or whatever girls say these days. #PS WHERE ARE MY DEVILED EGGS, BROWN? (at The Libertine Liquor Bar)

[missoneminute]

Thanks to the anon who sent in this translation of this French interview. I have cleaned it up a little and you can read below the cut. 

Antoine asks if after spending a lot of time in France and recording his album in France, he must speak French. Peter answers yes, after spending 6 years in Melun, he speaks French (he uses the words 'screwdriver' and 'Asterix' and no one understands why) and says that French is the second language of pop. Antoine asked what pop culture is for him.

Peter's answer: Some think that pop culture was invented to be successful for commercial purposes, and this is not really the case. It's a question of appreciation, the idea is that the pop culture must be able to fit in your pocket and be disposable.

Then Charline quotes some excerpts from his songs, and says he's a genius. If it's not embarrassing to be called a "genius."

Peter answers: It's a pretty nice change because usually I'm treated to other names. Someone shouted out the window at me earlier when I was getting in the taxi, “Fuck off you bender”. So genius balances things. 

Then Antoine says they had asked Peter to name a book , a film, a music and a cult series, but he did not answer, so they chose instead. They Oscar Wilde’s The portrait of Dorian Gray. Peter will read an excerpt. Peter says he loves this book because it's scary, because when you live alone in the countryside at 16 or 17, the idea of being 40 is pretty scary, but it has a comic side. As we get older, we go from 17 to 20, 25 years old, it's less and less funny. It's a beautiful book, but a horror story. A horror? He answers, "No, it's pretty nice."

For the film, Antoine chose Confessions of a Child of the Century. Antoine asks if it is true that he knew the scenario [plot] by heart one year before appearing in the film.

Peter replies, Yes, that's right, it was part of the contract. They were worried about whether I could be sure if I was going to be punctual. In fact I did not miss a single day of filming. It is difficult to find a good translation of Alfred de Musset because it was not correctly understood in England. I first read it in French, but at the time I did not know how to read French, so I carried the book upside down.

Antoine chose a 2nd film, Mum I Missed the Plane, but Peter talks about the movie, The Devil Probably, which he thought was great. She then said that I missed the plane is a pop culture classic. Her mother forbade her to go see this movie because she thought it was a satanic movie.

For the series, Antoine chose, Hancock.

Peter says it's a great choice, at the time it was probably the most popular show for music.

Antoine chose David Bowie.

Peter: For me he’s a God, and in 100 years we will still consider them living gods. He was an incredible man.

Antoine: You just celebrated your 40th birthday, I'm curious to know how you celebrate?

Peter: It was very quiet, I did not do anything excessive. [Here he says he did get a bit wild the night before his birthday]. I just wanted to have a little fun with my friends. [He then says if he had a party, it would be a costume party]. In my life, there are all kinds of people who hate each other, so if you arrive costumed, nobody recognizes you it's convenient. So I got this idea. My old friend Carl came to see me, and he sang happy birthday on the piano.

Antoine asks how Peter was disguised at this costume ball.

Peter answers: I was dressed like Carl!

Antoine then talks about the new album and asks what Puta Madres means

Peter: Motherfucker!

They recorded with cameras, microphones, live. Antoine asks if  Étretat inspired the album.

Peter: I have two dogs, one husky and one Malamute. And my dogs are free, they can walk in the village, even the police help them to walk freely. It's the only place in the world where you can have two crazy dogs and leave them free.

Charline: Is it true that you play pétanque when you are in France?

Peter: Yes, and to Margate too. In Étretat the pétanque is very serious. One day I had to go play with someone at 5 am. I arrived a little late, and he hasn’t spoken to me since. He says that I am not a serious man because I don’t carry a knife and I’m late for petanque.

When Antoine asks if he "pulls or he points", Peter replies that he does not pull anymore, he smokes it. (Antoine asks not to translate).

Antoine asks what France has in particular to attract so many British musicians.

Peter: In Étretat a guy wandered with his guitar, nobody knows what he's doing, where he comes from, and Étretat has welcomed him. He is staying with someone, he does some gardening and plays of his guitar. It is this way of welcoming these musical refugees, it is the music and also the wine ... it is the wind of the freedom which blows in the heart of the French. He then explains that he composes in calm and solitude. He then speaks of the Bataclan, that it is peculiar to play there, that it is emotionally heavy. Charline asks him what else he could have done as a trade.  

 Peter: Soldier, bartender, every easily could have been dead. Or a very unsuccessful criminal would have been my fate if I had not taken up guitar. I had some good ideas on it but I cannot tell you here

Charline: And hotelier?

Peter: Is this a criminal activity? Given the price in some hotels, we can ask the question, it's true.  

Charline: A new Libertines album is planned for 2020, is that the case?

Peter: Damn we better get working. Yeah we have a studio now, The Libertines, and I’ve been living there. I sacrificed my French dream to keep an eye on things in Margate as caretaker, and now they’ve asked me to move out. And very soon The libertines will be the proprietors of a seaside hotel in Marhate. And Carl Barat has a liquor license, he’s got a sign up in the window and everything. He will be able to sell alcohol between 11am, and 2 in the afternoon I think. And we have a bar that Carl’s called… what’s it called. Peter wants to share the name of the bar, which was named by Carl, but does not remember it. He says that the owner of the Melun house is suing him.

And about the breakfast challenge he managed to eat, he says it's gotten more publicity than all his albums. he says that a guy called, Tiny, a huge guy of nearly 200kg had trouble finishing the breakfast.

He says there was a horrible picture of him after he had finished this breakfast, a photo taken by the cook watching him eat, and this photo became viral.

Charline: What would the 40-year-old Peter say if he met Peter at the beginning of Libertines?

Peter: He would say who the fuck are you? He would say hello, smile sweetly, and they’d walk off hand in hand into the sunset, finally found a friend.

Antoine: What would you like us to say about your musical heritage?

Peter: I would like people to say something about my musical legacy. If people are talking about musical legacy, it means I have one.

 About the hotel:

Peter: We are going to have cocktails, shows, burlesque, a piano in a corner. That’s heaven to me on the Normandy coast listening to an audio book by Arsène Lupin, thinking about my musical heritage, switching from radio to station to station.

Back to Brexit, how do you live it?

Peter: It was colder last week than this week, but the foul beast has not yet returned yet. In fact, we do not know how it will be. What I want is to move freely in Europe and all over the world, I love it. Spanish, French, Welsh, English band members. It could be the end for the Puta Madres.

He then plays a song.

[cododesign]

Menu Design work Featured on Art of the Menu

Our menu design work for Pizzology and Libertine were just featured on Art of the Menu. This is one of our favorite industry blogs and it’s nice to be featured there again. 

Pizzology Menu on Art of the Menu.

Libertine Menu on Art of the Menu.