Live Report: A beautifully chaotic night with Babyshambles at Vicar Street

Babyshambles' history sounds like something written by Irvine Welsh.

It's 2003. Pete Doherty has been banned from playing with The Libertines until he can get his substance abuse under control. So, naturally, he starts another band.

More than two decades later, a more grown-up Babyshambles are standing on stage at Vicar Street, spurred on to tour after the passing of guitarist Pat Walden, who died aged 46 last year.

Doherty is there before most of the crowd are. "Fan-zine anyone? They're only a tenner?" he asks, and almost every hand goes up. It's a small moment which sets the tone for the evening: this is not going to be an especially polished affair, but it is going to be fun.

The Dandy Hooligan tour's Dublin date begins with Cork's Pebbledash, whose dreamy guitars and shoegaze textures are threaded with traditional Irish melodies. Junior Brother follows, with finger-picked guitar and tin whistle providing a folk-inflected change of pace.

The fluorescent lights fade, signalling that Babyshambles are here - and this time Doherty isn't alone.

'Killamangiro' - or 'Kill a man for his giro' - starts off like an uplifting indie anthem, but beneath the jangling guitars are conversational confessions about street violence, poverty and desperation. Its emotional centre turns towards Doherty's friendship with Libertines co-frontman Carl Barât, touching on rejection, public scrutiny and what was once the complicated wreckage of their now reconciled relationship. The riffs hit hard, and the beat is wacky, unpredictable and gloriously loose around the edges.

Babyshambles at Vicar Street / copyright Patrik

'I Wish' brings elements of British ska and reggae, with brass adding a beautiful lift to lyrics steeped in loneliness and a desire for change. "Even without the drugs, the world is still a dark and angry place," Doherty reflects, while recalling the band's last performance in Dublin. The suit jacket comes off and he looks happy to be back.

Even after twenty-odd years, the energy and angst haven't gone anywhere. Doherty folds himself over the microphone stand and belts out 'Sedative', looking less like a rock star trying to recreate his youth than someone who never quite left it behind.

Then comes the long, loud introduction to 'Beg, Steal and Borrow'. The harmonies take over, and there is a remarkable sense of suspension throughout the set. The guitars are constantly building towards something. Songs stretch, tighten and explode. Even when the volume drops, there's a feeling that another enormous instrumental section is just around the corner.

'La Belle et la Béte' is one of the night's most thrilling moments. The song recounts a surreal, drug-addled conversation in Soho, with the returning brass adding a gorgeous flourish. Its central tension remains fascinating: the hedonistic lifestyle that seems glamorous from the outside can easily become the beast itself.

By now the amps are approaching deafening levels. Still, Babyshambles understand the value of contrast. Slower passages give way to huge instrumental releases, while garage-rock numbers such as 'Unstookie Titled' provide an opportunity for the entire room to simply lose itself in the noise. The song's rage at tabloid media and the draining machinery of celebrity culture feels no less relevant two decades later.

Babyshambles at Vicar Street / copyright Patrik Meier/hotpress.com

A Littl'ans song follows, with 'Our Way' making an appearance. Then comes the announcement nobody wants to hear: the curfew.

The band are already a little behind schedule. "There's no time for banter," we're told, so they launch into '8 Dead Boys'. It's one of the punkest performances of the night: a fast rhythm, splintering guitar lines and a chaotic vocal mix.

Lead guitarist Mick Whitnall plays the opening notes of 'Baddie's Boogie,' barely audible above the roar that erupts from the room. The song turns into a cynical reflection on long-term relationships, remembering the optimism of falling in love only to arrive at a much less glamorous destination.

The clock is running down. The band is visibly dismayed to discover they have only 20 minutes remaining, but rather than letting that deflate the show, it gives the final stretch an extra urgency.

'Side of the Road' arrives with that urgency intact, combining classic British pop-rock influences - The Kinks are never far away - with the speed and aggression of punk.

And then, it's over. There's something oddly fitting about a Babyshambles show being slightly late, slightly chaotic and constantly in danger of running beyond its allocated time. The band have spent the night singing about the past: the trouble, the drugs, the women, the mistakes, the regret. But there is no sense they're merely looking backwards.

They're still here. Still loud. Still capable of turning a room inside out.