Civil libertine

IT'S THE END of another long day, and Carl Barât is doing another – yes, another – interview from his London home. It's been a busy few months for the one-time Libertine and former Dirty Pretty Things frontman. In fact, it's been a busy year all round, writes LAUREN MURPHY

The biggest topics of discussion around the Barât family breakfast table in 2010 have been the obvious ones: his reunion with musical soulmate Pete Doherty and the constant speculation as to whether their gigs at Leeds and Reading will lead to a more permanent arrangement. But that’s not all – he’s also managed to write and record a solo album, pen his autobiography and start a family (his first child is due in December) in between. “Busy” doesn’t quite cover it.

“Great, yeah,” he says, curtly, when I ask how it felt to step out on stage with his old bandmates and hear that roar. “Couldn’t have gone better.” Stepping onto the street for a better phone signal and a cigarette, Barât barely disguises his weary sigh with an exhalation of smoke.

I know, I know, I say. You’ve got your solo career to talk about, and it’s been years since the band have been active for longer than two gigs and a few rehearsals. So let’s compromise and get the obvious questions out of the way.

How is your relationship with Pete these days? Has it been strengthened by spending time together over the past few months? “I think we’ve certainly had a few realisations about the whole Libertines thing, really,” he admits. “But we haven’t really had any contact since the gigs – I haven’t had a day off since Reading. I’ve been doing 14-hour days around the world promoting this solo record.”

The million-dollar question, however, is whether a new album is a realistic prospect at some point in the not-too-distant future. Barât warily wavers somewhere between “positive” and “non-committal” at the possibility.

“Ummm . . . well, yeah, we know we can do something together, and we might. But right now, I’ve just started the whole process of releasing this album, I’ve got to tour this album, and then have a baby – so it’s not like I can just hang around the studio and do another Libertines album. But maybe next year, we might do something. Then again, we might not. It’s not like we’ve ever been a band who made any sort of plans, anyway.”

It’s unusual to find Barât so disengaged. Okay, so he’s no Noel Gallagher – but interviews (with both he and Doherty) are usually loaded with entertaining quips and insights. Today, he’s breezing through questions, needs continuous prodding to expand on his brief replies, and if I was sitting opposite him, I get the impression he’d be tapping his foot and glancing impatiently at his watch.

Perhaps it’s the endless stream of “Pete” questions he’s been subjected to by the press, when all he wants to do is talk about his solo work. It could be that he’s just having a bad day. Maybe he just wants to get back into his house and get started on the dinner.

Yet unsurprisingly, he's receptive to compliments on his album. Carl Barâtis something of a different direction for the musician, seeing him largely discard his punky, rock'n'roll image for a more melodic approach. The cover sleeve suggests an homage to Elvis Costello's This Year's Model(although he denies it was deliberate), there's an indie-pop bounce to Je Regrette, Je Regrette,Bond theme-style strings bring Carve My Nameto a crescendo, and Run with the Boyscould almost pass for a collaboration with The Style Council and – don't laugh – Billy Joel.

"I found that when I took the big guitars out and started writing on the piano and stuff, it seemed to shape itself," he explains. "As far as influences go . . . I was watching a lot of old films, and I listened to Rain Dogsby Tom Waits a few times. A bit of Leonard Cohen . . . and just a load of the old classics, really. I sort of played it by ear. I wanted the storytelling of Cohen, the adventure and fantasticality of Tom Waits, and the closeness and intimacy, maybe, of Bonnie Prince Billy." Barât denies that the rock'n'roll image he's cultivated until now will prove an obstacle when it comes to putting music so dissimilar to the rough 'n' ready guitar-rock his fans are used to.

“Well, I’ve never felt shackled with it,” he says. “To me, it’s more of a comfort zone thing, really. I just wasn’t challenged to move out of it in the past, but now I am.

“Writing without a band, I found that I was able to think outside the box, in regards to what instruments were available, and just not think about guitars at all. And obviously the songs are written from a more selfish perspective.”

It wasn’t a completely isolated process, though; Barât brought two songwriting collaborators on board for the album, one of which is a familiar name. Neil Hannon shared his expertise on The Fall, while Andrew Wyatt of Swedish electro-poppers Miike Snow helped craft three other songs.

“I never knew Neil,” he says. “I wanted to work with someone I hadn’t met before, who I admired and who I could meet on a common ground, and who had a fairly different background. And both of those guys were at the other end of the spectrum. I like to have other people around, really. If I made a record entirely on my own, and produced it on my own, and wrote on my own . . . I think that’d be a pretty twisted record. I might try it one day . . .”

The album is the first release on his own Arcady Records label. “I’d just rather get a loan than handcuff myself to an ailing record label who might put me on the backburner – or the person who signed me might get moved around and someone else who didn’t give a shit would turn up in their place . . . I thought, ‘if you can do it yourself, why not?’ At the moment, it’s just for me, an outlet to get my music out there. But if it’s there and functioning . . . you never know what’ll happen in the future, in terms of releasing other stuff.”

It seems to be another link in the chain of Barât's own version of a 360-degree deal. He claims to be open to continuing his fledgling acting career if "something interesting" comes along, and his autobiography, Threepenny Memoir: The Lives of a Libertine, has just been published – even though he baulks when I suggest that 32 is a young age for a still active musician who's not from the Justin Bieber school of cashing in on a fad.

“Well, I think that’s a criticism best reserved for someone who’s read it,” he says, tersely. “A lot has happened, so why not get it down? It’s really just the rise and fall of bands, and the life I lived along with it.”

It's then that talk inadvertently returns to The Libertines, their influence on a generation of NMEmagazine readers, and whether he'd advise any young band in a similar position of what pitfalls to avoid, what rules to live by. It's then, and only then, that Barât finally lets his façade of brusque nonchalance down, and seems to speak candidly.

“I think everyone needs to make their own mistakes. It’s naive to think there’s a shortcut or a magic button you press for instant fame and recognition. It’s gotta come from a place where there’s a lot of openness, and you can admit your mistakes along the way.” And you can take that from someone who knows.

• Carl Barâtand its lead single Run with the Boysare both released on Arcady Records today