by Miles Raymer
If the photos and testimony from his friends are true, Pete Doherty's taught his pet cat how to smoke crack. A number of thoughts and feelings occur when you're confronted with information such as this. At some point you will most likely try to convince yourself that in real life you are actually still in bed, none of the past several years has happened, and Pete Doherty is still a promising young genius rather than a sick fuck who gets cats addicted to hard drugs.
The saddest thing about Doherty's extended bottoming out is that it hasn't even resulted in a Great Junkie Album, at least so far. I've been listening to the upcoming Babyshambles album, Shotter's Nation, and it seems destined for less than classic status. It's not bad—in fact it's flecked with moments of louche charm and the occasional really catchy tune—but it's not good enough to make up for the past year of Pete's subhuman behavior. I think that human society in general needs to admit that although Up the Bracket remains a brilliant album, Doherty's used up all his charm. Pete, if you want us to be on your side when you eventually abscond to some South Pacific island with a 16-year-old child-bride and a grocery bag full of PCP, you gotta quit half-stepping. Put down the cat and the crack pipe and get back on your boy genius game. Being just OK doesn't suit you.