Pete Docherty Is Dead! By Rich Mills

The headline they all want to see! I've watched the development of what is a disturbing form of hero worship. The desire to see self-destruction in the flesh, is how I read many of the reviews I've read about Pete Docherty, Babyshambles, the Libertines new album, and the reports from those who were at the already infamous Welly gig. Now I'm the first to make jokes about wanting my rock stars to kill themselves in a drug fuelled suicidal rollercoaster ride of excess.

Sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, that's what it's all about. But the Pete Docherty obsession is something else. This is a hyped-up media circus, nothing but fucking voyeurism of the worst kind. Pete is no Kurt, Jim, Jimi or Janice. He's too young for that! Rock stars are supposed to die at 27, Pete has some time to go yet. But the thrill seeking masses can't wait, they want him dead now!

If, or should we say when Pete dies, large parts of the blame will rest on the shoulders of the adoring freaks who chant his name, the club owners and promoters who turn a blind eye as Pete sticks a needle in his arm, and those who went and scored his smack for him (you know who you are and should be ashamed of yourselves). I've read article after article recently about Pete Docherty and The Libertines. It seems that the whole Trainspotting heroin cool is back, with an additional rock of crack on the side for good measure.

Pete's face and deep sad eyes stare back at me from nearly every music magazine and Sunday supplement. Those stories of freakish fans paying a tenner to sit in Pete's flat while he bangs out a couple of acoustic tracks before running off to score a bag. What is wrong with this scene? Fucking everything!

I've been there and see it. I'm not some clean living evangelist here. I've got mates who have been heroin addicts for years; they're sad and lonely characters. I once lived in a house many years ago that was very reminiscent of the whole Trainspotting scene. Mattresses on the floor, buckets of puke everywhere, needles, foil, dirt and deprivation. Oh yes, all very cool! Not!! A particular junky friend at the time who lived there has now cleaned himself up, luckily.

I wrote my poem Needle Whore about him. The poem is on thisisUll.com, and has been published in an anthology called Complexities of Life. He thought that being in a band was all about self destruction and heroin addiction. Now I'm sure if you asked him, he'd admit he was a total wanker at the time. A classic Smackhead! Unfortunately that is what Pete Docherty is too. And hero worship of a smackhead is just sick and twisted. Think about it for a minute. Do you think the bloke who hangs around next to the cash machine, bugging everyone who comes up for cash to feed his habit, is cool? Is the bloke who staggers passed you, eyes rolling in the back of his head, smelling of shit, is he cool? Rattling, going cold turkey, sticking a needle in your arm day after day, is that fucking cool?

Now I know people are going to come back at me with, it's about the music, man! Pete's a great song writer, a genius! That he maybe, I'm reserving judgement on that one. What I'm angry about is the participation in his drug addiction. Like I say, those who stood by and turned a blind eye while he stuck a needle in his arm and those who went and bought his smack for him while he was in Hull, are guilty of contributing to his self destruction.

And the voyeuristic freaks, well that's just the 21st century disease isn't it? Something we could all be guilty of at times!

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