We arrive what we think is early at Wembley Arena on Tuesday night for Babyshambles’ biggest headline show of their career, but are anyway still too late to see opening act Joe Lean And The Jing Jang Jong, who are ending their set with a petulant burst of feedback when we get there. The first thing we wonder, picking our seats at random, is where everyone else is. At least a third of Wembley’s tiered seating is funereally covered with black drapes, I’d have to shout to be heard by the people sitting nearest us, who are about half a mile away, and you could drive a couple of buses at this stage around the sparsely populated arena floor, without much danger of hitting anyone even if you were drunk and blindfolded at the wheel. In the 20 minutes that follow a noisily rousing turn from Dizzee Rascal, however, Wembley starts, encouragingly, to fill up quite handsomely – all the available seating is now taken, although everyone seems too excited to actually sit, and there’s a suitably heaving crowd below us that now almost fills the standing area, who are cheering now as the houselights go down, the crackly theme to Hancock’s Half Hour comes over the PA and Babyshambles make a punctual appearance. Much has been made on the dates so far on this tour of their new-found professionalism – turning up on time, playing versions of their songs that everyone can recognise, a general absence of on-stage chaos. The truth is, they’ve been this together for ages, it just took Shotter’s Nation to bring the fact home to people for whom they will more often be synonymous with wholly wayward behaviour and shows that have been more notable in the public perception for their musical incompetence, a reputation I’d happily contest. I don’t in this context want to seem contrary, but there are times tonight when the band seem so absolutely intent on living down that parlous reputation, their concentration so intent on making sure that everything they play is as spot-on as possible that it early on seems in danger of sucking the life out of their performance. I mean, it’s grand to hear the great songs from Shotter’s played with such fidelity – but if I’d just wanted to hear the album played perfectly, I could have sat in a bus shelter with it on my iPod. Frankly, there are moments when a lot more spit and a great deal less polish would have made the evening more exciting – and seeing Pete, largely just standing there, pasty-faced, in figure-hugging black top and trousers, flanked by the similarly static Mick Whitnall and Drew McConnell, I do yearn for the more bonkers frolics of yore – some element of rowdy recklessness that’s missing here. The first 12 songs they play are from either Shotter’s Nation or The Blinding EP that preceded it, and for many reasons I am not sure at this point that the evening will be remembered for much more than the band’s welcome but not exactly thrilling competence. I have in other words just about given up on any recognisable element of the haphazard magic longstanding fans have always loved when, lo and, yes, behold, things start to loosen up with a solo version by Pete of The Libertines “Music When The Lights Go Out”, which introduces a short acoustic set that also includes a lovely “Lost Art of Murder”, “There She Goes” and “Albion”, with added keyboards. It’s been the recent case that versions by this line-up of Down In Albion classics “Pipedown” and “Fuck Forever” have struggled to live up to their earlier incarnations, Mick strangely struggling to replicate the feral beauty of Patrick Walden’s original guitar parts. Tonight, though, he’s on fire on these numbers and doing what he should have done before, which is make them his own. And so the last four incredible numbers – “Pipedown”, a terrific “Killamangiro”, “Back From the Dead” and the closing roar of “Fuck Forever” are ecstatically played and even more ecstatically received by a crowd that is by now fairly besides itself, and happy to join Pete in a chorus during “Fuck Forever” of “Happy Birthday”, dedicated to his sister Emily. Brilliant, then, in the end. Babyshambles set list London Wembley Arena November November 27 2007 Carry On Up The Morning Delivery Beg, Steal or Borrow Baddie's Boogie Unstookiedtitled Side Of the Road Unbilotitled The Blinding You Talk Sedative Crumb Begging I Wish Music When The Lights Go Out Lost Art Of Murder There She Goes Albion Pipedown Killamangiro Back From The Dead Fuck Forever

So I arrived at work this morning with the plan to write about the pretty fine new Wu-Tang Clan album. I’ve been momentarily distracted, though, by the discovery that Def Jam are streaming the entire new Ghostface Killah album on their website. In recent years, I think the Ghost has been the most consistently interesting and exciting rapper in America, and it’s been fascinating to see how his career has evolved from being one of the Wu’s most unpredictable footsoldiers, a spluttering maverick with a penchant for richly overloaded imagery and detuned sing-songs, to the Clan’s most bankable solo star. I’m about halfway through “The Big Doe Rehab” now, and there’s some great things here in his usual languid, played-out soul style, with a new smattering of Fania-style breaks (a track called “Walk Alone” has been the stand-out thus far), if maybe not quite as extraordinary as last year’s “Fish Scale”; if you haven’t bought a hip-hop album in the last five years and are feeling a vague urge, that’s the one to go for. Obviously, I’ll write about this more when I’ve digested properly. But for the time being, I’ve a much stronger handle on the Wu-Tang reunion album, “8 Diagrams”. Ghostface is not on this too much, and neither is his closest ally Raekwon, and there are various rumours flying around about the pair falling out with the Wu’s de facto leader, RZA. RZA is accused of diluting the Wu sound on “8 Diagrams”, employing sweetened sung choruses and hiring guitarists (notably John Frusciante and George Harrison’s son Dhani) to play on Ghost’s showcase, “The Heart Gently Weeps”. To my woolly ears, though, there doesn’t sound much like a sell-out here: much of the music is still murky, cinematic and minimal, a low backdrop for the traditional martial arts samples, and for the overlapping verses of the Wu members. As they dodge round each other, often seeming to gently barge their predecessor off the mic, I’m reminded that the Wu in full flight remains – internecine bickers notwithstanding- one of the most straightforwardly thrilling sounds in modern music. As it is, “8 Diagrams” is far better than anyone could have realistically expected, a brutal and fluent re-iteration of the Clan’s supremacy. Clearly, it’s the RZA’s project: he produces and raps on it more than he has in years, and more obedient Clan members like GZA (his cousin, if I remember right), the lisping Method Man and the stentorian U-God (one of the Clan’s most undervalued members, but on fire here) get most of the leads. “Rushing Elephants” is superb, from the title down, one of those furious marches into battle at which the clan excel, and the way it dovetails into the slashing menace of “Unpredictable” – some screaming guitar on here, too - is exhilarating. But I also love the loopy “Wolves”, featuring a full-blooded refrain from George Clinton and “Windmill”, with its faintly deranged Cotton Club ambience. I guess plenty of focus will be on “Life Changes”, where everyone except Ghostface queues up to do homage to their fallen brother Ol’ Dirty Bastard. But ironically, Ghostface is the one Clan member who is most effective at a kind of unorthodox sentimentality, and in his absence, his brethren seem a bit mawkish. All told, though, it’s a better record than their last group effort, 2001’s erratic “Iron Flag”, maybe even 2000’s “The W”. Better than “The Big Doe Rehab”? I’ll get back to you on that. . .