Britain’s Libertines actually live the glamorously debauched lifestyle the Strokes only affect in expensive photo shoots and the more romantic musings of rock writers. Since their 2002 debut, “Up the Bracket,” the band has experienced breakups and reconciliations, intra-band robbery, weapons possession charges, and drug rehab – it’s unclear yet whether they’ve survived them.

The cover to the band’s new self-titled album shows currently estranged co-lead-singer Pete Doherty baring his inner arm to show off his “libertine” tattoo. But with his well-publicized heroin habit, it’s also an invitation to look for track marks. “It’s been a long war, now we’re tired and dirty,” they sing of their recent tribulations.

Everything on the album is filtered through a haze of smoke, booze, and drugs. If “Up the Bracket” represented the thrilling height of the party, “Libertines” finds the band still drinking and dosing in its aftermath. The music sways and meanders, always threatening to pass out. Regrets and recriminations peek through the stupor.

The lyrics are sung from the distant end of tunnel vision; at times they sound like they’re melting. But the words are at least as intoxicating as they are intoxicated: Beneath the slurred delivery lay clever wordplay and elegant imagery. “Alarm bells ring / when you say your heart still sings / when you’re with me,” sings Doherty. “Oh darling, please forgive me / but I no longer hear the music.” He can also be deliciously incoherent: “And to the man who be king / I will say only one thing / La la la-la-la-laaa.”

The album bears an endorsement from Mick Jones of the Clash (who also produced it): “A record as good as this only comes along once in a generation. Yeah, you had it with the Clash. And now it’s the Libertines’ turn,” he writes. But for their part, the band is still clinging to its story of dissipation and misspent potential. On the album’s final song, “What Became of the Likely Lads,” they ask. “What became of the dreams we had?” And answer: “We’ll never know!”

***

Paul Westerberg begins his new album, “Folker,” with a commercial pop send-up called “Jingle (Buy It).” It’s a typical gesture from the former Replacements front man: cranky, biting, and improbably catchy. “Buy it now, buy it now, buy it now-ow / this is my single, this is my jingle,” sings a man who has never tried to sell himself.

“Folker” is the conclusion of a three album solo project that began in 1999 with “Stereo/Mono.” Much as “Time Out of Mind” and its sequels did for Bob Dylan, these albums have resuscitated Westerberg’s standing, affirming his place not only as one of the best songwriters of his generation, but one of the best going. After spending many of his post-Replacements years in limbo, trying to please an elusive popular audience and live up to his own lofty reputation, Westerberg managed this success by shutting out the world, holing up in his basement studio, and relying on his own taste and spontaneity for guidance.

While the album title professes an interest in folk music (and the sound is the most sedated of the three albums), the songs are closer to acoustic rock. Westerberg’s already reedy voice has grown more ragged thanks to a several-a-day cigar regimen. Country and blues flourishes have entered his guitar work. But the defining sound of this album – the whole series, really – is his rattletrap, crashing drum. It sounds like it’s always one downbeat away from falling apart.

Despite his ridiculing the idea of a single, “Folker” has one, a song called “As Far as I Know” that swings like an early Beatles tune. Twenty years ago, on the Replacements’ landmark album “Let It Be,” Westerberg howled, “Look me in the eye and tell me that I’m satisfied / … I’m so unsatisfied.” It was a generational expression of discontentment. “As Far as I Know” finds him still unsatisfied: “I’m in love with a sound that I never hear,” he sings. “I’m in love with that girl that doesn’t exist as far as I know.” The difference is now he’s satisfied just to keep looking.

***

Brooklyn’s Radio 4 named itself for a Public Image Ltd. song and originally devoted itself to the sound of heroes like Gang of Four and Mission of Burma. On “Gotham!,” their last album, the group sounded more like a lost New York No Wave act: all jittery guitars and funk bass lines.

For “Stealing of a Nation,” released today, they’ve shed another skin, trading their retro production for unabashed dance and electronic beats. “Party Crashers,” the first song on the album, opens like a “Best of Ibiza” compilation, then settles into a “24 Hour Party People” groove. They’ve traded one worn-out influence for another.

Though they sound less like Gang of Four musically these days, they sound more like them politically. “Stealing of a Nation” is a dance album with a conscience: rampant commercialism, government surveillance, radio deregulation, and political apathy all come under scrutiny here. There’s always a healthy dose of medicine to help the sugar go down.