Some time ago, we were all slack-jawed out how Interpol seemed to channel the darkness of Ian Curtis, that is, until Antics proved that those N.Y.C. fashion plates only had enough material for one great album.
Their label at the time, Matador, recently set the radar on Philadelphia’s Cold Cave—particularly when their debut created enough stir to sell out of their original configurations.
The only reason I bring this up is because if you were one that swooned at Interpol’s Joy Division leanings then you’ll want to check out Cold Cave’s Love Comes Close.
Former New Order/Joy Division bassist Peter Hook is writing a tell-all book about his days in the Manchester club scene. It’s called Hacienda: How Not To Run A Club. He posted the libel report from his lawyer, which contains all kinds of juicy yet potentially defamatory details. Hook himself admits that he “thought it read Almost as well as the book.”
This is the account by Peter Hook of Joy Division and New Order of his involvement in and subsidising of the Hacienda Club in Manchester. As there is a considerable amount of drug-taking and involvement of gangs with resulting violence and a fair degree of professional incompetence in the running of the club, there are obviously potential defamation issues.
My favorite bit:
75 We also have a problem potentially with XXXX being called a smack head. Might not she and XXXX also complain about the sexual reference. Again at the risk of sounding pompous, that is a private matter which XXXX could object to and might also claim it was defamatory. XXXX might also say that although she mentioned this to the author in conversation, she would not expect to see it in a book.
Old Hooky’s since removed the posts, but thanks to Google’s cache, they’re still available: Part 1, Part 2. If Google clears its cache before you get to it, you can read the full, unedited text of both posts after the jump…
It’s easy to forget sometimes how effortlessly someone can fade from a person to a legend. It can be as simple as a good story, an early death, and a little time. Twenty-eight years after his death at age 23, we have more of his story.
A dual release of rockudrama Control and traditional documentary Joy Division attempts to fill in the colors of an unfinished sketch and ends up as grey and haunting as the Manchester location that dominates Ian Curtis‘ story.
Wracked by the onset of grand mal seizures, rocketing fame (in a decidedly anti-fame scene), increasingly demanding touring schedules, a faltering marriage, fatherhood, and the general depression that often surrounds guys in their twenties who are struggling to figure out who they are while putting on a good face, is it any wonder Ian Curtis danced like a spastic?
Both films focus on Curtis as the center of the story, and it’s hard not to when your hero’s end is tragic, but you’re left wondering about the other three dudes—who went on after Curtis’ death to form New Order, one of the most influential bands of the 80s and 90s. Still, there’s only so much time and Curtis is a fascinating figure.
If I’m counting correctly, we’re up to the fourth edition of Joy Division‘s two proper releases, Unknown Pleasures and Closer, with the latest being pegged as a “Collector’s Edition.” I did give pause about buying into these latest editions, figuring that they were nothing more than a blatant attempt at milking Anton Corbijn‘s film Control.
And believe me, as a Joy Division fan-boy, I know all too well about feeling used. A few years ago, I forked over a hefty sum for a limited edition import box set (Refractured) only to discover that my hard-earned money went to some cheap collectibles, two cds of poorly mastered live recordings, and a few supposedly “rarer” live tracks tacked on the end of one of those aforementioned recordings.
I bring this up because both of Joy Division’s reissued studio albums contain another pair of live recordings, meant to entice saps like me who have already purchased said studio albums in three prior editions. So that leaves the live recordings as the sole reason to consider this new package, which in itself presents some debate.
Recorded for the soundtrack of the Ian Curtis biopic Closer, the Killers take on the 1979 classic “Shadowplay” and actually do a hell of a job. Lead singer (and King Twat) Brandon Flowers doesn’t make it easy for me to like this band, but I do.
The film 24 Hour Party People embodies the punk spirit it documents. But before I go into director Michael Winterbottom’s freewheeling, go-for-broke filmmaking style, I just want to say the movie’s kind of got old-fart appeal, being about the beginnings of British punk and the Manchester bands (Joy Division, New Order, Happy Mondays) who succeeded it in the 80s. The very few actual survivors of the Manchester 80s music scene who appear in the film look really, really old. I emphasize that because it seems so amazing that the punk revolution, which sneered at sacred cows from the Beatles to David Bowie, happened so long ago now. That was our revolution – the one that turned out the hippies, rejected wealth-driven spirituality and embraced a primitive brawling yelp. The movie brings back that hedonistic, artistically explosive era and plunges the viewer into its excesses, recreating the scene so successfully that it reminds you of how much plain fun it was (more than it seemed at the time, with all its confusion, drugs and attitude).