New Order - BBC Radio | Live in Concert
(Fuel 2000)

What, then, is the value of a live album which contains previously released songs in versions substantially similar to the versions contained on the live album? This is a question that gets to the heart of the problem of a New Order live album. First, New Order relies on electronics for a large part of their songs. This means that in the live setting, the electronic portions of the song may be easily reproduced exactly as they are in a recorded setting. That is, unlike acoustic instruments, the performance in a studio is no different from the performance in a live setting. Second, New Order is frequently characterized as being cold or emotionless. This means that their songs, when performed live, are not likely to be injected with a great deal of spunk or vigor. Last, New Order's songs are meticulous and exact. This means that, when performed live, they are not likely to be extended into long jams or rave-ups. The answer to the question of the value of a New Order live album, then, is not in the difference between the versions on the live album and previously released albums, but is in the expectation that the versions will be different.

To illustrate this principle, I will draw upon my own experiences as a New Order listener and purchaser of the new live album. I have been listening to New Order for nearly 14 years and have become intimately familiar with their music. During that period I have come to have great reverence for what they had released up through 1987: their four outstanding albums Movement (1981), Power, Corruption and Lies (1983), Low Life (1985) and Brotherhood (1986) and their array of non-album singles including but not limited to Thieves Like Us and True Faith (all collected, along with the album singles, on Substance (1987)). (Their post-1987 output will not be considered, because it has been slight and, frankly, not very good. There is hope for the future, though. See the Chemical Brothers' "Out of Control" from Surrender, on which Bernard Sumner plays guitar and sings, and "Brutal," the newest New Order song, on The Beach soundtrack.) What is apparent from a close study of these releases is that New Order, when combined with Joy Division, from whose ranks a majority of New Order was culled, has cast a long shadow over sub-pop music of the last twenty years: nearly every form of post-punk, techno-pop, new wave, indie, or electronic artist owes a debt to either New Order, Joy Division, or both (if you question this, check out the roster on A Means to an End, the Joy Division tribute from a few years ago, which includes everyone from Low to Moby to Dave Navarro to Tortoise to Yo La Tengo, and everything on Warp records).

It is important to note that I came to New Order first and, later, to Joy Division. This is important because the backwards exposure creates a distorted perspective of the relationship between the two bands: New Order appears to be falsely independent from Joy Division. It's difficult to overcome the primacy of New Order, given that, because they were the first heard, their music colored my approach to Joy Division. That is, when Joy Division was first heard, they were measured against New Order and expectations were based on my exposure to New Order, rather than the other way around, which would have been proper.

Which brings us back to the question, what is the value of the expectation that the versions of songs on the live album will be different? First, the songs are not, largely, different. However, since the listener is not aware of this, the listener approaches the album with an ear primed for detecting even the slightest difference. By listening to songs, which have been heard countless times, under such circumstances, the listener is given a chance to, in a sense, hear the songs again for the first time. The listener separates out the various parts--instruments, melodies, rhythms--closely inspecting each, and pieces them back together again, understanding them each individually and how they relate to and interact as a whole. One benefit is a new and greater understanding of each of the songs. The ultimate benefit, however, now that I am, at least, as familiar with Joy Division as I am with New Order, is being able to properly hear the songs as products of the band that was once Joy Division and grew into being New Order: being able to place the songs in a proper continuum which begins in as Warsaw in 1977, becomes Joy Division, and, finally, becomes New Order, through 1987.

The record itself is the entirety of New Order's set at the Glastonbury Festival, June 19th, 1987. Having just released the True Faith/1963 single, New Order appeared to be getting better and better. However, as it actually was, they had begun their descent. This collection of songs could hardly be called their best, or even the most indicative of what New Order was. Similarly, its hard to believe that this was their greatest show ever: the performance is very uneven, at times uninspired and nearly incompetent. Yet, its timing makes it an interesting summation of the path which New Order had traveled.

The set starts off, poorly enough, with "Touched by the Hand of God," a mediocre and busy song--too much filler keyboards and not enough melodic development--whose performance is marred by Sumner's off-key delivery. Things pick up quickly with a spirited version of "Temptation," performed with such exuberance that the mistakes hardly matter. Dancing sequencers and Peter Hook's unmistakable bass line provide a perfect foundation, leaving enough space for Sumner's heartfelt vocal delivery and kooky guitar improv. It's a classic New Order track, balancing mechanics and precision (Stephen Morris' mechanical drumming blends seamlessly with the drum machines) with their oddball pop sensibilities. The set takes a downturn again for "True Faith," which is apologetically introduced as a new song, setting the listener up for the amateurish performance. Sumner sings as if he trying to remember what his guitar part is. One questions whether the band had actually performed this song all together before. It's a shame to hear a song which, in studio form is so perfectly executed, being butchered as if by a second-rate cover band.

After that spotty warm up the record really takes off. The remaining tracks showcase New Order's best elements. "Your Silent Face" highlights their ability to employ primitive synthesizers to create a full and compelling song, using a bouncy sequencer and lush washes as the main melodic elements, meshing the guitar and bass in seemlessly as accents; this was a song written at a time when preoccupation with the novelty of technology handicapped most artists attempting to use keyboards. The extended improv outro on this track feels natural, flowing out from the band, weightless. "Bizarre Love Triangle" is highly charged, layering preprogrammed synth upon preprogrammed synth, genius in its uninhibited excessiveness, forcing the listener to question how cold and distant New Order really is. Pure new wave.

The key moments, though, come in the final three tracks. First is a nearly ten-minute version of "Perfect Kiss," which begins identical to the Low Life album version, with three layers of percussion (hand played, hi-hat, and super-fake snare and kick), before layering the Hook bass line and hyper sequencers. The real hook with this song, though, is the stark contrast between the upbeat disco flavor of the music and the vaguely despairing vocal delivery, charged as it is with references to Ian Cutis' suicide. Live, Sumner sounds more pained than on the album version, and, immediately following the final line, now I know that the perfect kiss is the kiss of death, he kicks in with an aggressive, distorted guitar burst. The final two minutes of the song are dominated by his guitar work, which culminates in a noise that one would never have expected New Order to make.

In the wake of "Perfect Kiss," all things become clear. The next song, a charged, almost angry version of "Age of Consent," is straight Joy Division, built on tribal drumming and driving bass with minimal guitar and keyboards filling in the spaces where appropriate, culminating in the stark mantra "I've lost you, I've lost you, I've lost you." However, not even that channeling of Joy Division can prepare the listener for the final track, a raucous cover of the Velvet Underground's "Sister Ray" (very similar to the version that appears on Joy Divison's Still collection). They ditch the keyboards, stripping the band down to Morris' cold tom pounding, Hook's throaty bass tone (the one he used in Joy Division, before moving to the instruments upper register in New Order), and Sumner's simplistic, repetitive post-punk guitar work.

In the end, the whole song falls apart. However, unlike the messes they made of songs at the beginning of the set, the destruction of "Sister Ray" seems more purposeful and appropriate. It's the end of the show, the end of the night. And perhaps, in those final moments of the song, played by a band on its decline, was the end of Joy Division.

dave christensen 2000 nov 22