The ragged faux-hawk, the week-old stubble, the biker bar-ready tee, the axe slung low: it’s a great front, but the hundred-yard stare gives Peter Hook away.
Melancholy’s enhanced by the chronological presentation of the early New Order songbook Hooky’s playing this tour, songs co-written by a dead man, songs crafted in the wake of suicide, songs credited to a band he’s no longer welcome to work alongside. Halfway into the set, at the point the songs recall his old band’s discovery of amphetamines and sequencers, daylight will poke through the blinds. The show will end in euphoria for most, but I wonder whether Hooky deflates as soon as he hits the tour bus. It’s a crummy fate, and if you’re reading, Hooky, we love ya, ya proud, tragic bastard.
The depressing state of New Order’s interpersonal affairs has occasioned a rousing compromise, wherein the corporate office tours a terrific hits set (call it Substance [Expanded Edition]), while Hooky’s satellite branch presents original albums and b-sides (Rhino Handmade, maybe?).
For acolytes the result sits somewhere between a child of divorce’s dual-Christmas windfall and the factionalism of The Beach Boys, who wrote the book on dysfunction and disharmony. Today, in New Order’s post-creative twilight, Hooky falls somewhere between Al Jardine and Brian Wilson, while Barney Sumner wears both the Mike Love and Carl Wilson hats. (I get a distinct Bruce Johnston vibe from The Other Two.)
(Context: after band glue Carl Wilson died, Jardine was forced out of the BBs and driven to playing regional club dates. Brian Wilson, adrift from the main band, assembled a brilliant backup unit dedicated to spot-on presentations of increasingly arcane back catalogue song picks.)
Barney’s Newest Order certainly fits the “legacy band” bill, a slick and festival-ready behemoth delivering on the promise of a peerless songbook, all adrenaline rush and audience sing-a-longs. The show I caught last fall is in my personal top ten.
But there was another Order before Quincy Jones and Technique and World Cup theme songs, one which brazenly re-wired the relationship between rough rock and extended-form disco, regularly unveiling work-in-progress genius in small clubs with iffy PAs and murky lighting. This was the New Order only fans of a certain age got to see, and this is the New Order Hooky’s re-staging, and this is the faction which wins my heart even as the glossier corporate unit wins my head.
In Toronto last week at the tiny Hoxton (September 19th), Hooky and co. took the stage to early Order A’s ‘n’ B’s: the Ian Curtis co-writes from the debut 45 and a sprightly “Procession,” before diving into the complete Movement LP.
For I imagine nearly all this crowd, it’s hair-raising stuff. They’ve only heard these songs in their bed- and living rooms for the better part of three decades, the music’s brawn reined in by Martin Hannett’s crystalline production. But in the here-and-now, the re-contextualization invigorates, familiar and new all at once. “Ceremony” (anybody else flash back to that dancing sport jacket guy from the 1981 Celebration show video?), “Procession” (god, it’s good wonderful to hear it in person), “Dreams Never End” (those guitar breaks!), “The Him” (tension…and release), “Doubts Even Here” (boy, Order could weave spells with repetition). Barring a few extended outros, the band stay true to the arrangements, and I dare say it’s the best Movement many of us will get to hear. As a live singer, Hooky’s a furlong ahead of Sumner circa ’81. Movement fits his dolorous rumble like a glove.
Unfortunately, he can’t reliably channel the brighter register he used on his ‘90s side-project records (consider ‘97’s near-top ten “What Do You Want From Me?”), which leads to some trouble on the Power, Corruption and Lies tracks. Sumner’s airy, pinched croon is hard for Hooky to reach, and he often settles for breaking off notes in a sore bark. (As much as I want to hear The Light tackle the Low-Life and Brotherhood period next tour, I think the vocs will pose a problem.)
A conundrum, it breaks the spell, but the band covers the bet by playing the back nine as expertly as the front. Keyboardist Andy Poole and drummer Paul Kehoe have been on-side since The Light started covering the Joy Division albums in 2010; guitarist David Potts came on board this summer. All three worked with Hook as Monaco 15 years ago; Potts met Hook on 1990’s Revenge side-project. So, no hired guns, this crew. And bassist Jack Bates goes back even further: he’s Peter’s son. (Does that last bit jar? Peter Hook needs a bassist? Yes: NO used two bass lines all over their early records, and given The Light’s brief of arrangement accuracy, son takes the foundation lines while papa handles leads. It works.)
But the performances of PC &L tracks and contemporaneous singles sail along, not quite as revelatory as the earlier tunes – partly because NO had learned studio technique by 1982 – but still muscular, danceable and gripping: “Age Of Consent”’s manic guitar and bass riffs, “The Village”’s burbling rythmns, “5.8.6.”’s stiff-backed proto-techno, “Leave Me Alone”’s dense, interlocked solos.
Hooky’s encore, a parade of alternative hall of famers (“EGG,” “Temptation,” “Blue Monday”), was two parts incandescence and one part canned ham – the first two, among the most physically insistent rhythmic rock songs I know, scored loudly, but “Monday” was a bit spectator sport, as three of the guys took runs at a malfunctioning syn-drum kit while the static backing track played on. A cock-up squarely in keeping with vintage New Order performances.
“Monday” petered out and Hooky stood alone, shirtless, blinking out into the roaring little crowd. You know it’s personal, this band warfare. It’s hard not to hear snatches of lyric as commentary (“an escape that fails and makes the wounds that time won’t heal”). How long can he burn? Raging against the death of contemporary relevancy, he’s produced several remarkable documents this decade. It’s anyone’s guess where he’s going once the last note of Republic sounds a few years hence. Some place peaceful, I hope.