Joy Division stood at the intersection of austerity and ecstasy. Restraint to the point of severity is a core component of the band’s sound, look, and legend: four dour, unsmiling young men from Manchester in nondescript clothing, creating spare paeans to alienation and oppression, all under the watchful eye and glacial hand of producer Martin Hannett. Their album covers are colorless, and the accompanying music feels black and white and gray all over.
Yet at the same time, Ian Curtis was one of the most nakedly emotive singers of his time. Throughout Joy Division’s concise discography, his warped crooner’s voice feels alternately choked with rage, despair, and, on rare occasions, even joy. Many of his songs end with him chanting the same lyric over and over—“So lose some sleep and say you tried!” “God in His wisdom took you by the hand, God in His wisdom helped you understand!” “Dance, dance, dance to the radio!”—as if desperate to make himself heard.
No score yet, be the first to add.
The 19 live recordings collected on Eternal (Live) begin in March 1979 and end just days before Curtis’ suicide in May 1980. Calling a 14-month span in a short-lived band’s run eternal would seem like overkill in most cases. But if the continued, pervasive influence of Joy Division on musicians of all kinds isn’t literally everlasting, that’s only because we haven’t gotten that far yet. The music that Curtis, Peter Hook, Stephen Morris, and Bernard Sumner created casts a long, dark, and enduring shadow.
Even for longtime fans, Eternal offers new insight as to why Joy Division’s legacy has lasted: This band is fun as hell. That, too, runs counter to expectations; anya: Any time I mentioned to a friend or family member that I’d been assigned to listen to 19 Joy Division concerts in a row, they expressed concern for my well-being. But mainlining hour after hour of the foursome’s thrilling live performances turns out to be anything but dreary or depressing, whatever the subject matter of the songs themselves.
The absence of Hannett’s legendarily icy production across these concerts (the shows are a remastered mix of soundboard, audience, and professional recordings) makes a huge difference right away, better situating the band’s work in the context of their peers and contemporaries. With its plodding bassline way up in the mix, “Leaders of Men” would sound at home in a Killing Joke set, while the opening of “Insight” feels poised to careen into Siouxsie and the Banshees’ “Halloween” before becoming something completely different. “Digital,” one of the band’s jitteriest and poppiest tracks, feels like something Devo might have had a good time covering. Older songs like “Warsaw” have an almost pub-rock swagger.
The band’s instrumental approach, however, sets them apart. Depending on the song, either Hook’s wandering, melodic bass or Sumner’s scratchy, percussive guitar takes lead. Morris’ drum patterns, meanwhile, are often the first element we hear, setting the tone with a snappy mechanical rhythm or big, rumbling drums of doom. Curtis’ vocals are in a galaxy of their own. On the Unknown Pleasures standout “Disorder,” all four band members take the spotlight at different points, making it a repeat highlight throughout the collection.
