<h1 class="articleHeadline">We Were Joy Division</h1>
<h6 class="byline">By
<span><span>PETER HOOK</span></span></h6>
<h6 class="dateline">Published: January 25, 2013 </h6><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/27/magazine/we-were-joy-division.html">http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/27/magazine/we-were-joy-division.html</a><br><br>It all started with the Sex Pistols. I saw them twice in 1976 — two gigs
weeks apart at the Lesser Free Trade Hall in Manchester — Bernard
Sumner (our guitarist) and I went together with a couple of friends to
the first gig, and at the second gig I bumped into Ian Curtis, who would
become our lead singer. They were only on for half an hour, but when
they finished, we filed out quietly with our minds blown, absolutely
utterly speechless, and it just sort of dawned on me then — that was it.
On the way home that night we decided to form a band — Joy Division.
The name was Ian’s idea. <br><br><p>
By 1979, we hadn’t yet even made an album, but because we were being so
productive, talk turned to making one. To be perfectly frank, we weren’t
that fussy about whom we made it with. But in the meantime Martin
Rushent invited us down to the studio to record some demos, just to see
if we were going to jell. He’d produced the Buzzcocks and the Stranglers
by this point, so we were very excited by the prospect. </p><p>
When we got there, we saw that Rushent had a brand-new Jaguar XJS — and
as it happened I’d been reading this article about how something like 9
out of 10 Jag owners don’t lock the boot of their car. So I thought, I
wonder if that’s true. . . . Tried his boot and, lo and behold, it was
unlocked. Inside, it was full of what I’m sure were stolen car radios;
you could tell they were stolen by the way the wires were dangling off
from where they’d been ripped out. Me and Terry, our roadie, were
looking at each other, thinking, Martin’s got a boot full of stolen car
radios. And then, Wonder if he’d miss a couple. . . . </p><p>
All day, whenever there was a break in the recording, we’d be daring one
another to go back in his boot and nick one each for our cars — because
they were proper high-end stereos — but I was going: “Oh, no, we can’t,
because he might be our record company. We can’t nick cassette players
off our record company.” We didn’t take any. God knows what he was doing
with them, though. We never asked him. </p><p>
It was a really nice studio, and he worked well with Ian on the vocals,
did a few overdubs and stuff, nothing wild, very low key. The tracks
were “Glass,” “Transmission,” “Ice Age,” “Insight” and “Digital.”
Rushent was a nice guy; we got on well. </p><p>
That was the thing about Joy Division, though: writing the songs was
dead easy because the group was really balanced. We had a great
guitarist, a great drummer, a great bass player and a great singer. Ian
would listen to us jamming and then direct the song until it was . . . a
song. He stood there like a conductor and picked out the best bits.
Which was why, when he killed himself a year later, it made everything
so difficult. It was like driving a great car that had only three
wheels. The loss of Ian opened up a hole in us, and we had to learn to
write in a different way. We were so tight, as a group, we didn’t even
use a tape recorder half the time. Didn’t need one. </p><p>
Back then we didn’t know rules or theory. We had our ear, Ian, who
listened and picked out the melodies. Then at some point his lyrics
would appear. He always had these scraps of paper that he’d written
things down on, and he’d go through his plastic bag. “Oh, I’ve got
something that might suit that.” And the next thing you knew he’d be
standing there with a piece of paper in one hand, wrapped around the
microphone stand, with his head down, making the melodies work. We’d
never hear what he was singing about in rehearsal because the equipment
was so terrible. In his case it didn’t matter because he delivered the
vocal with such a huge amount of passion and aggression, as if he really
meant it. </p><p>
I recently got offered the tape of that session with Rushent. Eden
Studios was taken over by a firm of solicitors, and left in a storeroom,
hidden in the bowels of it, were the Joy Division masters. One of the
staff members claimed to have them and offered me the tape through a
third party. He wanted £50,000 for it. This was in 2006 or something.
Even then there was no way on earth you could make a record and hope to
recoup 50 grand. I offered him a finder’s fee, two grand, but he said
no, and I’ve never heard from him since; it’s never appeared. Ah, well.
It’s a funny thing, people trying to sell you back bits of your own
past. But I’m getting used to it, to be honest. </p>
<i>Peter Hook is a co-founder of the bands Joy Division and New Order.
This essay is adapted from his memoir, “Unknown Pleasures,” published
this month by HarperCollins.</i><br clear="all"><br><a href="http://youtu.be/GVVdEqBbr4k">http://youtu.be/GVVdEqBbr4k</a><br><br>-- <br><div>carlos palombini<br></div><a href="http://www.researcherid.com/rid/F-7345-2011" target="_blank">www.researcherid.com/rid/F-7345-2011</a>
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