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Apollo Theatre, Oxford, England, United Kingdom (1986)
The imperfect kiss. Tonight I should have stayed at home and played
with my pleasure zone.
I believe in the land of New Order, an ice dust island of volatile
emotions entwined with electro-wash creepers and rhythmic sidewinding
snakes of shake. For myself, I bring in the carrier bag of the mind
expectations of the excellence this band are capable of and fears for
the indulgences that sometimes crack their crystal citadel of noise
into a million jagged edges. Tonight the latter prevailed, and
unfortunately, it wasn't even funny.
The sub-culture New Order have constructed for themselves - and it is
just that, an aesthetic separateness - is now under serious threat
precisely because of their dancefloor popularity. They attract a large
number of stiffs for whom the band is a soundtrack to mewling and
puking.
I know that sounds like an elitist statement but it's something that
the band are unable to cope with other than reverting to their infamous
cynicism and spite games. "God, you're so f***ing boring, no wonder we
haven't played in Cambridge for six years" - Bernard Albrecht. "We are
New Order and we don't give a f***" Peter Hook, pummeling his bass
like it was a heckler's face. Just two of the many comments from the
stage.
I've always viewed such typical wind-ups with the chuckle they
deserve, only this evening the effect was to lay to rest in a coffin an
audience that was for the most part dead already. 'Shellshock'? Sure,
we were suffering from it, but so did New Order whose streamlined
platinum fenders of melody became twisted and crushed under the
jackhammer of their ire by the time the as yet unrecorded 'Broken
Promises' was launched.
A fan jumped onstage to grab Hook and was treated to a sullen stare.
The audience stood around bewildered for 20 minutes. I don't know
whether or not an encore materialised because I walked outside. "What's
so good about New Order?" my partner asked. "They're like life itself:
unpredictable and occasionally magnificent," I laughed. It's obvious.
JACK BARRON
Source: Jack Barron (Sounds 124/86) |
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