49. New Order - Thieves Like Us (Factory)

 

One week at number one on w/e 12th May 1984

“And it’s called love… and it’s so uncool/ it’s called love/ and somehow it’s become unmentionable”

It's not unfair or cruel to point out that Bernard Sumner has never been an amazing lyricist. He’s written a pearly line or two on occasion, but I’ve always suspected that it was more by luck than judgement – most New Order songs succeed in connecting with listeners despite, not because of, their lyrics.

“Thieves Like Us” is an interesting case in that fans have bothered themselves online for years zooming into the somewhat vague lines I’ve quoted above. Why, in Bernard’s eyes, has love become “unmentionable”? This is a huge statement to make for a man who has told us elsewhere in the song that “Love is the cure for every evil”. Inevitably, some have interpreted this to mean that Sumner is talking about bigotry around homosexuality specifically here, particularly if you tie it neatly to the line “It belongs to everyone but us”. I like the idea of this, but the opening lines bear no relation at all and it’s always left me feeling unsatisfied, as if it’s a concept that people would like to be true rather than central to the song.

If we’re meant to find a statement in this song at all – and that’s a big debate in itself – I have to wonder if it’s actually, subconsciously or otherwise, about music, popular culture and post-punk cynicism and where we found ourselves in 1984 as the AIDS virus began to make itself known. Love songs and balladry have long been the staple of pop and rock music of all genres and hues, but for the entire time I've been keeping this blog, there’s been a surprising lack of them. Here in the undergrowth, we’ve been digging up tracks which are furious about war and the government, irritated by corruption and occasionally tickled by lust. Pick through every number one and you might find a couple of straightforward songs about love, but they’re usually from moments where an indie label was lucky enough to have a pop group on its roster bringing in the money (Depeche Mode, Yazoo) rather than The Birthday Party, The Red Guitars or Tom Robinson penning a song for a lover.

Even in the mainstream, something odd was creeping about in the creative waters, in that even the ballads were becoming ill-at-ease with themselves. “Every Breath You Take” is an obvious example from 1983, although Sting knew exactly what he was doing, pushing the obsession angle as hard as he could. There appeared to be no such playfulness about the single which was number one in the national charts when “Thieves Like Us” entered. “Hello” by Lionel Richie is a sickly, wispy, yet deadly little record, like being smothered with a chloroform pad by John Denver. Lyrically, Lionel is left crying for his life on top of lines like “You’re all I’ve ever wanted!” and “Are you somewhere feeling lonely or is someone loving you?” (you really need to do some research before getting in this deep over a stranger, old chap). 

Elsewhere in the charts throughout its reign, there were love songs, but all seemed to deal with a fracturing of romance (“Against All Odds” and “I Want To Break Free” being two serious contenders at this point). Much has been said about the music of the early to mid eighties cowering under nuclear paranoia, but I have to wonder if the overwrought nature of a lot of our love songs at that point also points towards something rather unhealthy.

If you want to believe that “Thieves Like Us” acts as New Order’s defence of straightforward love songs and is effectively their “Silly Love Songs” – and I’m not forcing you to – it does make more sense. The track is New Order celebrating romance without being dishonest or reaching for the darkest corner of the bedroom to sit cross-legged and weep. It’s not very poetic, but Sumner does a good job of selling it, stretching his vocals surprisingly effectively when required, seemingly having decided that detachment isn’t the answer here; after all, what he’s singing about is “uncool”, so he’s free to let go.

Elsewhere, the group are a powerhouse. Arthur Baker may have co-written this, but they forsake the electronic jitters and splutters of “Confusion” for something where live instrumentation and synths sit side by side comfortably. Hooky’s basslines slide and crash, guitars distort, and the keyboards manage to sound somehow chilly yet also celestial; it's love expressed from all angles, the dramatic, the angelic, the blissful and the darkly confusing. I’m a firm believer that most pop and rock songs don’t need to be more than four minutes long, and that often groups are just hammering ideas for the sake of ensuring their hooks are fully absorbed by radio listeners; “Thieves” doesn’t waste a second of its time, though, filling every part with drama and intrigue, occasionally recoiling to shadowy and moodier areas. It ends with a bogus “record slowing down” effect which miraculously manages to sound effective rather than gimmicky.

It felt like the opening of a new chapter for the group in songwriting terms – the singles from this one through to “True Faith” are all (without exception) great, but amazingly “Thieves” and “True Faith” were the only ones in that run to reach the UK Top 20. Blame Factory Records if you want, or blame an eighties music-buying public who seemed to have a downer on alternative pop and rock by the middle of the decade, but that’s always felt unfathomable to me. Perhaps they really were wading in the waters of the unmentionable after all.

New Entries elsewhere in the charts

9. Guana Batz - The Cave (Big Beat)

Peak position: 6

Psychobillies Guana Batz, who were a top draw on the live circuit, make their first big indie chart breakthrough with this one. It makes absolutely no apologies for its no-frills rock and roll approach, even ignoring production techniques which were well established by the early sixties. Instead, you get to hear a raw and excitable band jumping and jiving as if the beat scene never happened, which you get the impression the band would have preferred – for them, rock and roll never really died.




21. Broken Bones - Crucifix (Fallout)

Peak position: 15

“Sell your soul to the holy bible/ Pious shits fucking liable/ Holy psalms & beautiful sights/ Some silly bastards crucified Christ!” scream Broken Bones on this brief but sharp shock of an EP. During a period where many of their contemporaries were starting to fall victim to declining sales and gig attendances and lost interest, Broken Bones were hardcore enough to seem relevant, and they were really only just beginning to pick up steam.

26. Evelyn Thomas - High Energy (Record Shack)

Peak position: 26

An absolute monster of a hit globally, selling 7 million copies in total. It got to number 5 in the official UK charts and became an anthem for gay nightclubs everywhere, but above and beyond that, became an electrifying pop hit too.

This is arguably the biggest crossover Hi-NRG track during the first wave before Stock Aitken and Waterman borrowed the ideas and rhythms to create a new kind of pop. For those of you who like your indie charts to be pure and sanitised and filled with (as John Peel once put it) "cute kids slapping guitars", it also acts as an early warning call. 





30. The Pogue Mahone - Dark Streets of London (Rocks off)

Peak position: 25

Shane McGowan was no stranger to indie labels – his group The Nips issued all their records on the tiny Soho label at the height of punk. “Dark Streets Of London” was a step down even from that, though, being little more than a plain 7” white label in a paper sleeve.

Enough critical acclaim ensued to create a demand for the track which caused it to sneak into the Indie Top 30 here. Listening to it again, it’s astonishing how much The Pogues sound is already fully in place, despite the bargain basement DIY situation they were thrown into. Stiff Records were just around the corner to help the band give this a proper release, and the rest is obviously known history.

For the complete charts, please go to the UKMix Forums. 

Number One In The Official Charts

Duran Duran: "The Reflex" (EMI)