86. New Order - State Of The Nation (Factory)

Number one for four weeks from 27th September 1986

I don’t often delve into other people’s blogs or forum posts while researching for this site, purely because I don’t want to be unduly influenced by other people’s takes on these records. For “State Of The Nation”, though, I found myself sufficiently perplexed to want to scout around. It sometimes feels as if it’s the serviceable New Order single nobody has a strong opinion on one way or the other, their equivalent of “Lady Madonna” or “Heart” (cue the inevitable complaints from Beatles or Pet Shop Boys fans).

I uncovered nothing much at all during my scouting mission, apart from a few forum posts asking “Why does everybody hate ‘State of the Nation’?” during which nobody replied with anything negative at all, only expressing the view that they quite liked it. No-one seemed particularly compelled to jump in and scream that it was a blight on New Order’s catalogue, which made sense to me (I wasn’t previously aware that it was supposed to be).

Then I went over to my Last.fm profile to see how often I’d played it, and was a little bit surprised to see that it was my tenth most listened to New Order track – amazing since I couldn’t actually remember the last time I’d bothered (if anyone cares, it’s marginally ahead of “True Faith”, “Perfect Kiss” and “Regret”, all singles I could have sworn I’ve spent more time with). Obviously the views of a few Internet randoms and my own listening habits are not a precise scientific study, but it does feel as if “State” – New Order’s seventh indie number one – has been strangely neglected, rarely (if ever) played by the group live since its year of release and allowed to drift into the background.

This is peculiar. Musically speaking, “State Of The Nation” is an enticing, though admittedly never quite exciting, mix of sweet and sour. The keyboard lines are filled with exotic pan flute noises while the guitars are distorted and scraping, sounding like a hailstorm falling on abandoned sheet metal. Rhythms twitch beneath all this, jitterbugging almost threateningly, and throughout the full six-and-a-half minutes on the twelve inch, they manage to stretch what seem like quite limited ideas out into interesting new shapes and destinations; say what you want about New Order but they were unbelievably bloody good at writing epic pop songs. Whereas most groups start to dawdle and repeat themselves after the third minute, they’re still bursting with fresh ideas in double that time.

The single seems to pick up the most criticism for its lyrics, and deservedly so. Sumner here feels as if he's delivering guide vocals camouflaged as social commentary; a dirty trick to play on the neurotic mid-eighties public. “My brother said that he was dead/ I saw his face and shook my head” he sings, almost disappointed rather than upset by the fact that his sibling was either literally or metaphorically deceased. “The state of the nation/ that’s holding our salvation” he informs us, before telling us it’s also “causing deprivation” (I always swear he sneaks “death inflation” in there somewhere as well, but that’s possibly just a long-standing misheard lyric of mine).

81. Weather Prophets - Almost Prayed (Creation)

One week at number one on 5th July 1986

To casual viewers of the indie charts and non-readers of the NME or Melody Maker, The Weather Prophets must have seemed like a strange and sudden flash on the scene; that try-hard band name conjuring up images of your best friend’s cousin’s group who were signed to Creation on one of Alan McGee’s whims. The truth is somewhat different. The Weather Prophets were actually formed following the messy end of The Loft, a promising group whose two singles, “Why Does The Rain” and “Up The Hill And Down The Slope” are still remembered fondly (and playlisted heavily) by those who know their mid-eighties indie.

Despite the fact he had an established platform to build on, it wouldn’t be unfair to suggest that the group’s lead singer Pete Astor was lucky, however. Fate seemed to slap him encouragingly on his leather trousered arse wherever he went in the mid-eighties. In 1984 Janice Long, at this point presenting an early evening show on Radio One, selected their single “Why Does The Rain” as one of her three favourite singles of the year, an unexpected boost for both the band and a tiny, cash-strapped label like Creation. Intriguingly, I’ve also never met anyone else who genuinely believes it to be in the top three best records released that year – but if you’re going to win those kind of wild plaudits with anyone, a national radio DJ is surely your best outcome.

Then in 1985, journalist Danny Kelly was at a football match where he met Peter Hadfield, the manager of Terry Hall’s new group The Colourfield. Kelly enthused about The Loft, and Hadfield wondered if they might be available to support his group on a major venue tour of the UK. No money changed hands, and sweet and simple arrangements were made to give The Loft a lift on to the professional circuit. As anyone who has ever been in a band will tell you, things seldom happen this easily without meetings, pluggers and expensive tour budgets being involved.

Despite all this, Astor was unhappy, feeling as if he had little in common with the rest of his group and mumbling to McGee and other parties that he didn’t see them as a long-term proposition. He eventually split them up live on stage at the Hammersmith Palais while supporting the Colourfield, a move some deemed legendary and others strangely cold. Vague insults were directed at other band members, and the whole thing drew to a messy close – two singles and endless love and good fortune later, the group were no more.

Astor decided before they even split that The Weather Prophets sounded like a good name for his next group, and they were up and running relatively swiftly, recording a radio session for the ever enthusiastic Janice Long before a single note was captured on vinyl. “Almost Prayed” featured on that debut session and McGee felt strongly it should be their first single, but numerous attempts to re-record it at other studios ended unsatisfactorily, with the group failing to capture the snap and spontaneity of the BBC session. Eventually, all concerned had to reluctantly lease the recording from the BBC for commercial release, though the text on the rear of the sleeve informing you of the fact is written in such a tiny font you might miss it.

There’s a simple reason both Creation and the band were a bit ashamed of this step. BBC sessions often differ from the finished product in many ways, but are usually more stripped back and basic. Fans of bands will often nudge those not in the know and tell them that actually, the John Peel session version of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart” has a bite the single version didn’t, or that Microdisney’s Peel Session versions of the “Crooked Mile” era material punch more forcefully than the Lenny Kaye produced LP. Despite this, the suggestion that any polished, professional recording following a session simply wasn’t as good as the BBC’s quick efforts would be embarrassing for any up-and-coming band, especially one the major labels were keeping a close eye on. It carries suggestions of amateurism and an inability to hold it together as soon as the grown-ups leave the room.

The Weather Prophets would eventually re-record “Almost Prayed” for their debut major label album “Mayflower”, and sure enough, even with WEA’s money and time being spent on it, it remains feeble by comparison, as if the group have been asked to imagine the song being covered by Big Country. So what did producer Barry Andrews (no relation to the ex-XTC member) get right at Maida Vale that everyone else got wrong?

I wasn’t there obviously, but my suspicion is that “Almost Prayed” is one of those songs which gets duller, rather than shinier, the more you scrub it up. In its BBC form, it’s a thing of beauty, three minutes of simple indie-pop which jangles and thumps through Astor’s angst about the fluidity and unpredictability of life; the phrase “You can never go home again” given its best representation on 45. The song’s fuel comes from the almost folky simplicity of its hooks (you can imagine “I almost prayed” being murmured repeatedly at a folk night) and its directness. Place a mid-eighties production over that, and you’re smothering the track in padding when its bare bones need to be visible. Here is a song, after all, with limited chord structures and a simple swing which veers close to something approaching pop, but is ultimately too melancholy – it’s the sound of damp, drizzly nights spent by the coast attempting thought-walks, an introvert’s basic whistling tune. It’s not a daring, bold statement, which is what the band probably wanted their debut single to be, but it is strangely beautiful, which is all that matters in the long term.