33. New Order - Blue Monday (Factory)

 

9 weeks at number one from w/e 26th March 1983

Is there a danger that I may be adding nothing here? If you head over to your favourite search engine now and try to find videos, blog posts and think pieces about “Blue Monday”, you’ll be spoiled for choice. Aside from a few smart Alecs on Internet forums playing devil’s advocate, you will find a set of almost unified voices gushing very genuinely about the song; its sound, the sleeve design, and the way it transformed Factory Records and therefore (arguably) Manchester.

What you tend to hear less about is how it was received when it was released in March 1983. Some journalists loved it unreservedly, as expected – New Order were, after all, press darlings even at this point – but there wasn’t the unified response you might expect. Right at the bottom of the Smash Hits singles review pages, almost as an afterthought, you can read David Hepworth’s uncharitable verdict:

“It had to happen. New Order have dumped moody, repetitive guitars in favour of moody, repetitive synths and a drum kit with a pronounced stutter. After the first twenty minutes or so, it starts to cause a tense, nervous headache”.

His Single Of The Fortnight was Bobby “O” with “She Has A Way”, which doubtless caused nods of approval from Neil Tennant on a nearby Carnaby Street office desk. Bobby “O” has certainly been influential on his career, but the verdict that “She Has A Way” is not only better than “Blue Monday”, but better by notable lengths and margins is surprising. It's playing on a field that's closer to New Order than you might expect, but is like a slap on the back from a mate on a crowded dancefloor in comparison to their record - bouncy, jovial and uncomplicated. 

Over at the NME, Julie Burchill was so frustrated by Factory’s reluctance to label the A and B sides properly that she reviewed the version on the flipside “The Beach” instead, fleetingly and half-heartedly, before moving on.

Record Mirror went one better and ignored “Blue Monday” in their review pages altogether.

Even New Order themselves have since seemed perplexed by the single’s dominance of dancefloors and the public imagination. Their original aim was to produce something they could leave a machine to play as an encore while they remained offstage, and Bernard Sumner once stated “It’s not really a song, it’s more of a machine that sounds good on club systems”. He then added, without further elaboration, “There was a lot of trickery going on that you don't realise. It's not just the bass, there's quite a lot of subsonic”, sounding slightly like Bill Drummond by way of Derren Brown as he did so. Maybe he was just genuinely dumbfounded by the single’s success and reached for the only explanation that made sense, that some kind of irregular sonic hypnotism was at play in making the track a success,

Whatever certain segments of the press or the group themselves thought, it was a given that the New Order single that followed “Temptation” was probably going to be a minor hit. The goodwill and the fanbase left hanging over from their Joy Division days would see to that, and “Blue Monday” confidently (but not breathtakingly) pushed its way into the national charts at number 37 on the week ending 19th March.

The expected run for singles by cult bands at this point was for the single to nudge another few places up the charts, perhaps resulting in a triumphant Top of the Pops appearance by the group, only for the single to fail to cross over to the general public and disappear. What “Blue Monday” did instead was far odder, hanging around the Top 100 for 38 straight weeks, often nudging up a few places or falling a few notches as if it had no bigger plans other than to hang around. By June it had fallen out of the Top 40, only to return again with a fresh wave of goodwill in September, eventually climbing to the top ten for the first time.

Early in its run on 31st March 1983, the group appeared on “Top Of The Pops” and put in a live appearance so nervous, chaotic and devoid of charisma that I found myself red-faced, desperately defending the record to my family - “But it usually sounds brilliant!” I yelled (to which my Dad’s admittedly sensible response was “Well, if you want to appear live on television you’d better make sure you can actually manage it first”).

The dominant myth is that the single dipped down the charts the following week as a result of disgusted would-be purchasers voting with their feet. This is actually not true – it climbed the chart defiantly. Had New Order decided to show up and put on a glove puppet show live on air, it wouldn't have killed the record’s momentum, if “momentum” is an adequate word to describe its mid-table stamina. Neither music critics, radio DJs refusing to play all seven-and-a-half minutes of it, its unavailability on seven inch single or Factory Records themselves could kill “Blue Monday” off – it knew it needed to reach everyone, and if it managed it slowly and stealthily rather than in a typical eighties rush, then so be it.

30b. Southern Death Cult - Fatman (Situation Two)

 

One week at Number One from w/e 19th March 1983

The early eighties indie charts show another unexpected burst of volatility which propels the weeks old "Fatman" back to the top of the chart for one week. Let's take a look at what's going on lower down, shall we?

New Entries

10. Action Pact - People EP (Fallout)

Peak position: 10

Hard-edged female fronted punk outfit from the modestly populated village of Stanwell in Surrey. "People" is all buzzsaw guitars playing descending chords while the rhythm section crunches behind them. It's all a little bit old hat by 1983's standards, but Action Pact were sharp enough to cut through the crowd despite that. 

14. Disorder - Mental Disorder EP (Disorder)

Peak position: 14

21. Sisters Of Mercy - Anaconda (Merciful Release)

Peak position: 2

The Sisters finally begin to position themselves as major players with "Anaconda". Metronomic drum patters combine with fat basslines, squeaky guitar riffs and Eldritch's dramatic vocals which are the dominant force here. The band are able to sit back and cruise while he ghoulishly vaults, seduces and sneers away, shimmying up to chew the scenery at gallery level. 

"Anaconda" put the group in a dominant position among the Goth set, which they would maintain until the plug was pulled on the project.

23. Urban Dogs - Limo Life (Fallout)

Peak position: 21

25. Wire - Crazy About Love (Rough Trade)

Peak position: 12

One of the most inexplicable - and largely forgotten - Wire releases of all time, "Crazy About Love" was a 16 minute improvised 1979 Peel Session track. It's not the absolute mess it might have been, with the group exerting an impressive control over some studio ongoings which sound in danger of sliding into disarray. Saxophones squawk and vocals occasionally snark through gritted teeth, but the jazzy pitter-patter of the drum kit and the certain foundations of the bassline stop everything from collapsing.

Some listeners and (allegedly) John Peel and his producer John Walters were unamused, but for all the anarchy offered this is still the closest the group sounded to the loosest, most unhinged examples of sixties psychedelia. Punk Floyd, if you will.

26. Emergency - Points Of View (Riot City)

Peak position: 26

If you're only going to release one single, you'd better make it sharp - and Manc punks Emergency certainly manage that here. "Points Of View" almost sounds like something the Good Vibrations label of Belfast might have put out five years before, bringing the anthems and bright melodies back to the underground. 

27. The Reptiles - Reptiles For Tea (EP) (Volume)

Peak position: 22

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

Number One In The National Charts

Bonnie Tyler: Total Eclipse of Heart (CBS)

32. Aztec Camera - Oblivious (Rough Trade)

Four weeks at number one from w/e 19th February 1983

Winter 1983 for me was a period of upheaval. The health of my grandfather had worsened, and a family decision was made to move out of suburban East London and deeper into Essex, to a house large enough to take everyone in. Moving to a new town meant I had to go to a new school, (struggle to) make new friends, and have a new guitar teacher, two traffic jam ridden miles from where we now lived. In my memories of those trips, it’s dark and raining and the orange streetlights created neon streaks through the grime on the windows of my Dad’s Datsun.

“Now remember,” he said on the way to the teacher’s house, “this is just a try-out. If you don’t get on with him or don’t like him, we can find you another”.

On the second or maybe third occasion, I saw he had a copy of XTC’s “English Settlement” propped up against his stereo and was quietly, shyly flabbergasted, but felt too nervous to mention it. None of my friends or family liked XTC. They were my own little obsession everyone was trying to coax me away from, for reasons of their own. My friends deemed them to be ugly old bastards. My parents felt they were “untalented New Wave rubbish, he can’t even sing”, whereas they were “punk rock” according to my brothers. My new guitar teacher had obviously found his way to them, though - and I decided that if he taught me badly (though he never did) or talked crap (which he sometimes did) he would always be forgiven as one of the enlightened ones, and I would stick with him.

A couple of weeks later he gently asked me what I was listening to at home and who my favourite bands were. I named XTC and he looked taken aback. “Well, they’re brilliant, but I wasn’t expecting that answer!” he replied. “Tell you what, if you want to listen to things which will help you think about your own work on the guitar, there’s someone else you might also be interested in...”

(I feared the worst at this point. Guitar teachers were always recommending Gordon Giltrap and Sky to me, usually with the justification “They’re in the pop charts and they’ll teach you a thing or two”. As if  a ten-year old was going to use their limited pocket money to buy a bloody Gordon Giltrap album.)

“Roddy Frame,” my teacher continued. “He’s got a band called Aztec Camera. He’s very young but he’s really good on the guitar. Great songwriter too”.

Aztec Camera were already familiar to me through occasional brief mentions in the music magazines, but I hadn’t heard any of their work. I made a mental note to turn up the radio when they next came on. I would have a long wait ahead, but “Oblivious” burst on to the airwaves on its re-release that autumn, and I taped it on to my cheap little silver radio-cassette player so I could listen to it again. 

I liked it a lot, but given my age, I had very limited financial means and even going out to buy a single from the local Woolworths required planning and forethought. For whatever reason, “Oblivious” didn’t make the cut, and nor did the album it came from, “High Land Hard Rain”. I could hear enough of what I wanted from it – tricksiness which was neither showy nor pretentious, a gorgeous hook in the chorus, haunting backing vocals, lots of ideas and movement – without loving it enough to commit any money from the piggy bank. 

Listening to “Oblivious” again, trying to approach it with fresh ears, I’m struck for the first time by the fact that my teacher’s suggestion was probably an attempt to be helpful, to try to find something similar that might be in roughly the same wheelhouse as “English Settlement”. The samba rhythm topped off with a busy acoustic guitar, zinging and zipping around, isn’t a million miles off an arrangement Partridge and Moulding might have tried for that album – unlike XTC, though, this song has sprung from the bones of a very young, optimistic man on the brink of better things, rather than a tired and weary songwriter with growing personal issues.

“Oblivious” is an unashamed bash at a pop hit on the songwriter’s own terms. It’s not simple, it’s not necessarily straightforward, and at its heart is arguably a bit too pleased with itself, but the restlessness, the hooks, the drive are so powerful and bright that they dazzle the listener enough to trojan horse the smart alec elements in. Even the acoustic guitar solo in the middle is almost too sunny, too happy with itself to sound accomplished, in the way that upbeat music often causes us to overlook any complexity. Frame finger picks one note for ages before flying off anywhere ambitious on the fretboard, almost taunting the listener not to expect any more effort.

31. Blitz - New Age (Future)

 

One week at number one on w/e 12^th February 1983

The whole concept of Oi began to look exhausted as 1982 drew to a close (there are those who may even argue the whole idea gasped its last interesting idea within three weeks of Gary Bushell dreaming it up). Tight, restrictive genres with unshakeable and conservative ideologies can occasionally focus minds and result in fantastic rock music, but the more cooks there are raiding ingredients from the same small pantry, the faster the good ideas dry up.

Blitz, however, were proving themselves to be a bit of an exception to the rule in late 1982. Their album “Voice Of A Generation” bucked trends by reaching number 27 in the national album charts in November; a better result than many of the better known bands and influencers in their field were managing at that point. Sham 69 were no more. The Angelic Upstarts were by now a busted flush, and had only managed the same peak position while on a major label (and not a cash-strapped indie) the year before.

Blitz’s achievements were actually extraordinary given how resolutely uncommercial a lot of their output was, but despite this, it seems the group sensed changes brewing. “New Age” is, unlike a lot of their previous singles, a proper anthem; spindly, almost proto-Big Country guitar riffs introduce the track as the bass drum thuds in a manner barely heard since glam rock ceased to dominate rock music. Meanwhile the lyrics occupy territory previously obsessively held by Jimmy Pursey and Pete Townshend, mentioning “the kids” a lot and their doings “on the street”.

Of all the singles which could be fairly badged as “Oi”, this is actually one of the finest. If the British public had been prepared to yield and let any of those street urchins into the national Top 40 in Winter 1983, this would have been the one to do it. “New Age” isn’t trying to break radical new ground as a sop to Paul Morley or offer any concessions to the average Woolworths buyer, but there’s an exhilarating, powerful rush to it which feels as influenced by Slade as it is Sham 69; a defiant little record which is desperate to communicate something far beyond its core audience.

30. Southern Death Cult - Fatman (SItuation Two)

Five weeks at number from w/e 8th January 1983.

Back in the mid-nineties I was complaining to a person “inside” the music business about a local band I loved who hadn’t been signed yet. To me their future seemed a no-brainer – they had the image, the songs and were astonishing live. Where was the roadblock? Did they just have rotten management?

The knowing insider gave me a withering look and broke it down very simply, barely pausing for thought; it seemed little reflection was required.

“Dave, you have to understand, there’s absolutely no stability in that band. You’re right, two of the members are turning out good songs, but they go through drummers and bass players like I lose socks. They stop, they start, they freeze again, sometimes for months. No major label is going to look at that situation and not see a huge problem; they want a solid, fixed group of individuals they can develop, work with and promote. They want to know that if they put the money in tomorrow, they’re going to still have a band to work with in two year’s time”.

He was right, of course (probably, although I’m sure there have been random exceptions). I know even less about the workings of the early 21st Century music biz, but part of me wonders if this rule would still apply today; presumably any label wishing to invest in such a group would whittle them down to a core duo and hire a few waged musicians to work and tour with them on the side. The idea of a “group identity” seems to have become less essential now. Back in the nineties, though, and certainly in the eighties, it mattered.

In a similar fashion, as we’ve journeyed through the NME Indie Charts of the last two years, we’ve come across a number of fragile units swelling with promise who quickly imploded, and we may have found ourselves baffled as to how they landed on labels like Rough Trade or Mute. The answer may very well lie in their own internal struggles – did Theatre Of Hate, for example, really want to press up their own records, or were there just some extremely serious problems within their own ranks which made them an undesirable business prospect?

Of all the bands we’ve brushed past or will meet in future, Southern Death Cult are the most extreme example of this phenomenon. “Moya” twinned with “Fatman” (although the NME Chart only lists “Fatman”) was the only single they put out before splitting. It was a monstrous fringe hit, popping up on numerous indie compilations from that day to this, and it soundtracked many nights out for a particular youth cult, and acted as the kind of foundation enormous careers are usually built on.

Hold that thought, though, because while Southern Death Cult disintegrated before they could release any other new material (besides some odds, sods and session tracks album their label were quick to put out), their lead singer Ian Astbury formed the similarly named Death Cult with the similarly volatile Theatre of Hate’s Billy Duffy, who eventually became The Cult of whom little more needs to be said. Astbury clearly knew which side his onions were cooked on and wasn’t going to throw the b(r)and name into rock’s great compost bin.

Despite his involvement, Southern Death Cult were a hugely different group in terms of both line-up and style, as “Fatman” clearly demonstrates. Astbury’s vocal stylings are already fully developed here, and his deliberately strained, strangulated war cries dominate “Fatman” as much as they do “She Sells Sanctuary”, cutting through the clutter beneath them to act as a guiding laser point.

What’s going on beneath is enormous and feels like every single idea the group had that month. Drums clatter, guitars borrow their stylings from both Dick Dale and Billy Duffy – he may not be working with Astbury yet, but you can feel the ground being prepared – and the tune rolls and stumbles in an organised heap towards its conclusion. There is no obvious chorus here, just a cascade of possible hooks thundering by while the drummer rattles straight and orderly patterns behind the conflicting ideas.

I’ve owned “Fatman” on a compilation for years now and never quite taken to it, but listening to it afresh again, it’s immediately striking how influential it was. You can certainly hear the template for the first iteration of The Stone Roses here from their “Garage Flower” days, but Astbury and co have a sense of measure and control the Baby Roses never quite managed. Perhaps more importantly than that, this is also unapologetic Goth Rock; Astbury has often insisted that his joking reference to Visigoths in relation to friend and associate Andi Sex Gang created the name of an entire subcult and genre.