New Order - 1993 05 01 NME "Republic" Review

NME - TEN SUMNER'S TALES*

*OK, WE KNOW THERE'S 11

NEW ORDER
Republic (London/All formats)

A SHOWER of sparks, some sprinkling of dust, a flurry of snow, a stiff breeze and New Order return near-triumphant after four years in the superstar wilderness, still sculpting and creating music as dizzyingly pretty as an azure chemical sunset over Los Angeles. The oceanscapes, landscapes and cityscapes of the world might have changed almost beyond recognition in the interim, but this Mancunian quartet have managed to retain their poignant, indefinable essence while voyaging tentatively into new waters.

It can't be the easiest task in Christendom to sculpt an album that marries the machine-dreams of the purest Euro techno with funk percussiveness and absolutely haywire melodies - these musical cul-de-sacs are usually mutually exclusive - and string wayward, frothy, accusing and tender poetry on top, but more often than not they've pulled it off.

But what do New Order mean to that presumed target audience of spotty kids, indie-necks and the remnants of the late-’70s/early-‘80s raincoat brigade? Does anyone remember the way three-quarters of them helped take us on an exploration of the vagaries of spirit and inner psyche in the howl-against-the-elements known as Joy Division? Can anyone revere people who fall down drunk by the side of the road like the character in The Fall's 'Hard Life in Country'? Is their rather perverse approach to making and promoting music worth emulating or taking tips from? These are rhetorical questions for a group who've never got ahead on the cult of personality, who've traded as enigmas and who do not seem to stand for anything beyond basic decency, basic humanism and glorious (if you can afford it) excess. "Look at your life before you start on mine," Bernard Sumner shrugs on 'Special' and you can understand where he's coming from.

'Republic' has been produced and co-written with Stephen Hague with, for the most part, positive results. The only gnawing bone of contention is that he doesn't seem to realise that Peter Hook's melancholic, melodic bass-playing is the soul of New Order, the point from which all the other emotions start to make sense. Hook seems to have been confined to playing bit-parts on his own LP and the effect is that the tracks take some getting used to, such is their unfamiliarity, although when they finally sink in they just keep on growing. The single ’Regret’ is not symptomatic of what follows, being classically hummable, guitar-led New Order, but at least you can hear Hooky.

'World' drops you straight into the unfathomed new waters with techno frills, keyboard decorations, female backing vocals giving an authentic soulful feel and a silly lyric based on an idea as invigorating as love-as-currency. ‘Ruined In A Day' ups the mournful stakes: there's a nice synth-drum figure, orchestrated keyboards, non-specific lyrics and Bernard talking in your ear. ‘Spooky’ is even eerier, if upbeat, as a dislocated techno pulse is trimmed with little melodies and a defiant lyric. And 'Everyone Everywhere’ is another classy pop blast, aimed perhaps at the homeless.

Steven Morris and Gillian Gilbert seem to be in the engine room, him on treated, thunderous disco drums and her on moving keyboard refrains (Bernard helps here as well) and their pop sensibilities remain to the fore for the bruising second side. ‘Young Offender‘ is gorgeously catchy with two contrasting vocal lines weaving around a saga that perhaps concerns gun running in Manchester and perhaps muses on the fate of Happy Mondays. Then again, who knows? Ambiguity and opaqueness remain Bernard‘s treasured lyrical weapons.

The burst of bile in ‘Liar’ initially disturbs (“I am the voice of reason but you betrayed me") but later becomes mildly chafing when the soulful backing vocals drop in. And after the jungle techno of ‘Chemical', there‘s a surprise in store courtesy of the haunting ‘Times Change‘, which features Bernard, among other things, rapping, ”In a manger like Christ I lay/Yellow fever, yellow hay", while a carpet of fuzzy electronics unfolds in the backing track.

‘Special‘ is achingly beautiful both in sentiment - “I’m intoxicated everytime I hear your name" - and in execution, with the clear ringing tones of Hook's minor-key melodies buoying up the synth clatter as you marvel at the vivid imagery. The closing ‘Avalanche' is nothing short of stupendous, however. With voices whispering “faith” over the intro, martial drums, great swathes of keyboards and a fragile guitar figure, it recalls the closing scenes of Shohei lmamura‘s The Ballad Of Narayama (1983) where tradition makes the young man carry his grandma on his back up a snow-covered mountain, to be left to die with the elements. There's the same sense of pathos, of something unfulfilled, with an undertow of cackling laughter.

‘Technique' was so utterly splendiferous you‘d have thought it impossible for New Order to return without making sorry spectacles of themselves, but they can keep you both weightless in space and fully anchored to the ground on this showing - no mean feat. Rediscover them. (8)

Dele Fadele
1 May 1993 New MusicaI Express