1993 08 21 New Order NME

LAST OF THE SUMMER WHINE?

• They are arguably the most important British band since The Rolling Stones. They’ve influenced the way people have listened to popular music for the last decade. So why, after they survived the death of Factory, is everyone saying that Reading will be NEW ORDER’S last stand? BETTY PAGE gets tangled in the daily drama of the band’s US tour in search of the Holy Grail, the answer to the pressing question: is this the end of the road for New Order? Last Orders (?): KEVIN CUMMINS

Intrigue... Confusion... Paranoia... Uncertainty... Mindgames... This story has it all. The only thing it doesn't have is an ending, happy or otherwise. Because this is the tale of New Order playing cat and mouse, and Bernard Sumner putting the cat among the pigeons. Possibly.

It is also a tortuous tale, a painstaking trail of clues and red herrings which culminates in the distinct possibility that, in the 13th year of their existence, having survived death, excess and business failure, New Order are about to jack it all in.

Imagine the scene: having just completed a rigorous promotional campaign for their sixth studio LP, ‘Republic’, and performed briefly in Europe, New Order are back in America for a compact, bearable, Sumner-friendly, eight-date visit, having exorcised the memory of that life-threatening US tour of '89.

The NME are invited to join them, on certain conditions. One: the band do not want to do a posed group shot. Two: Bernard will not do an interview. Three: they will be staying in different hotels to us. Four: we are not guaranteed backstage access. We wonder what the angle is, why they even want us there if that’s their attitude. The question is not what we want out of New Order, but what they want out of us...

Thus it was that we travelled to Chicago, uncertain smiles on our faces, wondering if it was just New Order being difficult sods again. But on arrival, our impression that here was a band ill-at-ease with itself and the media was confirmed, when a message came down from tour manager Andy Robinson via their visibly stressed and embarrassed PR Jayne Houghton that New Order didn’t want “the press” near their hotel that night.

“The press” - meaning myself and photographer Kevin Cummins, who has grown up with the band over the past 17 years, for God’s sake - are thus reduced to lurking in the lobby of the Hotel Ponceteria, hoping for an illicit glimpse of our ‘prey'.

The first diagnosis is not good: either this is a band who hates what they are doing, forced to languish amidst marbled hals, indoor fountains, hotel pianists and fake elegance, or New Order are turning into the identikit rock band with an ego problem. It is a thoroughly tense avid depressing evening.

We escape to do a little worship at the altar of sports hero Michael Jordan, who has his own restaurant with a giant basketball in the roof. White marvelling at this brazen display of the power of celebrity, the sort that would no doubt make Bernard vomit, a New Order record wafts over the PA. It’s a moment of pure irony; we can’t get near them, but they're following us around anyway.

THE FOLLOWING day, we are summoned to the soundcheck at the World Music Theatre, an 18,000 capacity amphitheatre in a field some distance from downtown Chicago. Advance billing for Van Halen and Duran Duran indicates New Order’s current position in the American rock league.

We gingerly skirt the arena, unsure as to the reception awaiting us. The familiar figure of Peter Hook hunches over his bass in front of his personalised 'Bass How Low Can You Go’ speakers. He teases us with a snatch of ’Love Will Tear Us Apart' before swinging round and greeting us in his usual avuncular manner through the mic. Maybe we’ve got it all wrong; maybe the angst is emanating from the people around them rather than from the band members themselves. We’ll see.

We spot a familiar face in the auditorium - it is Graham Massey of 808 State (support on the whole tour) who sits with us to observe The Hook practise his rock god act. Graham reports a relatively problem-free tour so far, apart from an incident in Dallas when Bernard developed an aversion to yellow light and informed the lighting engineer exactly where he could put it. Graham is surely the only person left in Manchester never to have seen New Order live, an oversight he is now compensating for by watching every gig on the tour.

Our reverie is disturbed by a missive from Hooky which, thankfully, serves to lighten the atmosphere and make us realise that at least some things haven't changed. It reads: "Cummins isn't to photograph me with any of me birds or me drugs.”

The word ‘incorrigible’ springs reassuringly to mind. Graham turns immediately to Kevin and volunteers to pose with Hooky's spoils instead. Oh, how we laughed.

INTERVIEW TIME approaches, and I have still not even exchanged social niceties with Stephen Morris and Gillian Gilbert, Quite how I am expected to discuss this tour without having seen the show, I am not sure, but this formal chat is part of the deal, and any contact with the elusive quartet provides something of a relief.

The unassuming yet friendly couple are quick to offer their apologies for the previous night’s ‘misunderstanding’. They had no idea we were in town, they say, and hope no offence was taken. Second diagnosis: the tour manager has a bad case of protectivitis....

Now it must be said that this is a strange time to get cold feet about “the press”, because New Order have, since signing to London Records, become a finely-honed interview machine, their words appearing in print more times in the last few months than during the whole of their Factory shelf-life put together. Promotional and activity have become their unwieldy middle names, but does the corporate cap fit?

Forty-five minutes of enforced intimacy with Stephen and Gillian provides a few clues... Here are two people who used to listen to dance music and go out clubbing all the time, and now they struggle to think of a record that excites them, and are more likely to go out for a drink and hope they turn the sound down.

They clearly now see New Order more as a job, something that will provide them both with security. They have been doing most of what the record company have suggested, simply because they’ve never tried it before, but they’re already shaping up to say no next time. Why? The crucial issue of control, something they always had at Factory...

“How much control we actually have any more is open to debate,” Stephen says, frankly. “For example, we spent a few days doing the video for "World’ (the forthcoming single) and the Americans hated it, said we'd got to do a live video. Apparently they want the personality of the band to come across. Now, if somebody could tell me what that is, please...”

“They just want you to be a rock band,” adds Gillian.

Different record company (Qwest) but it’s an attitude that bothers them. They have, says Stephen, come to terms with the fact that they have sold a little bit of their soul already, there’s going to be no more videos for art's sake. But when London start talking about a fourth single selling up to Christmas, and then there’s the ‘Republic’ promotional shoulder-bags and baseball caps - it's not very New Order, is it?

“London and Warners (in America) have got this thing called New Order and they want to exploit it," ruminates Stephen. “They're looking for an angle and they expect you to tell ’em what it is.”

So, no more doing it on the 'being cool' level. From now on, New Order will be subjected to the out-and-out marketing type thing. If and when a new album turns up, that is, but as Stephen reminds us, London do have the back catalogue to keep them busy. And let's not forget The Other Two, whose LP is finally being released in October after gathering dust for over a year, a sore point for the pair, who were talked out of releasing it before 'Republic'.

Gillian and Stephen wonder if it might have been the worst move they ever made....

THAT DIFFICULT first interview over, we actually make it backstage. The atmosphere isn’t tense, but it certainly lacks a vibe. There is, perhaps, an air of resignation. Nobody is very communicative.

Bernard finally arrives with girlfriend Sarah and nine-month-old baby Dylan, who’s feeling poorly after his transAtlantic flight. It seems strange to observe this boyish man in such complete nurturing father mode, but it becomes him. Gillian and Stephen sit quietly reading the English papers. Hooky fidgets nervously, his lithe legs showing a tattoo or two. He can think only of a good kip.

This is not the roister-doistering New Order of legend. This is a group of people behaving in a completely normal way, as if they are on a family outing. They’re comfortable in each other’s presence without feeling the need to converse, like an old married couple who stay together out of habit.

In the arena, 808 State are whipping up some Chicago vibes in the area. The audience is textbook college radio, the girls dressed up in black crochet and little else, the boys in a selection of right-on T-shirts from Chicago Bulls to Mary Chain to Pet Shop Boys. A few have it tragically wrong and sport Madchester baggies.

The The are second support tonight and Matt Johnson’s voice is on its last legs. He manfully battles through a 40-minute set of intense blues-rock, and as the sun goes down, he gets the crowd on their feet. It’s going to be an excellent night.

Actually witnessing New Order stroll onstage is a magical experience for these 18,000 excitable Chicagoans. Absolutely everyone is up for it, thrilled to bits. The band lurch into ‘Ruined In A Day’, the way-too-downbeat last single, and the sound is bass-heavy, ideal. The light-show (projected onto a series of white canvases surrounding the band) is like watching a mini-Hacienda on a Saturday night.

Bernard is almost animated, skipping around the stage like a conscious Shaun Ryder, Hooky is revelling in the spotlight, lapping up the rippling crescendos of approval from the crowd every time he so much as runs his fingers through his luxuriant locks. Gillian and Stephen remain satisfyingty aloof. This is perfect, exactly how it should be.

They do four tracks off ‘Republic’, including the increasingly catchy and poignant ‘World’, the remainder is a kind of US hits package, peaking with the sublime 'True Faith’ and finishing with the inevitable ‘Fookin’ Blue Monday', as Bernard renames it.

For an hour-and-a-quarter I cast aside my misgivings and believe beyond any doubt that New Order are the best band in the world. I even confess to having a lump in my throat filled with a strange mixture of pride, joy, sadness and nostalgia. At last, I understand what all the fuss is about. If they play like this at Reading, there won't be a dry eye in the field.

An orderly procession of people with After Show passes are being led into New Order's dressing room in manageable groups. Some are competition winners, others are record company people, yet more work for local record stores. We are in the land of Meet'n'Greet. a land which few bands relish entering, yet here are the Most Difficult Band In The World, doing their duty with good grace.

Hooky, now sporting a T-shirt bearing a saucy dominatrix design, pours himself two large vodkas with orange and swears he’ll collapse soon. But not before he’s shaken another hand, heard another whining American accent tell him it was a great show. Record company men in beige slacks (polyester) stand around talking about the sell-in for the Paul Simon “boxed”. This is backstage schmooze hell, but even Bernard is keeping up with it.

The highlight of the evening (apart from observing Hooky’s chat-up technique) is when a fan brings in his licence plate - NU ORDR 3, pretty radical for a city so obsessed with sport. Bernard likes it so much he summons Cummins to take a picture of him with it, momentarily forgetting his ’no pictures, no interviews’ line. Maybe he is actually enjoying himself.

THE NEXT day involves a flight to Toronto and little else. Bernard has heard about the ultimate sports shopping experience that is Niketown, and he asks his American manager Thomas Atensio to take him there the following morning. It seems pointless to tell him that it’s only two minutes’ walk from his hotel; Thomas is there to make sure Bernard is happy at all times, and that’s what he does.

For us, there’s time to think. We're getting conflicting signals; the band don’t seem to mind us being around, but there’s been the odd disapproving glare from certain other quarters. Who’s protecting who, and from what?

And there’s the worrying feeling that New Order don’t behave like a band at all. It reminds me of quote about the Rolling Stones, which said: “For years now The Stones have only assembled for a group portrait on the rare occasion of a record or tour to promote, and there is little the photographer can do to suggest they are anything other than old colleagues, pleased but not overjoyed to stand together in the same frame.” (Mat Snow, The British Journal Of Photography). Sadly, that says it all.

I immerse myself in ‘Republic' again, and find myself falling in love with 'World'. It could be a massive hit, but then maybe it’s too sad, like ‘Ruined In A Day', like the whole album. So bloody melancholy sometimes, it chokes you. Kevin says it sounds like a requiem. I think he might be right. I'm really depressed now...

At O'Hare Airport, we touch cases with the New Order party before they take their seats in Executive Class and we retire to the cheap seats. The journey into Toronto is like driving into Manchester down the Wilmslow Road; it's a real multi-cultural mix, and there's even a Rusholme Avenue to make everyone feel at home.

We then spend another fruitless evening in the bar of the Hotel Ponceteria, Toronto, hoping against hope that the band might be socialising in the relaxed, unhurried atmosphere of their elegant lobby. No chance. They've all scarpered.

Instead, we enjoy the relaxed, unhurried company of New Order's UK manager and unofficial fifth member, Rob Gretton, who now appears to occupy the role of figurehead, letting tour manager Andy do all the hard work. This gives him the freedom to exercise his exquisitely dry Mancunian wit on “the press' and show his generosity by buying us all an excellent Thai meal.

At the eleventh hour, we are joined by Bernard, Sarah and young Dylan, who have just had an alarming encounter. A man looking like Tony Wilson after a night on the Tennents Extra has attempted to strike up a conversation with them. Halfway through their spicy Thai soup, they realise he is sitting at the restaurant bar. This provides an excellent opportunity for some mischievous Wilson-slandering, all unprintable.

Bernard seems quite unruffled. The presence of his immediate family is obviously having a calming effect on him. So calming, in fact, that as he’s about to leave, he informs a nonplussed tour manager that he doesn’t intend doing the soundcheck tomorrow. There's shopping to be done, a rest to be had, a baby to be nurtured. Andy doesn’t argue; after all, Bernard does what Bernard wants.

NO HIDING in hotel rooms for us hacks ~ it’s a bright new morning and the CN Tower beckons. The world’s tallest structure, it has at its feet the magnificent 50.000-seater Skydome, home of the Toronto Blue Jays, last year's World Series baseball champions. It is while soaking up the atmosphere of match day that we notice a different kind of team are playing here on September 15: the rock goliath we know as Depeche Mode.

In a daydream, I wonder why New Order, a band a hundred times more influential than Depeche Mode, never had the ambition to make it as big as the Basildonians. And how Depeche Mode, a band who may never have existed without Joy Division, managed to turn themselves into a massive stadium band. ..

Todays concert is in Never-Never Land. Canaria's Wonderland, in fact, the native answer to Disney complete with rollercoasters, water rides and Fred Flintstone. It’s the total leisure experience: pay the usual rate to spend all day getting wet and thrilled shitless, and for just $9 more, you get New Order, 808 State and Sunscreem too. at the adjacent Kingswood Music Theatre. Fabulous value for your rock dollar.

We slip effortlessly backstage, where Stephen, Gillian and Hooky are poring excitedly over the theme park ride guide. Hooky is possibly more excited, however, about what he did the previous night. He went for a “wild" night on the town to a strip club where the girls got their kit off on table-tops and brought new meaning to the words “in your face”. Hooky has invited Crystal, Melody and Sparkle to the gig tonight. Incorrigible is, once again, the word that springs to mind. Not for nowt, says Stephen, did he earn the nickname ‘Brian Rix’ on previous US tours.

The atmosphere is almost cavalier, which is fitting, as it is also Hooky interview day. But first, there is the small matter of those magnificent rides. Steve, Gillian, Hooky and half the crew decide to go for it, and so the park’s security guards are summoned to escort a party of 12 to the front of the queues for each of the scariest rollercoasters. Now that's what celebrity can do for you.

Hooky, naturally, has to prove his machismo by going on the hairiest rides twice, in the front seat. Gillian surprises herself by going on the backwards and upside-down twisting Bat rollercoaster, which Hooky announces has become his favourite ride ever. Everyone gets very wet, very happy, and for two-and-a-half hours forget they are The Band and we are The Press.

The two security guards get to meet the group they have grown up listening to, and Hooky gets his picture taken with Fred Flintstone. Kevin had, of course, requested Barney Rubble (Bernard’s nickname from Warsaw days), and the band appreciate the exquisite irony, but the Costumed Pals department chose to provide us with Fred instead, who turned out to be a New Order fan called Heather.

An exhausted bunch make their way back to the parallel unreality of a rock ’n’ roll show. We are brought back to earth with the news that Andy has told Jayne he doesn’t want us in the dressing room before the gig. The fairydust has worn off; we are plain old nosey hacks again,

SOME TIME later, when Hooky has installed himself in his leather stage keks, he strides out to the interview table. He has absolutely knackered himself in theme park heaven and yawns persistently throughout our conversation. At least, I think to myself, this will be the easy-going part of the job, chatting to good old matey Peter, the one person who has tried his best to make us feel welcome. But as soon as he sits down, he appears jittery, and not just because he’s about to go onstage in less than two hours. I ask a serious question, and he fidgets, yawns, says something dismissive and unquotable, then tries to put me off by playfully accusing me of floundering if I so much as pause. Bastard.

What quickly becomes clear is that Hooky is enjoying this tour; he’s just getting into the swing of it and it’s nearly over. He’d have been the most willing to carry on, but it wasn’t worth the fight. He’ll happily talk about his present girlfriend, his previous girlfriend, his daughter Heather, eight years old and a Take That fan, how proud he is of the band’s legacy, the negativity of British people; but try and draw him out on the sensitive subject of New Order’s future and he gets slightly defensive then starts the game-playing again. Here is an example:

Do you think about security?

“In some ways and not in others. We still take chances with what we do, but our investments are still precarious. We’re still not out of it yet, even though the record’s done well, there’s still a lot of work to do.”

Gillian and Stephen say they feel in their waters there’s still a skeleton in the closet waiting to jump out. You must be through the worst of it, surely?

“No comment. Can’t tell you that (slight pause)... You’re struggling now, aren’t you, you’re struggling!” (snort, evil cackle...)... Pig.

I ask the question I will ask all the members of New Order. Is ‘Republic’ a rebirth, or is it the sound of something falling apart?

“Can’t tell, really, net got a bleedin’ clue. We’ve never been ones for planning.”

Do you thrive on trauma? 

“Must do. Even though you hate to say it, in some ways it could’ve helped.”

Do you feel you can now survive anything?

“Sometimes it’s hard to imagine anything else that could happen. It keeps you ticking over, steps you being complacent. Perhaps it’s better to struggle.”

Are you looking forward to the future?

“Yeah, very much, there’s still so many things I enjoy doing. I wouldn’t really mind if I was selling papers down Market Street. Barney always says my positivity is positively sickening."

As we finish bantering, Bernard’s black stretch limo glides past. There are 45 minutes remaining before New Order take the stage, and Hooky wants to go off and pace the dressing room. Yes, even Pirate Kings get nervous and this time, he says, it’s worse than ever.

DESPITE THE presence of some hardcore fans in the audience, the Toronto show just doesn’t gel. It’s the classic New Order Live Syndrome in effect: flip a coin, and if it’s heads, they’re pure majesty; if it’s tails, they're lacklustre. No halfway house.

Steve, Gillian and Hooky wore themselves out on the thrill rides and Bernard responds with a tired performance. Not even the boy behind me screaming “Barney is GOD!” at the top of his lungs seems to have a galvanising effect.

Later, on the backstage sofa, Bernard seems quite willing to chat, but that might just be the couple of glasses of white wine he’s had. (No Pernod on this tour). He’s the most receptive we’ve seen him since we arrived, and with evil journalistic intent, Kevin and I sit down next to him.

We think our moment has passed when Sarah announces she wants to leave. Kevin asks him what he thinks about Depeche Mode playing at the Skydome, and he switches automatically into interview mode. “If you want to talk about that,” he says, “come back with me in the car...”

Feeling oddly like I am about to find the Holy Grail, I follow Bernard to his waiting limo, tape recorder cunningly concealed in my baseball cap. But just when I thought we’d made the great escape, I hear the voice of the tour manager behind me. “You can't get in there,” he says. But Bernard invited me, I plead. “Stephen and Gillian have to get in, there won’t be any room for you." Ask him yourself, I beg, he wants me to go with them...

Then, in one quick manoeuvre, I am wedged next to Gillian opposite the baby seat, and we’re off. Bernard now seems in a daze, baby Dylan is sleeping, so we make the journey back to Toronto in excruciating silence so as not to wake him.

Back at the forbidden portals of the Hotel Ponceteria, I start to squirm, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do next. Bernard hands me some baby things to carry, and I follow him up to his room, constantly checking that it’s OK that I talk to him. I shift uncomfortably in the comer of their bedroom while Sarah sees to Dylan and Bernard decides where to do the interview. He decides to commandeer Stephen and Gillian’s room. They are, of course, absolutely delighted about this.

“Ah, come in,” says Stephen to Bernard in his best sarcastic voice. “Sit down, make yourself at home, feel free to help yourself to the mini-bar...”

Stephen’s obvious annoyance goes right over Bernard’s head, as he plants himself in the corner and asks for a drink. A stilted conversation about American comics ensues, before Stephen and Gillian announce in exaggerated stage whispers that they’ll go and see how Sarah is.

God, I feel terrible. This is so embarrassing, but it’s also strange. Don’t they want me to talk to Bernard? What do they think he’s going to say? Everyone seems to be out to stop me doing this interview except Bernard himself...

During the next 20 minutes or so, the phone rings four times, Stephen and Gillian come back twice, each time Bernard just asks to be left alone for two minutes. He worries that he’ll sound too pissed, and asks me not to make him sound stupid. He sounds perfectly thoughtful to me.

After the umpteenth interruption I give up and go downstairs, where Stephen and Gillian are waiting to go to meet the others in the amusingly named Bovine Sex Club. As soon as we’re in the taxi it’s like the Spanish Inquisition. What did Bernard say? Did he repeat himself? He usually does when he’s like that. He'll talk to anyone, you know. You don’t want to take any notice of him. He’s suffering from Lead Singer Syndrome... Ouch! They’re fishing for Bernard information. They want to know if he said something they should know about...

So what did Bernard say, then? Well, here’s the twist in the tale. We arrive back in London on the Monday morning. I get a message, via Rob Gretton’s office, saying that Bernard didn’t want me to use any of the interview because he was off his head at the time. Either that, or he wanted to see what I’d written about him. I suggest a further interview, on the ’phone, at his convenience. He agrees.

OVER THE next few days, the industry rumours start getting stronger that New Order are going to split, that Reading will be their last ever show. I realise that everything now focuses on Bernard: the whole future of New Order is down to him, and the industry, the fans, the rest of the band are waiting to hear if he's going to call it a day.,...

He finally calls when he gets back from America. We speak for 30 minutes, during which time some straight talking is done. When I try listening back to the tape, his voice has failed to record; he sounds like a ghost in the machine.

It may well have been the last interview he ever does for New Order, and I have to remember Iris words.

It has, he says, been a high-pressure period for the last two years, and Reading will be the end of that cycle. He’s had a suitcase packed since February, and New Order have done one radio and two TV documentaries, countless interviews and, erm, countable gigs. They’ve done it all because they understand the fact that to London Records, New Order is an investment.

But what is it to him?

He hints that New Order doesn’t feel like a band at the moment, but is suitably vague. “I can’t say, and I can’t predict the future at the moment. I don’t know if there’ll be another LP or another tour because it’s like the end of term, so it isn’t fair to discuss it. We’ll have to wait and see if we’ve all got sick of each other or whether we enjoyed it."

I finally tell him that there are very strong rumours going round that Reading is the last ever show, and that the ITV documentary schedule to show on the same day will be something of an obituary. Can he confirm or deny this?

“Everyone keeps asking me this, and I don’t know where the rumours are coming from. When we played at Meadowlands it was supposed to be our last gig, and so was the last time we played Reading. If we were going to split up - and nobody’s mentioned it to me, we haven’t discussed it - we'd announce it in advance. "

So, as he says, I've got it from the horse’s mouth, and he won’t shut the stable door. But then he adds: “I can’t say at this stage whether it's the last show," just to keep us guessing

IN TORONTO, no matter how much the alcohol was talking, Bernard spoke honestly. He talked about his nerves before going onstage, how he hates the adoration because he despises celebrity. When he did his second interview, he just reiterated the same points, like how he doesn't like the feeling of not being in control of things, how being on tour is just not a real life. Why tour, then?

“ ’Cos I felt the rest of the band wanted to do it. If you're in a group you owe it to your fans to be real, but I don’t like the fact that it puts you on a pedestal. I just think it’s bullshit, really.”

You could have been as successful as Depeche Mode if you’d wanted to.

“But they want it and I don’t. I’m not really interested in being dead successful. My priorites are different. Speaking for the whole of New Order, which I never really do, the people around us are more interested in success than we are.

"Personally I feel we’re a lot better than either Depeche Mode or U2. The difference is by doing everything your record company or American manager wants you to do, you're compromising yourself, and I don’t want to.”

Some people say ‘Republic’ is the rebirth of New Order, others that it’s the sound of something falling apart. What do you think?

“To be honest, it is the sound of something falling apart.”

Is this the end of a cycle, or the end?

“I couldn’t tell you, but that’s the way with New Order, we never plan anything.”

Do you want it to carry on? Is New Order still close to your heart?

“At this moment I don’t know if it’s that healthy. I like Steve and Gillian, I like Hooky and get on with everyone, but... I don’t know.”

So that’s it: for now, the future for New Order looks... confused. Bernard carries on talking, telling me how he has dreams about being a supermarket assistant, just to see what it’d feel like to be doing a normal job. Why, then, if he has such a yearning to be ordinary, does he travel separately, in a limousine?

“Doesn’t everyone have them?” he jests. “The tour manager got it for us, and Sarah and the baby were coming and the others all smoke and I don’t want to get cancer.”

Hmmm. Right now, all Bernard can think about is his holiday. After Reading, he’s going sailing in Turkey with Johnny Marr. When he gets back, it’s Electronic all the way.

IF BERNARD is to be believed, there will be no dramatic announcement from the stage at Reading, but New Order are planning some casualties. Hooky plans to play the theme to Coronation Street and set fire to his guitar. Bernard is going to set fire to his trainers, because he’s worn them for the last two years and they stink. Oh dear. It seems I have just succumbed to the romantic idea of New Order crumbling before our eyes, when all they want to do is make jokes about it.

All four members of New Order will be busy on solo projects for at least the next three years. After two emotionally exhausting weeks, I realise that it has suddenly become very important to me - and doubtless an awful lot of other people — that New Order will have a future outside their back catalogue.

But still I fear that come the evening of August 29, New Order as we know it will cease to exist...