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2006-09-18 - 7:22 a.m.
Some people (call me the Space Cowboy) say that the late 70s early 80s band Joy Division is depressing. What is that, proto-Goth, Emo, post-punk? Whatever.
I never felt that way. Here's my description: melancholy rage.
They say that the music you listen to in your early twenties is the music that defines you. That you pretty much stick with that your whole life. I don't know about that. But there are two albums (yeah, that's what we called 'em when I was a teenager) that I've listened to more than anything else. Both double-live, for what it's worth. One of them is Joy Division's Still. And one song on that record is the defining song of my life, I think. It's Shadowplay.
Now I'm not one much for lyrics. I prefer instrumental music, in general. Too often I find rock lyrics to be insipid. Ignorant, simple-minded, token words put in place because the artist believed there had to be words, so they put whatever came to mind in. Many otherwise good songs have been emasculated by crap lyrics.
I'll print the lyrics later, but they are hardly the point with Shadowplay. And though Shadowplay appears first on Unknown Pleasures, I'm referring to the live performance recorded on Still.
This song, this recording, pretty much sums up the emotions of my youth. The instrumentals describe my feelings, they evoke emotions, they simultaneously are a balm and a provocation.
The opening bars are to me the most powerful sonic representation of melancholy rage. Purposeful and driving, like entering into a fierce battle, like a high-speed car chase, like attacking life.
The bass murmurs the song into life, then cymbals like drops of water falling on a galvanized roof before the initial moaning guitar that breaks into a thunderclap of tearing steel, then the plodding drum beats begin and we're on. In comes Ian Curtis' wavering proclamations and the song proceeds.
It's the guitar playing on this song that speaks to me, the crash of chords and moaning feedback speak volumes to me. It talks about anger, and purpose, and desolation. And underneath it is that relentless plodding high-hat. Plodding, I say it again. It's the trudging of one foot after another forward, always forward, until that final scrape of the strings ends the song.
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To the centre of the city where all roads meet, looking for you
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you
Moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you
In a room with no window in the corner, I found truth
In the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more
As the assassins all grouped in four lines, dancing on the floor
And with cold steel odour on their bodies made a move to connect
I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left
I did everything, everything I wanted to
I let them use you - for their own ends
To the centre of the city in the night waiting for you
To the centre of the city in the night waiting for you
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So, how do you like them apples?