Knowing that Peter Hook is one of those rare people who actually reads the things that are written about him, and the sheer amount of work and detail that went into Substance, here’s an honest attempt to do justice to my thoughts, having finished it. Here goes…
The first thing to say is that this is clearly a five-star book. It’s very long (but then, the New Order story was a long one). The level of detail is exhaustive. There are self-confessed geeky sections on the electronic equipment that the band used – much of it pioneering – for readers who like that sort of thing (I did, while not really knowing what he was on about a lot of the time, sorry). But it’s also a genuine page-turner, a light read, and while it’s a cliché to write this there’s a level of honesty that’s gut-wrenching. Hooky really exposes himself here. Substance is like the rock autobiography you really want to read but rarely do, in the sense you get an absolute measure of the man. Hooky spares nothing, least of all himself, from complete exposure. And the message is clear enough - you might not like him very much, but he doesn’t care, and at least it’s a straight account.
Some thoughts on my relationship with New Order. Growing up in a forgotten corner of the north-east, they quickly became my favourite band. I didn’t know a lot about what the members got up to (pre-internet age and that), but I did have the music, and it was like nothing else out there. There was plenty of electronica on offer, and this was a time when synthesisers were introduced to pretty much every corner of the musical stratosphere, but only New Order released things that weren’t specifically designed to appeal to the listeners. You liked it or you didn’t. More often, you didn’t get to hear them very often because they didn’t get the exposure. Few of their releases made a massive impact on the charts, so you sort of had to seek them out, sometimes to ask the manager of your local independent store (Tony’s Records in Redcar, thank god for him) to source them on your behalf. Even when their stuff was available, you had to work a bit harder. New Order’s name rarely featured on their covers; instead what you got was some gorgeous yet impenetrably oblique cover art, designed by Peter Saville. Following them was like being part of an exclusive club. If you got it then great. Welcome to the world of the most genius, forward thinking musicians of the 1980s. If you didn’t? Well, there’s always some new production line tat from Stock, Aitken and Waterman on the shelves, all sounding the same whoever the artiste’s name happens to be and without any shred of personality, wit, or for that matter hard work.
While reading the book, I’ve dipped into my back catalogue of New Order and re-experienced it all. These are records I’ve loved, many times, and they sound great still. I’m reminded of the time I got my sweaty hands on the ‘Best Of’ compilation, Substance, and the number of times I played that bastard – The Perfect Kiss on endless repeat, the fact that absolutely nothing sounded like Everything’s Gone Green, of course Blue Monday, a little slice of sublimity like 1963 tossed onto the end of disc two and you discover it for the first time and go ‘What’s this, it’s fantastic!’ I’ve listened to the Monaco album (underrated, blistering singles, soundtracked a very happy period in my life originally) and I’ve not done that in years. I caught some Mrs Merton on YouTube because it was bloody funny. I remembered working in Manchester Metropolitan University with someone else who loved the scene, bantering about it all, going to the rehearsal to be a ‘Hacienda extra’ for the 24 HOUR PARTY PEOPLE shoot and not getting anywhere, following a blog called ‘Rob’s records’ that was dedicated to Rob Gretton, written by someone called ‘Mr Disco’ who always seemed to be somewhere else when a Gretton produced track made it onto a Manchester radio station (‘Buggin Becky by J-Walk came on Kiss, but I was on the toilet and missed it’, etc).
Squaring my memories of New Order with the account of the band’s existence by one of its core players isn’t easy. I suppose I liked thinking of them as boffin Kraftwerk types, eternally trapped in studios cluttered with equipment and a Gordian Knot of cables, troubling over fresh ways to produce something fresh and vital that would stretch the technology’s capabilities and release previously unheard sounds. In that sense I guess my affinity has always been more with Barney than Hooky – the perfectionist, always wanting control, chivvying and grumpy whenever anyone sees it differently. But then, I’d argue that New Order wouldn’t be even slightly as good without its bass player. The only time I’ve seen them live is a couple of years ago, after the split, and even without the reference it didn’t seem the same – where was the hairy bloke forever semi-crouched in a rock god pose, guitar propped on his bent knees, playing as desperately as if it was his last opportunity? Electronic – not as good. Bad Lieutenant – can hardly be bothered, mate. Up to Technique the New Order albums are incredible listens, and then after that it drops a bit with Republic, falls off further still with Get Ready (though I count 60 Miles an Hour as being up there with the best of them), and I lose interest at that point. So it wasn’t all Bernard’s doing that made the band what it was. No doubt the creative tension helped, but to us listeners it was worth all the blood, sweat, Es and bellyaches, and for the record I don’t think Hooky’s extracurricular ventures hit the same standard as they achieved together.
That Hooky suffered for his craft is in evidence here. A lot. Some might have it that the rock and roll lifestyle he embraced to excessive levels is the ultimate aspiration, and that’s fair enough, but he recognises that much of it was empty and rootless, leading close to oblivion, and that’s fair also. The impression I get is of a young lad who could hardly believe his luck a lot of the time, but who was working for the last word in artistic statement making, a label that prized merit over business. He was lucky that the band was indulged to make music exactly the way they wanted to, which has made it enduring and we can all enjoy it now as joyful brilliance. But he was also unlucky. New Order could and should have made millions, but they didn’t. The money pit that was the Hacienda saw to those aspirations. Factory would rather have released a 12” single that cost more to make than it was to buy, thanks to the holes punched in its sleeve. Sure enough, Blue Monday went on to be a massive seller in this form. I own a copy. It looks great, and it remains a fine anecdote amidst a sea of records that have been, gone, and are forgotten.
In the end, I hope things like that have compensated Hooky for a professional life that could have left him a lot wealthier. If nothing else then he can rightly claim to have lived, even during the difficult times like when he was married to Caroline Aherne (a street I used to live on, oddly enough; it’s a long road though) and recovering in rehab. For us fans the memories are good ones, the stories worth telling (who wouldn’t want to chuck bread rolls at Bono’s head then flick him the Vs when he turns around to see who did it?), and the music lasts. Give Substance a read, stick Power, Corruption and Lies on and soak up the perfect opening to Age of Consent, enjoy.