Peter Hook Quotes
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The chemistry involved made everything Factory did quite special.
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True Faith’ ended up being a big song for us, no doubt about it. The title I got from a book I was reading at the time, James A. Michener’s Texas, which talked about Catholicism being the only ‘True Faith’. Rob liked that. Here’s a little-known fact: Barney and I were the only two Protestants at Factory; nearly all the rest were Catholics. Read into that what you will.
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What I loved about Anton was that he did the pictures really quickly, with no fuss, no fucking about: bang, bang, bang, and it was over. At the time, I thought, Now, that’s how a photo shoot should be. Those shots he took of us in the tube station: absolutely brilliant.
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Do we need to go into the circumstances of Ian’s death? Not really; they are well documented and I’ve already done that in my Joy Division book and, anyway, all the books are about Ian’s death in a way. We were very young. I was just twenty-four and, looking back now, in my early sixties, shockingly young to have to deal with any of it. We were now very, very nervous. What would happen? Would we succeed in any way now Ian had gone? Were we good enough on our own . . . without him? We were scared.
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I know that Get Ready isn’t considered a New Order classic but personally it’s one of my favourites, much better for me than the dreaded Republic.
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That was the thing about Joy Division: writing the songs was dead easy because the group was really balanced; we had a great guitarist, a great drummer, a great bass player, a great singer.
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It's quite ironic I suppose, it's that thing about being in a group when you all start out as friends and then invariably end up hating each other. So I just thought they needed telling really, in case they were labouring under the apprehension that they were still friends.
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What happened was that one of the engineers must have heard the Sunkist vocal tape and for reasons best known to himself – shits and giggles, probably – cobbled together a bootleg, a Sunkist ‘Blue Monday’ take for fun. He obviously gave it to someone, who gave it to someone . . . until eventually it ended up with Sunkist, who grabbed it, put their logo on it, did an edit using some of the ‘Touched by the Hand of God’ video and issued it as an official advert. We protested and they ended up pulling the ad, but of course by that time the damage had been done and, like it or not, we’d advertised Sunkist. To add insult to injury, we never got paid for it. Not a cent. It’s still up on YouTube, check it out.
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Our record was uploaded on the internet a long time before the release date, losing us unknown amounts of sales. Warners tracked it and found it was a Rolling Stone journalist’s listening copy. They even had his name. Barney was livid, wanting to prosecute the guy immediately, but on reflection Warners thought better of it. I guess they needed Rolling Stone. Our sales on Get Ready would be about 300,000 worldwide. Republic sold three million. Warners reckoned that drop was entirely due to illegal file-sharing.
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Yeah, I still feel as if I have things to do really. I'm not ready to stop.
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I think the most important thing about what musicians do is the music. You can be as big an arsehole as you want but if you're not making good music, you won't get away with it.
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It’s called sticking your head in the sand, and because I did that I lost millions of quid and still don’t have financial security now, even after forty years of being in the music business, the co-writer of ‘Blue Monday’ and ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ and many successful albums. At the end of the day I’ve only got myself to blame for said actions and for never raising my voice against signing daft agreement after daft agreement, that signed away 30 per cent of my earnings in perpetuity and all my rights to publishing and song royalties to erroneous partnerships and companies I have absolutely no control over. It’s unbelievable to me now.
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Bernard insisted on having ‘just one more go’, and in doing so used up mine and Steve’s tracks, wiping them, so by the time Martin finally threw up his hands and told us to fuck off, Barney’s was the only vocal left on tape. Which is pretty much how he became our singer.
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When digital recording came in about '84, everything started to follow into digital. Now, you've got the best recording media in the world, but it's not very pleasing to the ear.
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I remember feeling as though I’d been sitting in a darkened room all of my life—comfortable and warm and safe and quiet—then all of a sudden someone had kicked the door in, and it had burst open to let in an intense bright light and this even more intense noise, showing me another world, another life, a way out. I was immediately no longer comfortable and safe, but that didn’t matter because it felt great. I felt alive.
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I watched John Frusciante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers play it acoustically at their gig at the MEN Arena. I think I can safely say that, of the 19,000 people there, 18,950 didn’t know what it was—but I did, and it brought a tear to my eye, definitely. Monster bass line. A bass line that every bass player dreams of and I got it, so thank you.
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This really was the start of a period where me, Barney and Steve would all be meeting bands and getting into producing them. Barney did Section 25, Happy Mondays. Steve and Gillian produced Thick Pigeon (who, incidentally, were Stanton Miranda, Michael Shamberg’s girlfriend, and Carter Burwell, who later made his name scoring films for the Coen Brothers).
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Now, this meeting would have taken place in mid-to-late 2004, over two years after we started recording, and a lot happened between that summit and the album coming out. One of them was that terrible tsunami in Indonesia on Boxing Day. Because of that, the record company got cold feet on Barney’s cover image, fearing a possible media backlash, and Alan Parkes from Warners had to go to Pete’s studio, pleading with him to do another sleeve. Pete was insistent. ‘No, I don’t want to do one. I don’t want to do it,’ but Alan was just as persistent, until at last Pete got fed up and wrote ‘NO’ on a piece of paper, gave it to Alan and said, ‘There’s my answer,’ and Alan went, ‘That’ll do,’ and took it. I like it. I think it’s one of his best sleeves.
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I think that you have to bear in mind that music is about escape, and it's not unreasonable to think the music business would be based around escapism.
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Rob fought this so hard. He hired a musicologist in England to analyse the song. It turns out that musicologists use a scale of twelve notes and if eight of those notes are present in both songs, then the accused, us, is deemed guilty. Which we were. Rob wouldn’t have it, so he then got an American musicologist to analyse it. He said the same. We lost again. John Denver got his per cent cut and a writer’s credit. Warners wanted to take it off the album on any subsequent pressings, but we said no. I still don’t hear it now. Denver died in 1997, shortly after it was eventually settled. God, imagine if we did that with all the tunes that sound like us? We’d make a fortune. Humh . . . there’s a thought.
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“Atmosphere" is a massive song. A lot of people say it's their favorite Joy Division song, but it's not mine; it reminds me too much of Ian, like it's his death march or something, and it figures that it's one of the most popular songs to play at funerals: Robbie Williams has got "Angels" for weddings and we've got "Atmosphere" for funerals.
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America stopped making vinyl and phased out the single but Germany held out and refused. Warner's never phased out vinyl in Germany. Now America imports it!
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I remember driving there in the afternoon, and I remember getting there and loading the gear in. I don’t remember the sound check. We had one, I think, but we had no idea what to do because we’d never done one before. No one had the foggiest. Not knowing what to do made it exciting, though. Like, now, everybody’s got a stage manager and a sound guy, lights, and so on. The bands know all about sound checks and levels, equipment and all that. Now they even have music schools to teach you that kind of stuff. Back then you knew fuck-all. You didn’t have anyone professional, just your mates, who, like you, were clueless; you had a disco PA and a sleepy barmaid. It’s something I find quite sad about groups today, funnily enough, the careerism of it all. I saw this program once, a “battle of the bands” sort of thing. It had Alex James from Blur on it and Lauren Laverne and some twat from a record company, and they’d sit there saying what they thought of the band: “Your bass player’s shit and your image needs work; lose the harmonica player.” All the bands just stood there and took it, going, “Cheers, man, we’ll go off and do that.” I couldn’t believe it. I joined a band to tell everyone to fuck off, and if somebody said to me, “Your image is shit,” I’d have gone, “Fuck off, knob head!” And if someone had said, “Your music’s shit,” I would have nutted them. That to me is what’s lacking in groups. They’ve missed out that growing-up stage of being bloody-minded and fucking clueless. You have to have ultimate self-belief. You have to believe right from the word go that you’re great and that the rest of the world has to catch up with you. Of us lot, Ian was the best at that. He believed in Joy Division completely. If any of us got downhearted it was always him who would cheer us up and get us going again. He’d put you back on track.
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Nobody is the same. If we were all the same it would be bloody boring.