With the world of music quickly entering into the newest realm of its distribution – that of intangible digital music files – the Compact Disc as we know it has certainly been placed upon a timeline. Yet for the time being the CD is a still a viable medium, partly based on the desire of many music addicts to have something physical with which to associate the sounds they love. Personally, I consider myself a part of the latter demographic, and as such I tend to spend much of my boredom-induced free time scouring the racks of semi-alphabetized discs at my favorite CD Warehouse store, often with no intent or purpose as to what to buy. One such incident occurred recently, and a good chunk of my time wandering and searching was spent wondering if I had made a mistake. Had I perhaps overextended myself in the musical world? Was I just wasting time and money at this point? Then I stumbled upon a copy of Closer, the second and final studio album from the late 70s post-punk outfit Joy Division, and all doubts were laid to rest. I made my purchase, and left the store certain I would soon become a new man.
From the first listen onward, one word can be picked up from the mood set by the album and applied to its contents – solitude. The music itself is conducted in a particularly isolated way, with each instrument and sound effect banging away so as to leave its own impression on the track. This is especially true when speaking of the percussions of drummer Stephen Morris, whose drumming, whether with a conventional drum set or drum machine, has a habit of driving along each piece of music in the style of a brooding procession, a feeling most becoming the tone of the album. Indeed, many of the tracks seem to bring with them a very bleak, funeral-like melody, particularly the final two tracks, “Eternal” and “Decades.” The former piece provides the greatest example of this dynamic, with Morris’ aforementioned percussion combining with Peter Hook’s slow bass groove to create a particularly haunting feel, an atmosphere that is only intensified when joined by the sorrowful, unmatchable voice of Ian Curtis, whose lyricsin this case seem to describe directly the unfolding of a funeral, and the emotions of those left alone after the death of love ones. The latter track is marked distinctly by the isolated synthesizer which opens it, a testament to the evolving sound of the band.
The use of synthesizer and studio trickery is heavy in this album, and through their use other aspects of solitude and isolation are addressed in unique ways. The album was recorded in 1980, before the synthesizer’s heyday in alternative and pop music, and as such its sound stands as something entirely different than much of the synth-pop heard in the 80s. When coupled with Ian Curtis’ savagely introspective lyrics, the electronics and production effects present in the tracks seem to echo the cold, unfeeling nature of humanity and modern society that Curtis is preaching against. This is especially evident in the album’s first track, “Atrocity Exhibition.” While Curtis sings of the gladiatorial-like spectacle in which people pay to see the inhumane struggles of “all the ones who tried hard to succeed,” the music in the background is rife with a myriada synth-based production effects that mimic the cries of pained humans and the sounds of an excited crowd. In this track and others within the album, the heavy use of electronics and machinery adds a very cold, detached feel to the music, which is especially fitting when blended with the detached sense of humanity in modern society that Curtis’ lyrics describe.
This album comes with a warning label, however. As I stated, the songs pretty much all gravitate around the same gloomy center, and as such there are not really many tracks you could describe as “danceable.” This could prove a tough barrier to break through for many casual listeners. The only semi-upbeat track to be had is the second track, the aptly named “Isolation.” Hook’s bass and Bernard Sumner’s keyboards dominate this track, giving it an incredibly bouncy rhythm that foreshadows the style of Joy Division’s predecessor after Curtis’ suicide, New Order. The lyrics of “Isolation,” however, remain true to the album’s “doom-and-gloom” motif: “Mother, I tried, please believe me/I’m doing the best that I can/I’m ashamed of the things I’ve been put through/I’m ashamed of the person I am.” Based on the band’s progression into the world of synth-based rhythms, coupled with the album’s somber atmosphere, I would recommend this album to those who are already sold on the band, advising first-timers to look elsewhere first (The band’s singles collection, Substance, as well as their first album, Unknown Pleasures, are good places to start).
Overall, the album fulfills its intent and purpose – it illuminates the nature of solitude musically and lyrically. In all the tracks, each instrument plays as if completely isolated from the others, almost as if each musician was performing in their own private cell. Similarly, Curtis’ voice adds an almost otherworldly aspect to each song, as he cries out in a voice so quietly pained that it’s scary. When considering that the album was released after Curtis’ death, the funeral aspect of the record becomes much more relevant, and even the album cover, which depicts a funeral ceremony, seems to speak on more than just an aesthetic level. The funeral aspect of the album is fitting for the final foray of a pioneering group of musicians, and when considering the rise of New Order from the band’s ashes just a short time after the release of Closer, one can see how the album also serves to speak to a level beyond death – that of a fiery, if not slightly electronic, rebirth.
