I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.
Album: #157
Album Title: Closer
Artist: Joy Division
Genre: Post Punk, New Wave, Gothic Rock
Recorded: Britannia Row Studios, Islington, England
Released: July, 1980
Originally, they called themselves Warsaw, a tribute to one of their heroes, David Bowie, and his haunting instrumental song Warszawa from the 1977 record Low (#251 on The 500). However, they changed their name to avoid confusion with a London punk band called The Warsaw Pact. Rather than reverting to their original name, Stiff Kittens, they opted for Joy Division -- a name that, despite sounding upbeat, carried a far darker symbolism. "Joy Division" refers to a inhuman period of World War II history -- the name assigned to groups of women in Nazi concentration camps who were forced into sexual slavery. They were subjected to horrific conditions and brutal exploitation, serving Nazi officers and soldiers at the death camps.
In part, this was the influence of the books he was reading, which included works from Franz Kafka, Fyodor Dostoevsky and J.G. Ballard. However, Curtis was also struggling with depression and late onset epilepsy -- both exacerbated by his drug and alcohol use. In 1978, Curtis began to experience frequent seizures, which sometimes occurred on stage. The medication he took to manage his affliction had intense side effects, contributing to his struggles with depression and emotional detachment.
Joy Division's intense touring schedule in late 1979 and early 1980 to support their first album, Unknown Pleasures, was additionally detrimental to Curtis' physical and mental health. Moreover, his marriage to Deborah Woodruff was heading to divorce just a few months after the birth of their daughter, Natalie, in April, 1979. In the early morning hours of May 18, 1980, Curtis took his own life. He was 23.
The group's final record, Closer, was released two months after Curtis' death. It is widely regarded as a post-punk masterpiece and feels like an unsettling farewell from the band's singer and lyricist. His words feel claustrophobic and painfully introspective, with the songs The Eternal and Decades sounding almost funereal, while Isolation and Heart and Soul seem to pulse with a cold, detached energy.
Though I was drawn to the macabre and the unsettling in high school, I wasn’t truly immersed in the material.-- I was playing a part, experimenting with identity and testing the boundaries of what seemed dark and clever. Had I paid attention, I probably would have connected deeply with Joy Division’s lyrics, but back then it wasn’t about sincerity -- it was about performance. Ian Curtis, however, wasn’t performing. His struggles were real, woven into every word he sang.
My age at release: 15
How familiar was I with it before this week: A little
It’s easy to forget just how emotionally intense the teen-age years can be. Even after three decades teaching middle schoolers, I can still be caught off guard by young people’s unpredictable mood swings, impulsive decisions, and the waves of angst or apathy that seem to crash over them without warning. Sometimes, it takes a few deep breaths -- or even a good night’s sleep -- to move past the frustration and extend grace to these kids, who are often at the mercy of their hormonal tempests. On days like that, I find solace in music. A record like Closer, the haunting final album from Manchester’s Joy Division, helped me reconnect with the raw emotions that once defined my own adolescence. It reminds me where they’re coming from -- and, in a way, where I came from too.
My teen-age years were steeped in darkness and worry. I cycled through identities like sweaters -- trying each one on, hoping it would fit without itching. Most didn’t. I’d walk the school halls with my ears cloaked by headphones, the music louder than the world around me. Some days, I was defiant in class. I would challenge ideas, naively confident that I’d brilliantly uncovered some truth my English teacher had overlooked -- despite his degrees and decades teaching the same four novels. Other days, I'd sit in silence, brooding and distant, quietly hoping the pretty girl across the room would find something poetic in my storm-cloud demeanor.
Teen-age sleep patterns, we now recognize, are plagued by nightly battles between biology and responsibility, brains hardwired for nocturnal adventures, doomed to morning misery. My interests in literature, humour and media soon became as dark as the bags under my eyes. Nothing was off limits and my fascinations moved from dark, dystopian science fiction to vulgar comedy. One night, I might be rewatching a screening of A Clockwork Orange, The Shining or Eraserhead at our local repertoire cinema and the next I would be riding the bus reading off-colour jokes and biting satire in a National Lampoon magazine.
Despite my penchant for the macabre and the absurd, I was never teetering on the edge of delinquency or genuine darkness -- I had a firm grasp of right and wrong. My fascination with dystopian nightmares, crude humor, and provocative ideas wasn’t a sign of some deep disturbance; it was a performance, a way to carve out an identity that felt sharp, witty, and just rebellious enough to be intriguing. The paperback Truly Tasteless Jokes was also in my arsenal. It was a collection of disturbingly dark jokes designed to provoke laughter, discomfort, or admiration -- sometimes all at once. Because, in the strange social economy of teen-age boys, the ability to shock was its own form of currency, a way to seem cooler, sharper, a little more mysterious than it really was. It wasn’t about corruption; it was about style.
Joy Division were also exploring existential themes at about the same time I was discovering National Lampoon magazines, George Carlin, Redd Foxx and Richard Pryor records, and The Tasteless Jokes Book. The band's members were about ten years older than me and their group emerged from the punk scene in the late 1970s. They formed in Salford, England -- part of the Greater Manchester region -- and, after a few line-up changes, comprised Ian Curtis (vocals), Bernard Sumner (guitar), Peter Hook (bass), and Stephen Morris (drums).
How familiar was I with it before this week: A little
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #309, dropping 157 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Isolation
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Isolation
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| Joy Division (l-r) Morris, Curtis, Sumner, Hook. |
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| Adult female prisoners were separated from men and sorted into workforces at Auschwitz camp. Picture from a Daily Mail article The Auschwitz Brothel. |
The band chose their name as a provocative recognition of its atrocious origins. However, their decision to feature a sketch of a Hitler Youth on the cover of their first EP, An Ideal For Living, fueled the controversy, with allegations that the members were Nazi sympathizers.
At that time, Joy Division's music began to change. Their early sound was raw and aggressive, but they evolved into something darker and more atmospheric. Their macabre, gothic sonic aesthetic was shaped by post-punk minimalism and stark production quality. Furthermore, singer Curtis' lyrics became deeply introspective and explored themes of isolation, despair and existential dread.
In part, this was the influence of the books he was reading, which included works from Franz Kafka, Fyodor Dostoevsky and J.G. Ballard. However, Curtis was also struggling with depression and late onset epilepsy -- both exacerbated by his drug and alcohol use. In 1978, Curtis began to experience frequent seizures, which sometimes occurred on stage. The medication he took to manage his affliction had intense side effects, contributing to his struggles with depression and emotional detachment.
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| Curtis, performing with Joy Division in Rotterdam (1979). |
The group's final record, Closer, was released two months after Curtis' death. It is widely regarded as a post-punk masterpiece and feels like an unsettling farewell from the band's singer and lyricist. His words feel claustrophobic and painfully introspective, with the songs The Eternal and Decades sounding almost funereal, while Isolation and Heart and Soul seem to pulse with a cold, detached energy.
The opening track, Atrocity Exhibition, was based on a book by the same name from English satirist and writer J.G. Ballard. The 1970 novel is a collection of experimental stories that explore themes of violence, media manipulation, and psychological breakdown. Ballard is best known for his novel Crash (1973) about a group of car crash fetishists who are sexually aroused by reenacting famous celebrity vehicular accidents, including those of Jayne Mansfield and James Dean. Crash was made into an Oscar-winning film in 2004 featuring an ensemble cast of Hollywood A Listers -- directed by London, Ontario, native Paul Haggis.
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| Movie poster for Crash (2004). |
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| Lyrics from Love Will Tear Us Apart, a non-album single released in June, 1980 one month after Curtis' suicide. |
As a middle-school educator, I need to remind myself that students need more patience and grace, even when they are frustrating me with their choices. Some angsty teens may be slipping into a costume and trying out intense brooding as a personality. However, Curtis' story reminds me that some may truly be struggling and patience is required to look beyond the surface and recognize when the shift into darkness is more than a passing phase or an effort to fit in.
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