Is it possible to enjoy things that have not yet seen the light of day? That question came to me the other day when the publishing house Warner Music released the news that it is preparing a capital box-set Eternal (Live) of the legendary British band Joy Division for the fall. This name can equally mean "eternal", "eternity", and "eternal", which in musical context makes it almost untranslatable. But that is less important here.
The essence is that enjoyment also exists as a specific type of pleasure, which is present already in anticipation; in the awareness that somewhere in the dark of publishing archives, something big is being assembled, which will soon become part of our personal audio code. For those of us who have been resonating with that specific darkness emerging from the industrial gray of Manchester for decades, such announcements are not only a calculated marketing construct - they are also an invitation to a musical pilgrimage.
It's little bands who, with such a concise discography, left such a deep, monumental mark on modern culture as Joy Division. Eternal band. Their existential cry, monochromatic sound and repetitive rhythm defined an era. And now, decades after singer Ian Curtis' voice fell silent, audiences are finally getting a chance to experience their devastating concert energy in a whole new way.
This announced collection, which has been created for years through meticulous, almost archaeological work, brings an unprecedented cross-section of the band's performing career. Sixteen concert performances are interspersed across fourteen discs, and the material was patiently collected from a wide variety of sources - from raw recordings recorded by loyal fans from the audience, through mixtapes, and all the way to a few radio broadcasts. In order to give these soundtracks the shine they deserve, the material has undergone a detailed sonic restoration at the legendary Abbey Road Studios.
And while we wait for that September 25th, when Eternal (Live) will go on sale, thoughts inevitably turn to the key points that this box set will illuminate again. A special place among them is the performance in the Dutch club "Effenaar" in Eindhoven, held on January 18, 1980. That night, Joy Division stood at the very peak of their creative and performing maturity. Part of the performance was recorded on Super-8 film, and fragments of four songs from that recording – Digital, Colony, New Dawn Fades and Autosuggestion – later became the backbone of the iconic 1982 VHS release Here Are the Young Men. For us, the kids of that time, it was a video tape that was freely shared, copied and watched in circles, night after night.
Although technically rudimentary, with dark imagery, deep shadows and minimalistic, almost claustrophobic direction, the video managed to frame the band's mesmerizing energy. This raw, imperfect aesthetic is today considered one of the most important visual stamps of the post-punk era. It shows the Manchester foursome in full force, just before they enter the studio to record their crowning album Closer.
In addition to previously unreleased audio and video recordings, the box-set is aesthetically shaped through the lens of two photographers who practically created the visual identity of the post-punk era - Anton Corbain and Kevin Cummins. Their photographs testify not only to one composition, but to the entire atmosphere of that era, which was equally dark, creative and poignant.
Cosmic justice is often delayed, but it always arrives in its place in the end. The release of this release will ideally coincide with the induction of Joy Division and the latter's band New Order into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame later this year - an accolade that only formally underscores what the history of modern music has long known.
The emotional core of this collection inevitably gravitates towards its very end, where there is a record from the concert held on May 2, 1980. It is the band's last performance recorded on tape, played only two weeks before the premature and tragic death of Ian Curtis. Eternal (Live) thus comes not only as a musical document, but as a deep emotional testimony of talented people who only roared through time, but whose echo in eternity refuses to be silenced.
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