Ceremony: From the fire a phoenix is born

More often than not a song will incite some personal response within me, causing me to tumble down a rabbit hole of thoughts as I try apply the tracks messaging to the wider scope of life. Rarely however, I act on that instinct straight away, set up in front of my computer and let my fingers loose. New Order’s terrific ‘Ceremony’ however, did exactly that. Sometimes a song just finds you at the exact right time. Everything aligns, each punchy lyric hits harder than ever before, every pluck of a bass reverberates throughout your very being and you hit the repeat button time and time again. When this happens, you absolutely have to engage with that feeling.

It’s no secret that the sound of life is music. From the helplessly minute to the terrifyingly large, each shade of human emotion is portrayed in its own unique way, and in the words of John Keating from Dead Poets Society, this is because “The human race is filled with passion!”. New Order’s Ceremony is overflowing with raw, complex, relatable passion, a passion which is evident not only in Bernard Sumner’s vocal performance, but the track’s recognisable desperation to be seen and listened to. It wants people to relate, it wants people to consul it and say, ‘yes yes I know what you mean’. Phil Cunningham opens the track with the guitar’s equivalent of a cry for attention. Only 28 seconds in and he’s already seemingly wrestling with this emotional beast, as you can almost picture it writhing in his hands, begging to be let loose. It grabs your attention, not only with its mesmerising energy but its tragically recognisable desperation.

So where is all this desperation coming from? I think the answer is found both in the lyrics and the songs haunting backstory. Previously Joy Division, New Order are a band who begun because something ended. They fly, because someone fell. After just two albums, the mystical lead singer of Joy Division, Ian Curtis, tragically committed suicide having struggled with epilepsy. At just 23, his family lost him too soon, the world lost an absorbing talent, and Joy Division lost their identity. Questions for the band ran rampant; How could he be gone? What do we do now? Should we go on? Who would be the vocalist?

What do we do with Ceremony?

Before Curtis died, the band were working on Ceremony and Curtis was writing the lyrics. Frozen in time, the original track was never finished, as the true lyrics got lost into the void. To this day only 3 versions of Curtis’ edition remain, each as haunting as the last. Seemingly thrusting a desperate hand from the abyss, these versions eternally remain unfinished, unclear and ambiguous, yet you can’t help but feel that Curtis was trying to tell us something. One final ode to the world he operated within. The remaining band members simply couldn’t leave this desperate wish unfulfilled. Everyone needed closure.

Metamorphosing into something wholly new but comfortingly similar, Joy Division restructured with Bernard Sumner stepping into the heavy shoes of lead vocalist, and Gillian Gilbert joining as keyboardist and guitarist, as Stephen Morris, Phil Cunningham, and Peter Hook remained in their existing roles. From the brink of extinction, New Order were born. It was perhaps fitting then their first release encompassed this notion that occasionally in life, the final note of a beautiful melody gracefully ends, paving the way for a symphony of new beginnings. Ceremony bridged the gap between what Joy Division had been and what New Order would become, it was about endings and subsequent beginnings.

The crushing lyrics and Curtis’ baritone howl had defined the band. But under the surface had always been a whole world of swirling synths, dancey disco-inspired beats, and melodic bass lines that would soon come to define the direction of New Order. From the fire came a phoenix, as Ceremony is not only dangerously upbeat, but more hopeful in its lyrical content, even when faced with such a harrowing past. They took something tragic, the death of a friend, and turned it into hope for the future. Up to Bernard Sumner to decipher Curtis’ lyrics from terrible audio recordings, the lyrics take a natural ambiguity, and that only plays into the tracks meaning even more. Nothing is certain within Ceremony. Is it sad? Is it happy? The song blurs the lines between emotional conventions. Just as events from our own lives blur the lines between tragedy and opportunity.

Heavily disputed on the internet, the lyrics suggest a number of possibilities – with the two most popular being that the track is about either a wedding or a funeral, both clear demonstrations of a ‘ceremony’. Two powerfully antithetical realities, such vague imagery is intended to intertwine and overlap so the track can become whatever you need it to be. It serves as an outlet of hope, or heartbreak, for your own situation, allowing your own ambiguous experience to be seen by another. With this messaging in mind, the opening lyrics read:

Notice whom for wheels are turning

Turn again and turn towards this time

For many, the song opens with the scene of a hearse snaking its way up towards the cemetery gates. Inch by inch the wheels ‘turn again’, as ‘this time’ it is the narrator’s partner’s time to leave. Their time has come to move on, and the wheels of change turn for them. Later on, the line “Avenues all lined with trees”, further reinforces this scene of a funeral procession moving towards their destination. The metaphorical nail in the coffin soon follows as Sumner, with his unwavering acceptance of life’s vicissitudes, utters the line “Picture me when you start watching”. Such a line achingly conveys the profound desire of the grieving lover that their departed soulmate continually pictures their muse as they watch down from above in their next chapter. A heart-wrenching request which brings the shattering reality of loss under the spotlight, whilst simultaneously working as a testament to the possibility of an eternal connection that transcends the bounds of mortality, as both the bereaved and deceased stand by “Forever watching love grow”. Equal parts tragic and hopeful, the double-edged nature of Ceremony demonstrates an understanding that these events are part of life, no matter how much they scar us, and must happen for new experiences and growth to stand in their place.

This poignant message is emphasised further, by viewing the track through an alternate lens. To focus on the same opening passage, the wheels turning could also allude to a much-needed change happening in someone’s life. After harbouring so much hope for a positive future, for so long, at last, the wheels of change are moving, as “this time” the individual’s efforts will be rewarded. Throughout the track, the phrase “this time” is repeated, suggesting that the narrator has tried tirelessly to achieve a certain outcome, and it’s within this very moment that their efforts finally accumulate into everything they ever dreamed of. Some have read the track as being an ode to the complexities and longing for love, with one passage hammering home our determination to express and receive love:

Oh, I’ll break them down, no mercy shown

Heaven knows, it’s got to be this time

Personally, I don’t see the wedding imagery some people do; however, these two lines certainly convey a recognisable resilience to pursue love, despite the prior hardships faced. The clause “it’s got to be this time” suggests a steadfast resoluteness to express oneself to the person they love the most, even if they’ve done it before, even if they’ve failed before, this time it will be different, “heaven knows” this time love will finally be found. Maybe the narrator has listened to their romantic interest’s needs, perhaps they have banished their inner demons, maybe they have just tried so many times their partner to-be has simply been ground down to settling for them. Nobody will ever truly know. But what we as the listener can see, is a door close, and another one open. The icy existence of solitude has melted away, beckoning in a warmer present, co-inhabited by two individuals, stood side-by-side “Forever watching love grow”.

Ceremony isn’t saccharin sweet; it operates within the confusing, ever-changing realm of life. Off the back of Curtis’ death, the remaining band members were forced to look inward, do they buckle under the weight of tragedy, or come to the understanding that not all closed doors result in the end of the road. Stemming from the track’s flexible ambiguity, there’s a happiness to Ceremony which derives from the knowledge that all good things must come to an end, in order for something better to stand in their place. We are reminded that life isn’t as black and white as we perhaps hope it to be sometimes, and it’s down to us as the consumer of life’s experiences to seek out the endless shades of grey which float in the middle. They may seem ambiguous and elusive to us now, but the more we focus our gaze, the more we see the black in the white, the white in the black, and a spectrum of hope, rage, suffering, and tranquillity in-between.

It’s songs like Ceremony that scream out into the world, pleading to be listened to. Answer the call. You will find something in return.

All Night Long: Why is Disco so Important?

No other genre has populated the dancefloor of nightclubs across the world quite like Disco has. Epitomised by repetitive vocals and catchy, liberating instrumentals the genre continues to bless all who hear it with a celestial funk that beckons you to carry out the most god-awful Michael Jackson impression imaginable. It is a genre that seems to consistently fall on welcoming ears and get people in the mood for the night ahead (I mean it is pretty much impossible to hear Sister Sledges ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer’ and not convince yourself this is about to be the greatest night out of all time.) As if ritualised, I will without fail put on my Disco playlist at every pres and right on que the drink starts flowing, people’s eyes light up with optimism and the infectious two-step spreads throughout the room – the three essential signs of a good night in the making and a clear testament to the impressive longevity of the genre. With this in mind I’d like to look back on how Disco curated its inherent danceability and became the stalwart companion of the dance scene.

Originating in the underground New York nightclubs of the 1960s, Disco was born out of a happy marriage between the Soul and Funk genres. A small clique of DJ’s started to deploy two turntables and armed with an endless supply of funk and soul records, from the likes of James Brown, Curtis Mayfield and the O’Jays, they began to revolutionise the nightclub as we know it. Two DJs in particular helped lay the groundwork for the Disco genre we know today. David Mancuso and Francis Grasso developed many of the DJing techniques used in the clubs of today. Before Disco, nightclubs would announce the track that had just played, however, Grasso began to use a pair of headphones to listen to the incoming track, allowing him to seamlessly mix the two together and achieve a continuous mix of high-spirited funk. With this ability to now effortlessly transfer between tracks DJs began to concentrate on selecting music based on the crowd’s responses. The dance floor was about to evolve into a place of uncontrolled energy that was characterised by expressive freedom, liberation and irresistibly catchy synthesizers.

By the 70s Disco music began to emerge that complemented this fresh approach to DJing, and it was this music that repopularised dancing as a social activity. Previously you would often have to bring someone of the opposite sex to get into a nightclub, however, Disco broke this. Disco dancing was the first-time people could go onto the dance floor as an individual, which allowed for a new form of expressive freedom. It is highly common in Disco tracks that the lyrics take a backseat, allowing the instrumentals to do the talking. Repetitive and straightforward the lyrics were relatable enough to draw people to the dance floor, yet not overwhelm them with deeper meaning. Sister Sledge’s classic ‘We are Family’ is built around the repetitive chorus, “We are Family”, which is nothing special at all, but it sends a message of inclusion: everyone in that club is welcome to share this moment, and dance with whoever and however they please. Once this invitation has been extended to the crowd the music takes over, surrounding us in a thick haze of groovy guitar riffs, soulful violin and satisfyingly twangy bass. An essential aspect of the genre is the use of the Four-on-the-floor note pattern, which is used in Sister Sledge’s track to great effect. A rhythm pattern is kept in “4/4” time, meaning the bass drum uniformly hits every quarter note, creating this methodical ‘heartbeat’ rhythm which quite literally pumps the music around your bloodstream. Such a steady beat encourages people to populate the dance floor, almost pulling them there like moths to a lamp, and once there you just can’t help but let loose.  

One community with who these dance-focused rhythms resonated with deeply was the homosexual one. During both the 60s and 70s the gay demographic experienced increased homophobia through controlling legislation that prohibited certain uses of their body, such as where they could go and who they could be seen with. Therefore, they found purpose within the energetic, quick-hitting beats of the Disco genre. It was a sound that promoted free-spirited movement, and the gay community where dying to listen. During 1970, in response to the growing message of gay liberation – which reached its climax with the Stonewall Riots in 1969 – the two entrepreneurs, Seymour and Shelley, who owned a series of gay bars in New York, bought ‘The Sanctuary’. Once a failing discotheque, they transformed it into a place that welcomed gay men, and in turn subverted any state control. Re-cast as a multicultural, polymorphous, free-flowing space it quickly became the Mecca of the Disco scene. All the worries of the everyday dissolved away into the pulsating desire of the crowd to ‘stay a while longer’, as this club epitomised everything the genre celebrated. A cocktail of frantic limbs amidst endless Disco loops, ethereal lighting and sequin lined attire, it appealed to more than just the gay community. African Americans and Latino Americans joined the fun as well and altered the dynamic of the nightclub with an energetic authenticity. It’s the people who in everyday life were marginalised and faced discrimination who underpinned the energy of Disco – at last they could move how they wanted to move and be who they wanted to be.

It was this inclusive attitude that made Disco the cultural powerhouse it is today. Dominating the 70s and 80s with anthems like Earth, Wind and Fire’s ‘Lets Groove’ and Chaka Khan’s ‘Fate’, Disco began to influence all walks of life in the industry, as demonstrated by Aretha Franklin’s ‘Get it Right’ and even Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’. It is a genre that is well and truly here to stay. Still popular today, for the same manic, rebellious spirit as in its early days, the contemporary audience flock to festivals far and wide to find the promise of the famous “Disco Tent”. Essentially a lawless land, existing in its own pleasure giving bubble far from any of life’s mundane stresses, some of my fondest memories have been made on those muddy fields, surrounded by inebriated two-steppers, horrendous bucket hats and a never-ending stream of Disco Fever. For a night nothing matters but the music, and that’s the beauty of it all.

It’s not quite the same, but here is a playlist to get you hooked.