Pitchfork

This introduction is as inevitable as its subject: Ian Curtis took his own life. Unable to reconcile the strains of Joy Division's growing fame and impending tour of America with the stringent, idealistic demands of his own artistry, faced with a lifetime at the mercy of his worsening epilepsy, and dealing with a divorce from his wife less than a month earlier, on the morning of Sunday, May 18th, 1980, Curtis chased a viewing of Herzog's tragic Stroszek with liquor, pills, and finally hanged himself. Many artists have suffered untimely deaths, but few have been so broadly perceived as having their greatest achievements yet to come, as Curtis was. That his plight was in some ways so apparently easy to relate to-- finding the dreams of fame he harbored as a working-class youth in Macclesfield tarnished as he came closer and closer to the reality of stardom-- makes it nearly impossible to separate his brief life from his work; that his plight was simultaneously so alien-- few people can understand the pain of contending with such a permanent, crippling disease-- makes it harder still. That is how the story of Joy Division ends, and nothing that they have ever produced has been, or will ever be, viewed outside that context since his passing, nor should it; Curtis killed himself, in part, for his music.

With the release of Refractured, presumably the ultimate live document, such considerations are even more important; his death also ensured that few of Joy Division's fans would be able to experience the band apart from their modest studio output. Live, they played barely a hundred shows, only a dozen off England's shores, fewer of which were well recorded enough to endure-- and thanks to the outstanding, groundbreaking production of Martin Hannett, Joy Division's studio output is leagues removed from their monumental live presence. Hannett applied exceedingly modern (for the time) digital filters to their mixes, fueling the sense of alienation inherent in Curtis' bracing, anxious lyrics with even more distance. His pioneering use of delay made Joy Division's barbed, jarring threats seem impossibly remote, like atrocities viewed through the lens of a camera. Seen in the morning paper, the awful scenes captured in photos may resonate emotionally, but never nearer than arm's length.

That illusion of removal is a potent counterpoint to the emotional turmoil of Unknown Pleasures, and even moreso on Closer's grim march, where it becomes a necessity; as mercurial and aloof as Curtis often was, even at a distance, Joy Division's brutally confessional nature is almost overwhelming. Nevertheless, Hannett's production techniques practically made him a fifth member, to the point that Unknown Pleasures was all but disowned by the band in spite of his interference. The raw urgency of their live performance had been replaced by a bitter, reigned-in tension, equally gripping, but not what they set out to record; not until 1999 was an attempt made to properly master and document a live performance and finally balance their album presence with the unfettered immediacy of the stage.

Factory's choice, however, was the bafflingly low-quality Preston Warehouse 28 February 1980; although it showcases Joy Division near the peak (and, sadly, the end) of their career, it has been described by band members as "the worst fucking show we ever did," due to numerous technical mishaps. A far superior performance at Les Bains Douche in 1979 soon followed (along with some material from the January 1980 performance in Amsterdam's Paradiso), though, and comes very close to suggesting the real power the band commanded onstage. The concerts are uniformly excellent, regardless of wildly fluctuating sound quality between discs and some redundancy among the sets; all recordings are also readily available elsewhere-- the original Fractured box, released in 2001, already compiles Les Bains (with the extras from Amsterdam, already a bootleg old enough to have crossed the Atlantic on the Mayflower) and Preston. The originals were just barely a step removed from posthumous cash-ins but served a need. However, to box up widely available material for more money, as Refractured has done, with the pointless inclusion of a t-shirt (an awful iron-on of the Refractured logo) and a small, reprinted concert flier circumnavigates greed and sets sail straight for stupidity. As a final incentive, the box also comes with a hand-signed and numbered note from whoever runs Alchemy calling you a sucker.

That said, the recordings themselves are remarkable portraits of what an entirely different creature Joy Division became onstage, and for anyone who isn't intimately familiar with them beyond Closer, or Substance, or even the limp, isolated live inclusions on Still, this collection is simply incredible. Fundamentally, Joy Division's inspiration was drawn from the aggressive spirit of punk-- a fact made stunningly evident in their live recordings as they relentlessly tear through sets. Their oppressive testaments to loss, reflection and regret are left at the studio; live, Joy Division embodied fiery condemnation, Curtis' every scream daring the audience to try and share his burden, laughing as they (of course) flinch at the prospect. His on-album brooding becomes pure catharsis when given an audience upon which to inflict it; Bernard Sumner and Peter Hook's measured interplay becomes a deafening, numbing thrash, and Stephen Morris' drumming, in particular, is absolutely unstoppable.

Without exception, every minute of every song presented here is performed with passion and energy, and much of that starts with Morris; even the more resigned tracks are made ominously transient from his intensity, and the aggressive numbers become truly suffocating. "Love Will Tear Us Apart"'s breathless fatalism is so much more tenuous, sped up dramatically and embellished with a desperate crescendo at Les Bains, highlighting some of Morris' most impressively, and frantically, improvised fills. His skittering hi-hat sets a blistering pace for "Transmission" in Amsterdam as Sumner's slashing guitar cuts in and out; at Preston, he drives "Interzone" at an unthinkable pace, nearly drowning out Curtis due to poor recording issues, but making his few screams to the surface even more incredible. Morris sets the tone throughout, and Curtis, Sumner and Hook unfailingly, unflinchingly rise to meet him, giving themselves over to the audience in some of the most wracking performances ever likely to be captured to tape. Only the majesty of "Atmosphere" slows the proceedings; as the final number at Les Bains, it is the great winding down of the universe-- no other song carries such a beautiful sense of finality.

Admittedly, live recording techniques of the time create a distance all their own in the recordings-- the quality of the Preston recording is particularly terrible, often muddying Curtis' performance to the point of incomprehensibility (when it isn't totally inaudible)-- a unique natural alternative to Hannett's studio-processed subdual of Joy Division's ominous presence, but a minor shame nonetheless. Originally, these recordings overcome the obstacle through sheer strength of the band's will to be heard. Les Bains Douches, by itself, is flawless; of the available recordings there are none better. Amsterdam features a brilliant set with a few gaffes and an even-keeled performance that might be the least energetic but is still unquestionably great. Even Preston is impressive; if anything, the faulty mixing and an "off" performance humanizes them, makes them seem uncomfortably imperfect in direct contrast to their sterling critical image.

And that's finally the killer; Refractured presents these recordings with an unbelievably amateurish two-second gap between tracks, shattering the whole intent of the live recordings in the first place. These recordings are a marvel no matter what, but to fail to capture the essence of a live show so spectacularly is a crime. In the end, that's the point: This box tries to bring Joy Division out from behind the studio glass and present them, and mainly Curtis, in all the awesome, terrifying conflict that he channeled through his voice and his music, the conflict that eventually led to him taking his life; to simply present them in the most honest, impassioned way possible. The individual recordings, and even the original Fractured box, succeed flawlessly; all Refractured succeeds at is inflicting an injustice on otherwise classic performances.