The candle sputters out, the wig sits by the door, the last trick or treater left an hour ago. Candy wrappers tell the tale. I doze off and I'm dreaming, floating over dirty, landlocked Manchester. There's the Free Trade Hall down there, where Dylan was branded "Judas!" in 1966.
The Sex Pistols played here ten years later, in 1976, and only about thirty people showed up. Every one of them formed a band. This is the best of the lot. Joy Division. Not exactly punk, but inspired by the energy. Dark, mechanical. Countless bands copied them, too, most recently Interpol, and the Editors. Depressed metronomic lead singer Ian Curtis eventually hung himself, providing the perfect Hollywood ending for some crap bio-pic, of which TWO are currently being released. I don't know; maybe the movies will be okay and I'm just a cynical bastard. Here is the real band in a crude video from 1980. A truly sad, brilliant song.
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