Date |
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Friday 1989-08-25 11:45:00 PM |
City |
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Reading, England, United Kingdom |
Venue |
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Reading Festival |
Attendance |
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N/A, Capacity: N/A |
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Order | Song | Notes |
1 | Round & Round | |
2 | Dream Attack | |
3 | All The Way | |
4 | Ceremony | |
5 | True Faith | |
6 | Mr Disco | |
7 | Every Little Counts | |
8 | Your Silent Face | |
9 | Vanishing Point | |
10 | Temptation | |
11 | Bizarre Love Triangle | |
12 | The Perfect Kiss | |
13 | Blue Monday | |
14 | Fine Time | |
From Chris Roberts (Melody Maker 9/9/89)
NEW ORDER have to be blinding, have to be gorgeous and maverick and wise, if we're to leave with any sense of napalm in our hearts, honey in our orifices, splendour on our teeth. Well, the light show takes care of that. We're sold. The light show is immense and suddenly the field is transformed, everything I was complaining about is thrown into another sensual dimension. Now we are on the set of a sci-fi movie, and I assure you that it's more stimulating than a rock festival. I guess Pink Floyd could've pulled the same stunt but anyway thank Christ it was New Order because that means we're allowed to gasp and go "oooh" and crane our necks, at least when no one's sitting on them. Now there is an atmosphere. Albrecht takes a calculated risk in slagging off, "all you stupid Mission fans" and makes a shrewd observation in saying, "this is the only festival I've ever played at where the band is more out of it than the audience". But of course it doesn't show. The Mancunian dance-away- the-heartache troopers have led us to expect, to want, the clash of rigid backbeat and looser-than-loose voice and bass, and if Albrecht or Hook care to muck around a bit on a verse or chorus we perceive it as a piece of history. I've never known them to be this danceable. "Every Second Counts" is the sole respite halfway through. Otherwise it's pure cut-a-rug-or-die stuff. Again, we're allowed to like this because we know New Order are so hip and so hip to misery. So, no worries - the field becomes a mass of strutting bodies. This is a good thing. Better a field full of narcissists than a field full of laid-back hippies "relating" to "Freebird" (or The Cure). Nothing too sickeningly, communally sentimental, just a wicked bop. It ends on high notes - "Temptation", "Fine Time", "Blue Monday" (which is enjoyable, for once), the ever- ascendant "Perfect Kiss"... New Order are sublime. They had to be to save the day. They were. They always are. It's the law. Maybe it helped that we knew the marathon was ending (Oh, they're not, by the way... "We're New Order and we're not breaking up," Bernard announces sulkily on entering). But you had to dance. They were fantastic about it. All the hits. It was great. It gave focus to the whole damp debacle. The ordeal is over. Ha, some poor bastard has to stand here tomorrow and he gets The Pogues. Life starts to feel better again. I am filled with the satisfaction of a hard job well done, an honest day's toil. With indeed a flush of goodwill towards all mankind, particularly this weird biker chick who is surely going to lead me to shelter, warmth, redemption and towels. "Now", she says, "I left the car somewhere..."
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