Up, down, turn around, please don’t let me hit the ground. Today is a day of celebration for all Joy Division and New Order fans – After decades of ignorance, they are finally inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.
Even if you consider them as two separate bands, both are ridiculously overqualified for the Hall – two of the most innovative and influential bands of the past 50 years. As a combined nomination on one of the weakest ballots in history, they were still passed over. It looked like a hopeless case.
So this is a big victory for the Hall, which needs Joy Division and New Order far more than these bands need the Hall. For years they were the institution’s most embarrassing omission. It’s an encouraging sign that voters may be ready to abandon longstanding hostility to Eighties and Nineties rock. You could even call it a joyful event – wouldn’t that be a sacrilege for the band that gave us “Disorder”, “Isolation”, “Wilderness” and “Love Will Tear Us Apart”.
From punk to the dance floor
Joy Division only existed for a few years, emerging from the punk explosion of the late ’70s, with two terrific albums, “Unknown Pleasures” and “Closer”, as well as a number of singles such as “Transmission” and “Atmosphere”. They defined a new style of industrial doom and reflected the bombed-out urban desolation of their northern English hometown of Manchester. Tragically, singer Ian Curtis died in May 1980, on the eve of their first US tour. The other three just kept playing because they had no idea what else to do – they regrouped as New Order but refused to touch Joy Division material.
Guitarist Bernard Sumner took over as the new singer as no one else wanted the job. “I felt like I couldn’t sing and play guitar at the same time,” he wrote in his memoir “Chapter and Verse.” “Actually, I just couldn’t sing.” (Barney isn’t understating this at all.) They brought in Gillian Gilbert, the drummer’s girlfriend, on synthesizer as they began experimenting with the electronic sounds they’d heard late nights in seedy New York clubs.
New Order’s breakthrough was the 1982 single “Temptation” – nine minutes of trembling post-punk disco adrenaline, goth darkness and dancefloor ecstasy rolled into one. Almost by accident, the thing exploded onto real dance floors, resulting in club classics like “Blue Monday,” “Confusion,” “Bizarre Love Triangle,” and “True Faith,” as well as albums like “Brotherhood” (which turns 40 this fall). The entire history of pop music is condensed in the evolution of this band – from shy boys staring at the floor to beatbox-crazy party people.
As is well known, New Order eventually split into two factions of bitter enemies. Sumner, Gilbert and drummer Stephen Morris carry on, while bassist Peter Hook left and formed his own powerful live band – The Light – playing the exact same repertoire on competing tours. Barney and Hooky both wrote excellent memoirs in which they detail how much they loathe each other, piling petty things on top of each other like amplifiers. Imagine these two sharing the same podium: Compared to these two, the Gallagher brothers are a total cuddle concert.
Influence across all generations
The influence of both bands runs deep throughout the entire music world, across all generations and genres. Olivia Rodrigo just raved about them on the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Music Makes Us podcast with Kathleen Hanna. When asked what she’s been listening to recently, she replied: “I’m just diving deeper into the Cure’s discography, as well as their contemporaries like New Order and Joy Division.” No wonder her upcoming album has the Ian-worthy title “You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl In Love,” which sounds like a line from “She’s Lost Control.” Will “Drop Dead” be their answer to “Dead Souls”?
Expressed in eighties terms: New Order are the first band from the “Pretty in Pink” soundtrack to make it into the Hall – a massive generational change. This can only mean good things for the Psychedelic Furs, Echo and the Bunnymen, INXS (nominated this year, but maybe next time) and Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark, all of which have my vote.
But the Manchester death disco kings are part of a brilliant Hall of Fame class. This time the voters did it perfectly: Wu-Tang Clan, Luther Vandross (both first-time nominees, as crazy as that sounds), Oasis, Sade, Iron Maiden, Phil Collins and Billy Idol. Everyone I voted for got in – this is definitely the first time. There is also a fine selection of early influences: Celia Cruz, Fela Kuti, Queen Latifah, MC Lyte and Gram Parsons. Musical Excellence honors go to producers Jimmy Miller (who made the best Stones albums), Arif Mardin (who deserves it for Scritti Politti’s “Cupid & Psyche ’85” alone) and Rick Rubin (of course), as well as Philly soul songwriter Linda Creed (who gave us “You Make Me Feel Brand New” – job done). Also included: Ed Sullivan – which is brilliant considering he only had Elvis showing from the waist up. It would be Mr. Sullivan’s worst nightmare to be remembered as a lover of rock & roll, which he was reluctant to do.
A turning point for the Hall
It feels like a turning point for the Hall. There is reason for hope after last year’s debacle. The 2025 ballot was the nominating committee’s absolute nadir, the sloppiest ever, replete with holdovers from the second tier of the ’60s and ’70s. (And still no Monkees, for God’s sake – that needs to change.) Voters couldn’t do much with such a lame offer. This year feels so different that you can find hope again – even if you are fully aware that the reverberation, like love, will drive us apart again.
It’s important to remember that the real purpose of the Hall of Fame is to make us argue. That’s what it’s made for – making people angry is a feature of the reverb, not a bug. It began accepting artists in 1986, when there were already hundreds of worthy candidates, but only a handful are accepted each year because the event is a dinner and so there is a hard cap on how many people you can invite before dinner runs through breakfast. So it’s a guaranteed argument trigger and always will be – that’s what it’s there for. For all fans, arguing about pop music is part of loving it, and that’s why so many otherwise sensible adults seethe with enthusiasm at the Hall.
But for years the Hall had a strange phobia about music post-1980 unless it was multi-platinum. Rock bands from this era were considered taboo, especially the forbidden zone of English New Wave. The Cure were finally inducted in 2019, soon followed by Depeche Mode and Duran Duran. Nevertheless, the Hall continued to keep the rock of the eighties and nineties at bay. Case in point: The B-52s have never been nominated, not once. Sorry, but in what private Idaho are B-52s not a universally beloved pop phenomenon? For a career with such longevity, impact and innovation, one that’s still dancing this mess for almost 50 years, that’s a huge hole in the Hall’s rusty tin roof. The same goes for the Pixies, one of the most influential bands from the American underground, who inspired Nirvana and everything that followed. Never nominated. The Replacements? Hüsker Dü? Sonic Youth? Never nominated. The Smiths? Once nominated, ignored ever since. (Which is undoubtedly exactly what we Smiths fans want. Call us morbid, call us pale.)
The forgotten nineties
The ’90s were the decade in which rock bands were at the absolute peak of their popularity, cultural relevance, commercial strength and musical vitality. And yet it is the decade that the Hall most aggressively ignored. The Smashing Pumpkins, after all the biggest rock band of the era? Never nominated. Alanis Morissette, Fiona Apple, Hole, the Cranberries, No Doubt – all world famous, all eligible for years, not a single one nominated. Mind you, I’m not even talking about my indie favorites here. (Do you have any idea how painful it is for a Pavement obsessive to root for the Pumpkins? You think it’s easy, but you’re wrong.)
Phish won the fan vote last year – by a landslide. Everyone expected them to be on the ballot, but this year they were mysteriously removed from the ballot. With this year’s nominees, the Hall threw a random selection of 2000s pop acts into the mix — but it can’t just keep scrolling past Generation X. Every year that the Hall ignores the ’90s is like rain on your wedding day.
That’s why this year’s vintage feels like a real historical turning point. Instead of the usual sixties/seventies recycling of leftovers, it’s a whole vintage full of legends after 1980. And it was about time.
A year full of legends
Joy Division/New Order are the tip of a very cool iceberg. The Wu-Tang Clan – I would vote for each of them individually, even if it took a dozen ballots. Luther Vandross ended up floating in on the first try, a giant of American music and such a legend that Cher accidentally gave him a Grammy this year. Iron Maiden, who finally smuggle Eddie past the hall’s metal barrier. Oasis, who have finally made it thanks to their charming personalities.
I’ve voted for Sade so many times that it’s a real satisfaction to finally see her inducted – with her unique career as a New Romantic sensation that began in the post-Bowie London New Wave scene and then accomplished the delicate feat of crossing over into American R&B without changing her sound in the slightest. Billy Idol is a perennial sleaze favorite who spearheaded New York’s clean air campaign with the slogan “Billy Never Idles” and led ROLLING STONE to call him “the Greta Thunberg of parking violations.”
As for Phil Collins, he deserves it just for that perfect “In the Air Tonight” solo – ba-doom, ba-doom, ba-doom, ba-doom-boom-boom – the funniest drum solo anyone can sing along to. To be honest, I’m an even bigger fan of the eight-beat solo in “Against All Odds” – boom-BAP-boom, ba-da-DOOM-ba-doom – but why argue?
Hope for the future
No doubt about it – this is a moment that feels like a hopeful new direction for the Hall of Fame. Neither Joy Division nor New Order have ever been a band that inspires optimism, but the temptation beckons nonetheless. After years as the Hall’s most controversial omission, emblematic of an entire era of lockdown, it’s good news that the beloved Manchester curmudgeons are finally being welcomed. Now we can all move on and argue about Scritti Politti, Haysi Fantayzee or Kajagoogoo instead. But make no mistake – we’ll all continue to argue about the Hall of Fame. That’s exactly why we need them.
