Recorded at Strawberry Studios, Stockport, England.

If U.K. punk was the outward expression of nihilism and youthful rebellion, the music of Joy Division signaled a sea change toward its bleaker, darker, more introspective side--in the process, giving birth to an influential, highly original sound that was to have recurring echoes in the subsequent goth, new wave, and post-punk movements. Quickly following on the heels of an aborted album for RCA, the band regrouped with producer Martin Hannett for their 1979 debut, UNKNOWN PLEASURES. A landmark release in the history of modern music--being sui generis to the social and spiritual landscape of post-war England--the album is perhaps the most powerful and evocative statement of existential dread ever recorded.

Pruning away at the band's brash, ragged energy to reveal cavernous spaces filled with decaying chords and hollowed-out rhythms, UNKNOWN PLEASURES is as much a testament to Hannett's bold production touches as it is to Joy Division's powerful performances--Bernard Sumner's caustic riffing, Peter Hook's melodic basslines, Stephen Morris's martial rhythms, and Ian Curtis's potent, focused verse. Hannett wisely sidesteps naturalism in favor of noir-like claustrophobia, draping the instrumentation under spectral phantasms of found sound (breaking glass, elevator shafts, and footsteps). From the breathless, punk thrash of the opening track, "Disorder," to the melancholic despair of "Candidate," the songs form arcs of shade and light, revealing layers of energy and emotional intensity. Continuing with the taut, doom-laden rattle of "She's Lost Control," its snapping synth drums seem to signal some agonizing form of psychological restraint from which to escape. The album closes with the harrowing, apocalyptic denouement of "I Remember Nothing," in which Curtis's sorrowful croon declaims, "we, we're strangers," over crashing drums and a funereal drone--a suitably dramatic end to one of the most cathartic, devastatingly powerful albums ever recorded.

It even looks like something classic, beyond its time or place of origin even as it was a clear product of both -- one of Peter Saville's earliest and best designs, a transcription of a signal showing a star going nova, on a black embossed sleeve. If that were all Unknown Pleasures was, it wouldn't be discussed so much, but the ten songs inside, quite simply, are stone-cold landmarks, the whole album a monument to passion, energy, and cathartic despair. The quantum leap from the earliest thrashy singles to Unknown Pleasures can be heard through every note, with Martin Hannett's deservedly famous production -- emphasizing space in the most revelatory way since the dawn of dub -- as much a hallmark as the music itself. Songs fade in behind furtive noises of motion and activity, glass breaks with the force and clarity of doom, minimal keyboard lines add to an air of looming disaster -- something, somehow, seems to wait or lurk beyond the edge of hearing. But even though this is Hannett's album as much as anyone's, the songs and performances are the true key. Bernard Sumner redefined heavy metal sludge as chilling feedback fear and explosive energy, Peter Hook's instantly recognizable bass work at once warm and forbidding, Stephen Morris' drumming smacking through the speakers above all else. Ian Curtis synthesizes and purifies every last impulse, his voice shot through with the desire first and foremost to connect, only connect -- as "Candidate" plaintively states, "I tried to get to you/You treat me like this." Pick any song: the nervous death dance of "She's Lost Control"; the harrowing call for release "New Dawn Fades," all four members in perfect sync; the romance in hell of "Shadowplay"; "Insight" and its nervous drive toward some sort of apocalypse. All visceral, all emotional, all theatrical, all perfect -- one of the best albums ever. ~ Ned Raggett

Hailing from Manchester, England, Joy Division profoundly affected the alternative music scene. Arriving as punk music was waning, UNKNOWN Joy Division's music inhabits an eerie, twilight world. Decay and alienation envelop singer Ian Curtis, whose cavernous, but dispassionate, voice belied the intensity he brought to bear. Rolling drum patterns, thudding bass lines and uncluttered synthesizer combine to create a dank, brooding atmosphere, chillingly supporting the songs' bleak lyrics. Yet listening to Unknown Pleasures is not a depressing experience. The group generate a terse excitement, emphasizing individual strengths and avoiding unnecessary embellishment. Their sense of commitment is utterly convincing and few debut albums can boast such unremitting power.