LINCOLN, Mass. — Local homeowner Shauneese Fortenberry was surprised to receive a “punk” singing telegram yesterday that left the entire front of her house in ruins, sources confirmed while wading through the rubble.
“In retrospect, I definitely should have known something was up when that telegram showed up an hour early for ‘load in and sound check.’ That should have tipped me off,” said Fortenberry while trying to contact her insurance. “Later, he returned dressed like a turn-of-the-century milkman, blew into a tuning pipe, and proceeded to launch into one of the most blistering, distorted ‘songs about how a secret admirer has feelings for me’ I’ve ever heard, while hanging from the LED light fixtures, punching windows, and punting my lawn gnome collection into my neighbor’s pool one-by-one. It was almost as sweet as it was borderline-criminal.”
A representative of the gift service in question asserted that they were in no way liable for the damage caused.
“Our contracts only require the sender’s signature to absolve us of any and all destruction our telegrams cause to porches, verandas, gazebos, and koi ponds. Like recording a prank call in Las Vegas, we only require single party consent,” said Raisin’ Hell-ograms founder Ignatz Moreau. “Besides, can’t we all agree that Ms. Fortenberry here should be more concerned in finding out who her secret admirer is, than she should be shaking us down for a new gargoyle or some shit? She must understand that there’s an exciting mystery afoot.”
Contractor Brennett Knox expressed dismay over the destruction of a perfectly good porch.
“I may be showing my age here, but, seems to me a ‘singing telegram’ should sing, not shriek and throw itself through any pane of glass they see. Whatever happened to crooners? Boy, he really did a number on this porch,” opined Knox, sucking his teeth in mourning. “It’s still on fire in some places, so I’ll have to wait out the blaze before I build it again. This will take months, maybe years, of working very closely with Ms. Fortenberry, I fear. We’re in for the long haul, and ready to put in the work, if she’ll have us.”
Upon further investigation, the “secret admirer” was revealed to be Mr. Knox himself, who misguidedly thought rebuilding the porch would be a good, low-pressure way to spend time with his crush.
The band’s first release without Gilbert, and their last with god-tier bassist Peter Hook, “Waiting For the Siren’s Call” boasts only a sprinkle of highlights in what is otherwise kind of a snoozeworthy collection of songs. “Hey Now What You Doing” invokes “Out of Time”-era REM, while “Turn” echoes back to the band’s most indie rocking late ‘80s moments. Just like pizza and sex, though, even the worst New Order is better than no New Order at all.
If the thought of Billy Corgan doing a guest spot on a New Order record makes you want to retch, proceed with barf bag in hand. “Get Ready’s” third track, “Turn My Way” features the head Pumpkin in charge on its chorus, and the whole thing comes off sounding a little too similar to that Moby and Gwen Stefani song for comfort. Let this be a lesson: Never let an ugly bald guy duet with a gorgeous blonde ever again. Opening track “Crystal” is a banger, though, and one of Hook’s finest performances on record. You can hit stop right there.
New Order’s highest Billboard charting album, and their first after longtime label Factory Records folded, “Republic” kicks off with the marvelous lead single “Regret,” accompanied by a charmingly awkward “Baywatch” collab music video featuring the Hoff himself. The remainder of the album shows the band leaning further into the house and italo-disco they helped to pioneer, with piano and strings paying each other compliments on tracks like “Spooky” and “Young Offender”, and even a touch of hip hop on “Ruined In a Day” and “Times Change”.
Anchored by the enduring hit “Bizarre Love Triangle,” the band did us a favor on this album and made one side all rock songs and the other side all dance songs. So no matter if you picked your date up at the rave or the Cure concert, you’ll know exactly which side to throw on to get busy when you’re home. Convenient!
A decade break in between albums this far into a band’s career can produce dicey results, but “Music Complete” is a pleasant surprise. We’re still Hookless here, but Gilbert is back behind the keys for the first time since 2001, and what we’re served is a very listenable set of tracks that lean much more into the dance than the rock. We’re also treated to some fun guest vocals courtesy of La Roux’s Elly Jackson (“Tutti Frutti,” “People on the Highline”) and The Killers’ Brandon Flowers (“Superheated”). Oh yeah… Iggy Pop shows up, too. He does the same weird spoken word schtick on “Stray Dog” as he did 23 years prior on “Black Sunshine” by White Zombie. It sounded much cooler then.
If Joy Division wrote the blueprint for moody post-punk, New Order called in the contractor and poured the foundation with “Movement.” With the loss of Curtis still fresh in the air, Hook assumes vocal duties on “Dreams Never End” and “Doubts Even Here,” while Sumner sings the rest. Bernie’s innocent quiver proved a more compelling contrast to the cold synths and proto-industrial grooves, so the front seat became his permanently. It’s worth pointing out that this album might have inspired the Edge to buy a pedalboard, so feel about that how you will.
It would be remiss not to mention that the bulk of the band’s biggest hits were released only as singles, and 1987’s two-disc “Substance” compiles all of them up to that point, with some 12” mixes and re-records to boot. This is the one you can throw on at the barbecue and your guests won’t hate you for it.
With the promise of a ‘90s electronic music renaissance looming over the horizon, New Order did what any forward-thinking dance group would do and made a pilgrimage to Spanish party island Ibiza to record a good portion of “Technique.” The result is a fun push and pull of club bangers like “Round & Round” and “Vanishing Point” aside breezy rockers like “All the Way” and “Dream Attack.” Longtime visual collaborator Peter Seville provides a super cool album cover depicting a cherub statue bathed in purples and blues; an aesthetic borrowed by countless alt-rock bands in the early ‘90s. If there were any doubts that New Order were from the future, they laid them to rest with this one.
Any record that features the drummer on the cover immediately gets bumped to the front of the line, but honestly, this album should be rebranded as “The Peter Hook Show” because homeboy is in beast mode for the entire 40 minutes and 7 seconds. This is undoubtedly the point where New Order came into their own, with production value taking a significant leap forward. Stephen Morris is a monster out of a Cronenberg film, morphing himself into half man, half machine, and in turn, creating a trunk-rattling drum sound that propels tracks like “The Perfect Kiss” and “Sub-culture.” If the band called it quits right here they would have already cemented their reputation as legends of alternative music until the end of time.
New Order’s piece de resistance and the apex of post-punk, inspiring just about every worthwhile musical artist you can name ever since. From Hook’s beautiful hiccup at the beginning of “Age of Consent,” to the lucid dreamy synth leads in “Your Silent Face,” to the dancefloor-ready “586” and “Ultraviolence,” “Power, Corruption & Lies” is a marionette string tugging at your very soul. You’re crying, you’re dancing, you’re nostalgic yet hopeful. Released in 1983, but it’s everything we’re feeling in 2023. Not to mention Saville’s beautiful still life cover art looks equally chic in a record frame as it does on a $500 Raf Simons crewneck. Long live New Order. Thank you for not breaking up.
Converge’s debut release is a lot like a freshman high school yearbook photo—looking back, there was some good stuff even if the guy in the picture turned out to be a sketchy bartender that sells drugs and exotic meat out of the back of his hometown bar now. Good thing Jacob Bannon is the vegan, straight edge type. Otherwise, listening to this album would be depressing instead of nostalgic.
This album is the one your cool, older cousin Tony liked. Tony loved this album as much as he loved huffing glue and stealing bikes. He listened to it while you pissed the sleeping bag because you weren’t ready to hear this album when you were 10. But what were you doing hanging out with a 17-year-old, anyway? You weren’t ready for it then, and it’s honestly not worth dredging it back up and the subsequent therapist’s appointment now.
Overall, this album is classic Converge. However, it is the only Converge album featuring an alarm clock in a song’s intro. Alarm clocks are for cops. Fuck cops and fuck songs that remind us of cops. Also, why is our sleep paralysis demon Gabe painted on the cover? That guy is the worst. Cops and demons aside, this album is objectively better than the entire Rush discography.
This collaboration with Chelsea Wolfe is the only album in the Converge discography that you can properly do drugs to. We’ll stop short of calling it Boston’s “Dark Side of the Moon”, but if you light some incense and shotgun a couple Mountain Dews, you’ll really blast off, man. Tripping on caffeine and yellow dye 5 to this album is transformative. So transformative, you’ll forget you sublease a one-room apartment from your ex-wife’s step-uncle with two cats and a Russian man that hates cats.
You might remember this album for its tight transitions that make the songs seem to bleed together through a minefield of squelches and feedback as well as the surprise full-album visualizer posted to YouTube in advance of the album’s release. The video features vibrating colors and patterns interplaying with one another while the songs vary between jackhammers full of rage and plodding, glacial doom. Huh. Maybe there are two Converge records you can do drugs to. I’ll go get the Mountain Dew!
Imagine having a baby with a dude and he writes “A Single Tear” in response. Pretty sick, right? If there’s anything babies and new moms love, it’s thrashing guitars, guttural screams, and breakneck drumming that are the perfect soundtrack for chugging 12 warm beers. Almost enough to make you treat every day like it’s Father’s Day.
This album about failure and loss is a lot more fun than it sounds. First off, the album cover is a severed hand, and who doesn’t love finding one of those? Plus, it’s got these inspirational song titles like, “Death King” and “In Her Blood” which are—a better time than you think.
This album is the Sergeant Peppers for aging hardcore dudes clinging to their camo cargo shorts and ‘90s Honda Civic hatchback. Those dudes have it at number one, but if we’re honest, the cover is more iconic than the music. Good thing you’re cranking out that bootleg merch in your mom’s garage! Why should Converge be the only people raking in cash on hoodies, tank tops, hats, banners, bandanas, tee-shirts, onesies, ashtrays, coozies, and tumblers with the visage of a stoic woman emblazoned on it? Nothing says, “I had 00-gauged ears twenty years ago!” like Jane Doe merch.
“No Heroes” sounds like the band caught an eagle and put it in a blender—sorry, not sorry, PETA. The main ingredients in this bird smoothie include some of the most unintelligible lyrics in the Converge discography, razor-sharp guitars that only get better as the album progresses, drama, and the absolute wall-smasher that is “No Heroes”. This refreshing, feather soda should be played loud because it is the work of a group of musicians hellbent on playing heavy music at a blistering pace and killing rare birds at a rate captive breeders cannot keep up with.
When “Axe To Fall” came out, the 2008 financial crisis was fresh in the air, Millennials were ruining the restaurant industry with avocado toast, and Converge was ripping America’s underwear right over its head with this album. From the blistering opening of “Dark Horse” to the depths of “Cruel Bloom” and “Wretched World”, this album does it all. The anger and weirdness fit perfectly with the then and now—when things are totally fine and nothing is wrong at all.