NEW ORDER DANCING TO AN EERIE BEAT

Where does one begin to unravel the enigma of New Order?

The group shuns most of the music industry’s promotional machinery—heck,I consider myself a fan, and until recently even I would have had a hard time picking this band out of a police line-up—yet their records invariably top the British indie charts. Over here, New Order recprds are staples of the import trade, despite the almost complete lack of promotional push and their willfully anonymous packaging (their last few releases don’t even feature the band’s name on the cover, much less the usual liner note fodder).

Then there’s the group’s new-found reputation as dance club favorites, which, while not undeserved, was certainly unexpected. New Order is somewhat lacking, you see, in funk: in the rapper’s chestbeating confidence, the sexuality of a Rick James or a Prince, the suave soul of an ABC, the “glamour” of a Duran Duran, or the willingness to conform to formula that makes so many of their English synth-based contemporaries so interchangeably danceable. There’s something tentative— almost fragile—about their music; melancholy keyboards and wisps of introspective vocals seem strangely out of place in the seeand-be-seen world of your usual new wave disco.