Years later, Barney and I were talking to one of our many financial experts, complaining about our constant lack of money.
‘Isn’t it funny,’ says this guy, smiling, ‘how in groups, the members never have any money, but the person who holds the chequebook always has loads of it?’
It’s true. The fact is there is a certain amount of mismanagement in all groups. How are the managers able to do it? Because musicians are the mugs who let them.
I live a very comfortable life, and have done for a number of years, so don’t get me wrong. But I couldn’t stop working now even if I wanted to. Not if I plan to maintain the comfortable life I have worked so hard for. And I have to admit, it’s galling to see people who have been in far less successful bands than I have who seem to have done much better financially.
One reason for that, among other things, is Rob controlling our income and ploughing it into the Haçienda. Another reason is our total obliviousness, because when you’re out in America or Australia, and you’re taters, and you’re having a great time, you don’t think to ask Rob, ‘Eh, Rob, how much did we get for that gig? How does it balance against the costs? Have we made sure everything is running efficiently?’ You just don’t do it.
As far as we were concerned – or at least, as far as I was concerned, because I can’t speak for the others – our money was being earned and was accumulating somewhere for when we needed it. The first part was right, at least.
As for the second part . . .?
It’s called sticking your head in the sand, and because I did that I lost millions of quid and still don’t have financial security now, even after forty years of being in the music business, the co-writer of ‘Blue Monday’ and ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ and many successful albums. At the end of the day I’ve only got myself to blame for said actions and for never raising my voice against signing daft agreement after daft agreement, that signed away 30 per cent of my earnings in perpetuity and all my rights to publishing and song royalties to erroneous partnerships and companies I have absolutely no control over. It’s unbelievable to me now.
I’ll tell you a story. In 1985 I needed thirteen grand to help buy my studio, Suite 16, so I went to Rob, cap in hand, to borrow the money – which, don’t forget, was my money.
He sat there practically making me beg for it. At one point he even called to his partner Lesley, ‘What do you think? Should we give it him?’ he sniggered. ‘OK,’ he said, after keeping me hanging on for ages. I was delighted. Freedom at last. I would be able to do something on my own. Then, just as I was being shown out the door, he added, smirking, ‘But I’ll have to ask the others first!’
Just to complete the humiliation. I never quite forgave him for that.
That kind of thing was characteristic of his manner. He had this way of making you feel either silly or guilty for asking about your own money. He’d be patronising or he’d chuck money at you – literally throwing it at you, and go, ‘Here’s a grand, go and have a holiday, Judas.’
It was one of those nails in the coffin I keep talking about. Because Rob wasn’t just managing the band, he was managing us as individuals, and when your manager is also your personal assistant and he’s telling you what to do in all aspects of your life, the dynamic begins to change. That, as we’ll see, is exactly what happened to New Order, because in later years, when Rob was a much-reduced force, Barney basically started managing the band.
Not only that, but we had the conflict of interest that occurs when three of the four band members are using the management for personal services, but not the fourth, me.
So that was brewing. Next thing we knew Rob came to us one day around 1982 or 1983 and said to us, ‘We’re having trouble getting money out of Factory. They can’t pay us what they owe us, so they’ve offered us a twenty per cent share of the company.’
So we said yes to that, same way we said yes to everything.
He said, ‘All right, then. What I’ll do is, I’ll put the shares in my name but split the money I get with you lot.’
Of course, it should have been four per cent each, split five ways, to make that twenty per cent. But we didn’t do that.
He was also registered as a director, so the first directors’ remuneration he got, he split with us, because were all in it together. Great.
The second one, he said, ‘We need a good record player so we can listen to test pressings, so I’ll use the directors’ remuneration to buy that, all right?’
We said yes. The great new record player was stored at his house.
The next time, he never mentioned the directors’ remuneration, and one of us must have brought it up, because his answer was, ‘Well, I’m doing all the fucking work, not you lot. Why the fuck should you get any?’
That was the last we ever heard of that remuneration. I mean, let’s be fair, Rob was right. He was doing all our work in Factory, and he did have all the associated stress and worry. But those were his terms, he was holding the shares for us, so if the company was sold we would get our money back, money that we were owed by them.
Plus, what we didn’t realise was that even more trouble was just around the corner. Somewhere along the line, Rob had been developing a taste for cocaine.
So after another successful year, business gripes aside, we had the added bonus of the resurgence of bloody ‘Blue Monday’.
Unbeknown to us it had inadvertently opened us up to a new market, the club DJs, who were about to give us considerable mainstream success. That summer a lot of holiday DJs had picked up on the record. It became a resort floor filler, one of those summer hits that everybody wanted to hear on their holidays and then again when they got back, to remind them of what a great time they’d had.
Tony Wilson heard about this because somebody had said to him, ‘Have you heard this new song by the group Blue Monday – ‘New Order’? Isn’t it on your label?’ All of a sudden in September there was a huge upsurge in interest. It went up in the charts again and we were even invited to play it on Top of the Pops again. We turned it down because they wanted us to mime and there was no way we were miming, not after last time.
Tony of course was delighted, saying, ‘Darlings! I am going to order another 100,000 to celebrate!’
‘Good for you, Tony,’ said us.