NewOrder were as unassailable in 1987 as they had been almost a decade before, when they were releasing records, and changing lives, under the name Joy Division. Unassailable in the marketplace - where they enjoyed healthy sales for an outfit whose record compnay refused to advertise their product - and unassailable in the margins; aware of, yet aloof from contemporary trends. Remote. Controlled.

   No one could stop NewOrder now, and they knew it. They had survived the suicide of their lead singer, Ian Curtis, promoted a new vocalist, Bernard Sumner, from the ranks, and evolved into a technically (technologically) riveting, sonically sophisticated and rhythmically varied studio/performance unit. "The greatest white dance band on the planet," as Melody Maker put it that winter.

   They were that rarity: a group who had emerged during punk yet remained as relevant as they had been from the very start of their quixotic career; more relevant, in fact, more relevant and relaxed and yet rigidly disciplined when it came to the crucial matter of creating music whose detailed richness could affect the thinking and breathing of their most attentive fans.

   No more shadowplay and teasing abstractions (well, not many, anwyway) for these quiet, shy, murderously menacing but-actually-quite-approachable Mancunian legends. Not only did each successive NewOrder album represent a complete advance - from the nervous young men (and woman) playing with myths and toying with synths on Movement (1981) to the crafted, confident Power Corruption & Lies (1983 to the icily perfect techno-pop of Low Life (1985) to the monumental soundscapes of Brotherhood (1986) - they were also fast becoming the country's premier mobile jukebox, one whose controlled remoteness was - ironically, pleasingly - drawing gasps from every sector of the fragmented rock audience.

   Everything NewOrder had achieved thus far - and, considering that we are talking here about such explorations of private grief and explosions of communal euphoria as Ceremony, In A Lonely Place, Everything's Gone Green, Cries And Whispers, Blue Monday, Thieves Like Us, The Perfect Kiss and Bizarre Love Triangle, that's some journey - had been leading up to their first single of 1987.

   True Faith, their 10th such release was the summer's unofficial national anthem. Backed with 1963 - more rich detail, more ricocheting hooks and dense textures, with some remarkable singing by Sumner, who chose this moment to yearn his bleeding heart out, to yearn his way to the bloody heart of the popular song - it was a startling double A-side, one that well deserved its position at Number 4 in the charts. NewOrder's first Top 5 entry. Joy Division in the hit parade. It was something to celebrate.

   And then they played Glastonbury. According to lore (if not law), NewOrder in concert could either be magnificently accomplished or disgracefully disorganised (if not intimate yet forbidding). Dead serious or one big cosmic joke. On June 19th, 1987, they were both.

   From the deeply personal instant-of-revelation captured on LP opener Touched By The Hand Of God, their second single of 1987, to the Grand Guignol of grande finale Sister Ray, on which they laugh at their own collapse (all their failings exposed), NewOrder fool around with notions of consistency, casually mock the romantic drama of their lives, challenge the listener to care/not care. Just to prove that, after all that Bernard Sumner guitar, Peter Hook bass, Gillian Gilbert keyboards and Stephen Morris drums, they are human. Because they can. Because they are New Order.