I like to compare New Order's debut, Movement, with the Cure's third album, Faith.They both came out in 1981, both are much maligned by casual listeners, and both grapple with spirituality in a world that's falling apart.

Faith's world falls apart because family members are dying in hospital beds, the band is exhausted and at wit's end, and their binge drinking/drug intake is at such a fierce clip that fistfights and breakdowns on stage are not uncommon.

Movement's world is falling apart because Ian Curtis -- Joy Division's charismatic, distant frontman -- hanged himself only a year before. The album is supposed to break New Order (Bernard Sumner, guitar; Peter Hook, bass; Stephen Morris, drums; and the only non-Joy Division member, Gillian Gilbert, keyboards) out of that previous band's violent end. JD's final album, after all, is the odds 'n' sods package Still. What could be more opposite in intent than Movement?

The first problem is that Martin Hannett, the unsung "fifth member" of Joy Division (much to the band's initial chagrin), is behind the boards producing this album. He was responsible for draining Joy Division's first release, Unknown Pleasures, from punky blasts and cathartic angst into a sustained world of melancholy and fear. Consequently, he made it a masterpiece -- but the band was so up in arms over the production that they forced him to tone down for Closer. He's less toned down for this New Order album, and his presence is felt to the detriment of any great strides in the sound. He cloaks things in murk, brings in little bleeps and bloops, slows down Bernard's vocals to bring out Ian's ghost -- in other words, he makes the band sound like Joy Division as though Curtis were still with us. It wouldn't be until 1983's "Power, Corruption and Lies," when New Order canned Hannett and started self-producing, that the band would finally find its footing.

However, that's not to say that Movement is a failure. Merely a misstep, and a fascinating, sometimes gorgeous, one at that. I would not recommend you get this album unless you enjoy Joy Division. If you've been weened on New Order's poppier moments, and can't stand the band's pre-history, then stay away. You'll be missing New Order's best sustained moment of beauty -- "Doubts Even Here" -- but you probably wouldn't think it beautiful, just melancholy and dragging. Your loss.

We open with "Dreams Never End" -- full of guitars that sound positively jaunty when placed against the rest of this release. This is New Order's opening bid at relevance. Sure, their old band is dead, but dreams never end and all. The lyrics at this point in New Order's career can be pretty awful -- Barney tries too hard to mimic Ian Curtis' songwriting without capturing his insight -- so you get pretentious nonsense like "And that's the statement of view/There's no escape, so few in fear/Day made a change value." But I don't care. The song is bright, the singing is warm and haunted at the same time (Peter Hook's lead baritone played against a distant, echoed Sumner), and the track singes to a conclusion. In fact, Hook is such an able singer that probably the only reason he wasn't made the frontman is he sounds a little too close to Curtis.

"Truth" benefits from Hannett's production. He makes Morris' drums sound like owl wings fluttering out of a tree, ready to dive at its prey. This one is atmospheric doom, propelled by Hook's lurching bass, Gilbert's queasy synth, and blistering moments from Sumner's jagged guitar. I'm glad for the backdrop, because Barney just isn't comfortable with being the frontman yet. His voice sounds like it's had its vitality sucked out. "Oh, it's such a strange day in such a lonely way." As you can see, at this point he won't win awards for writing, but at least the background is captivating.

"Senses" drags a bit. It has an interesting framework -- mainly, stormy organ synth from Gillian played against Stephen's clattery drumwork -- but doesn't change from that set-up into something more memorable. The words, luckily, are better this time, as Sumner sings of oncoming blindness and drained emotions. The chorus is "No reason was given/No reason was given." But we all know the reason.

"Chosen Time" is one of those songs that take a while to grow on you, but once it does, it becomes one of your favorites. It's a wall of sound. Not in the Phil-Spector-brandishing-a-gun-at-you way. Rather, it sounds like the members of the band are all playing different songs, and somehow make them fit into one cogent piece. Sumner, again writing from his heart instead of his head, gives us powerful memories of Curtis ("What brought the last reaction/I'll never know") and feeling lost at his death ("I've got a friend in here somewhere/Who can help me out.") This is in direct contrast to later years, where songs like "Your Silent Face" and "Face Up" will respectively grow angry and give up on Curtis' legend. The grief cycle starts here. Even Hannett throwing in bizarre showers-of-lasers and Teletype sound effects can't derail this song's momentum, nor its message.

Unfortunately, Hannett goes on to destroy "I.C.B." Granted, the song is pretty much Joy Division with its tribal beat, its wallowing vocals and its downcast mood, but Hannett should have let the band have their moment of living in the past. "I.C.B." after all, stands for "Ian Curtis Buried." Why Hannett had to throw in lousy laser effects as though he were a fidgety little boy playing with a battery-operated phaser toy at a funeral is beyond me.

The band takes a second stab at memorializing Curtis in "The Him," and this one is a highlight. What drives this one for me is Morris' jittery drums played against the dissonant ethereality of Gilbert's synth and the general unease of both Hook's and Sumner's instruments, which explode into wordless, rage-fueled grief at unexpected moments. Sumner manages some powerfully haunted writing here, too, even though his singing is so quiet you can barely hear him. "Small boy kneels humble in a great hall/He placed hands to the air above him" is hard to shake.

"Doubts Even Here," in my eyes, is New Order's version of Joy Division's "Atmosphere." A soft, ghostly ode, brought even deeper into sleep by Gillian's cautiously broken synth. As with "Dreams Never End," Hook sings this one, and again, the warmth and presence of his voice turns the song into a fire to bed down next to for the long night. There is a gorgeous, human strain to the words -- "Then you revealed to me/All that I need to know now ... Then please don't turn away/Why can't I talk to you now? ... Don't throw our joy away/Why must you leave now?" Gillian backs him with spoken words, making it seem like a night where two lovers are talking quietly against their tears. This song needs to be heard.

Movement closed with "Denial," and of course it's going to pale in comparison to "Doubts Even Here." It's a stab of Joy Division in anger-mode, with added souring from Gilbert's restless synth. Sumner still sounds too strained and sad to give life to words like "This feeling inside me can't confront the decay/To fall down on my knees and resume this charade." But, seeing where the band has been, where it is now, and where it's going to go, you can forgive him.

As you can see, this album has its problems. It comes uncomfortably close to sounding like Joy Division at times. But to just write this disc off as nothing but second-rate Joy Division knock-offs is not really listening. And that would be a shame, because there are words here, melodies here, that show New Order's underlying humanism. They would find an outlet for that by becoming a propulsive indie dance unit. Here, you can see them trying for that with nothing but their own wish to move on. It's a brave album, not a bad one.

Recommended: Yes