Nice website, Jarvo. :D
Well, I did an OCR on the article and I tried to correct everything but there may be still some errors.
I have a special funeral suit now, because I go to so many of then. I seem to he at that age where my friends have started dying, although I'm only 46. I like to think it is because I have so many friends. The last funeral I went to was that of a friend of mine, whose neighbours hated him because he used to play music very loudly. Hc went out with a bang: he came home, put Happy Birthday on the stereo, then sat down and had a heart attack. Unfortunately, he had set the record on repeat. Happy Birthday played over and over again. A day-and-a-half later, his upstairs neighbour finally snapped. He went down and kicked the door in, only to realise that something was seriously amiss.
I thought that was hilarious, but I wouldn't say I have a blasé attitude to death. I am reconciled to it: death is inevitable and I am ready for it.
I was in Manchester yesterday, and I saw all thcse flowers that had been left where a child had died. He had been punched to the head, and had fallen and died, lust like that. As I walked past, I thought. 'What a waste.' But that sort of thing happens every day: As I have grown older, I have started to prepare for death. I've made a will and made sure my insurance is in order, when you have children, you feel more responsible. But I very much live for today.
I make a point of going to all my friends' funerals. The first funeral I attended was that of Ian Curtis. [Curtis, singer with the hand Joy Division, of which Peter Hook was also a member, hanged himself in 1980, aged 23.] He had a traditional funeral; most of my friends, in fact, have had traditional services. Once you're dead, it doesn't seem to matter how much of a rock 'n' roll rebel you were.
But I dud find Ian's funeral a very strange experience. I think it was because I hadn't been to see his body; I hadn't said goodbye properly. I don't know why I didn't do so; now, if anybody I know dies, I always go and say goodbye.
That was the strangest thing about 24 Hour Party People [last year's film about the Manchester music scene of the Eighties]: it depicted Ian's death on screen. When we saw it, we were all stunned. It was like a drunken memory but someone else's drunken memory. Two other people portrayed in the film who are also dead are record producer Martin Hannett and Rob Gretton [Joy Division's manager.] The guys who played them looked uncannily like them. It was spooky. Spookiest of all was going to the reconstructed Hacienda club to find the director shooting scenes with 'Ian' and 'Martin'. I turned to Bernard [Sumner, of Joy Division and New Order], and said, 'You know, we're here at the Hacienda watching all our friends have a great night out. The only person missing right now is Rob Gretton.'
'Look over there,' said Bernard. And there was 'Rob'. The film gave its a last night at the Hacienda. It was barmy, but it was nice to feel as if I was seeing those people one more time. I am not religious, but I do believe in an afterlife. I like to think that when I am gone I will still be somewhere rooting for my nearest and dearest: my wife and my three children. I hope I will he able to influence people and look after them.
I would prefer to pop off quickly. I want to die in my sleep. It's horrible when people find you, but it's a decent way to go. I don't want to have a messy end, like my mother. She suffered a heart attack a couple of years ago and when she fell, she broke her nose.
When I went to visit my mother in the funeral home, her nose was bent and it really annoyed me. I was worried about what she'd think, and I wanted her nose to be straight. So I reached in and tried to align it, and accidentally knocked the coffin. I caught it before it fell ever - fortunately, my mother was a very light woman. But I thought, if she is up there now, she will be going mad.
I also discovered that her hair had turned red, seemingly overnight. All my children have red hair and we had never known where it came from. My mother had been dying her hair in secret for more than 40 years.
I cremated my mother and scattered her ashes, but I hate the fact that I have nowhere to go to visit her. I want to be buried. The children can ignore me or come and dance on my grave - it's up to them. The epitaph on my stone will be, 'I had a great time - I would definitely do it again.' I want one of those tacky American headstones: when someonc presses a button, your voice comes out. I would like the bass riff from Love Will Tear Us Apart, with a recording of me, saying, 'Hi, this is Peter Hook' over the top. I told my wife about this, but she just laughed.
My wife and best friends would be in charge of organising my funeral. Although I am not religious, I would like a traditional church service: it's all about hedging your bets, isn't it? I want everyone in black, as a mark of respect, and I want them to be weepy, and maudlin. The service should last for ages.
I wouldn't have hymns, but seventies band Throbbing Gristle did a great cover of Jerusalem and I wouldn't mind that. The band, or what is left of them, could play a couple of numbers. Finally, I'd like Atmosphere by Joy Division, because I want everybody to have a good sob as they leave. My wife says she is going to play the Russ Abbot song of the same name, to wind me up.
I want the party afterwards to be really wild, maybe near the site of the Hacienda, in the heart of Manchester. I have spent much of my life there. Or a vodka bar called Revolution, where everyone could get really drunk.
INTERVIEW BY KARYN MILLER