If Manchester had a bassline, Peter Hook would be playing it.
For nearly five decades, Hooky has helped soundtrack the city. Its dark corners. Its dancefloors. Its moments of pride and pain. From Joy Division to New Order, the music has never really left us. And neither has he.
The moment it all started is very on brand for him. No grand plan. No destiny chat. Just a gig.
“I saw the Sex Pistols play and thought, ‘I can do that!’”
That do-it-yourself confidence would go on to shape everything. Music that did not wait for permission. Music that came straight from the gut.
When Hook talks about Joy Division and Ian Curtis, there’s no myth-making. Just honesty. “I am immensely proud of Ian and our work as Joy Division,” he says. “And to celebrate it in this way is such a pleasure.”
That pride sits alongside something heavier. Playing those songs is still emotional. “It’s always emotional playing those Joy Division tracks,” Hook admits. “We were a band at the bottom of the ladder, just finding our feet, and then dealing with how it finished as it did. It felt so final.”
At the time, he thought that was it. He’d only been a musician for four years. “It was a huge shock and it felt as though things were over before they had started.” Of course, they weren’t. New Order followed. Success followed. But Joy Division remained something else entirely.
“There was a wonderful purity to the music,” he says. Independent. Post-punk. Martin Hannett’s strange production. Ian’s words. “Two LPs. Two wonderful LPs.” There were even songs ready for a third. Ceremony. In a Lonely Place. ICB. “We were looking to make a great third record.”
After New Order ended, something began to gnaw at him. Joy Division had shaped his life, yet it wasn’t being celebrated at all. “How come we’re not celebrating these amazing songs?” he once asked. It felt daft not to. Playing them again was not about nostalgia. It was about getting something back. Like finding your favourite toys after years in the loft.
That thinking led to Peter Hook & The Light. At first, he expected a very specific crowd. “I thought it would just be people like me. Fat and bald old men.” Instead, it was everyone. Different ages. Different backgrounds. Parents passing the music on to their kids. “That’s amazing,” he says. “It’s great being in good company with a bunch of fat old blokes.”
Manchester crowds still matter most. He has always said they are more honest than anywhere else. You cannot coast here. You earn it. Playing at home still brings nerves. Friends in the crowd. Family watching. People who will tell you exactly what they think.
The legacy has grown far beyond what he expected. Joy Division still turns up in films, TV, and soundtracks. “It really made the scene,” he says. “It’s mad to think people are still so into it after all this time.” Seeing how it affects people still surprises him. “The impact it has on people still humbles me.”
Mental health is never far from that conversation. It’s personal. “It’s a cause that affects everyone,” he says. “You can never get inside someone’s head.” Music, for him, is not a cure, but it can be a lifeline.
Playing places like the Star & Garter, under murals of Ian Curtis, meant something deeper than just another gig. “Whenever I see him remembered like that, my heart leaps,” Hook says. “I just love that he’s remembered, even now, for his work.”
Hook’s connection to the past is not about holding on to it. He has even opened up his own archive, selling rare Joy Division and Factory Records memorabilia at charity auction. Guitars, artwork, vinyl, posters. Pieces of Manchester music history, shared with fans while raising money for good causes. It was not about cashing in. It was about letting the story live beyond him.
That lifetime of influence has now been formally recognised. Peter Hook was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Salford, in recognition of his services to rock music and its history.
Born in Ordsall, close to MediaCity, the moment carried real weight. “As a very proud Salfordian, this is very much a personal pinnacle for me,” he said. He spoke about nights at the Students’ Union, Joy Division playing the main hall, and always seeing Salford as underplayed in the region’s musical story. “To now be a part of it is incredibly humbling.”
He has never hidden where he comes from. Salford Grammar School. A clerk’s job at the Manchester Ship Canal Company. Then one night at the Free Trade Hall changed everything. He borrowed £35 from his mum, bought a bass, formed Warsaw, and the rest followed.
“For years Tony Wilson and Alan Wise told me how underplayed Salford was in our musical history,” he said. “I’m very happy to use this to prove how important Salford was and still is.”
Manchester history also runs through The Hacienda. The club that reshaped nightlife and culture. Its spirit lives on through orchestral projects and re-imagined performances that prove this music can evolve without losing its soul.
Ask Hook how he sees himself now and he laughs. If you’d told him at 20 that he would still be doing this decades later, on his own terms, he would have laughed you out of the room.
“I’m the Bruce Forsyth of indie music,” he says.
Away from the stage, he is refreshingly grounded. His proudest achievement is not a record or a venue. “I’ve got a great wife and great kids.” That’s it. He relaxes with action films. Does some exercise. Wears fluffy slippers. Supports United. Red, born in the shadow of the ground.
He has travelled the world many times over, but nothing feels quite like coming home. Manchester and Salford do not idolise you. They do not care what you have done. They just want you to be real. Sometimes they will tell you to fuck off. And that, for Peter Hook, is exactly why this place still feels like home.