Ultimately, it was Ian Curtis‘ fear-filled private sanctuary that done him in. And heartbreak, I suppose. And numbness, a chronic adjustment to his fate. He’d been a paradoxical man -- a Tory, a bohemian, a practical joker, a Myshkin whose better revelations preceded his seizures -- and that seething jumble of contradictory emotions always comes to bear, over and over again, even in Joy Division‘s more energized tunes. In ”Atmosphere,“ when Curtis resignedly says, ”Don’t walk away“ and the chorus dawns with a shimmering string synth, he strains so hard to hit the last note -- a deadened fervor that pulls us luridly and sympathetically and inexorably toward his voice.