Hot Takes: Hitmen, serial killers and obscure disco

The story of Joy Division gets another airing in Jon Savage's oral history. Photo / Supplied

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I'm not sure whether the most disturbing thing about the opening sequence of the second series of serial killer-fest Mindhunter (Netflix) was the creepy bloke doing things you can't write about in a family newspaper, or the fact it was cut to Roxy Music's In Every Dream Home a Heartache, a song about other things you can't write about in a family newspaper. I was really looking forward to the first season of Mindhunter but felt it never quite fired. I'm only halfway through the latest series but the narrative feels more consistent. And David Fincher's direction in the opening episodes is typically, brilliantly understated.

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Oxford band Ride are one of those rare acts to reform to critical as well as fan acclaim. After a 23-year hiatus, they're two albums into the second phase of their career and, arguably, bigger than ever. Last week's gig at Auckland's Powerstation was their first in New Zealand and a sign of global appeal. New(ish) album This Is Not A Safe Place showcases a more diverse range of influences than their early records, albeit influences synonymous with their first peak in the early 1990s. There are hints of The Smiths' jangle, Teenage Fanclub's sun-flecked melancholy and My Bloody Valentine's woozy weirdness. Opener R.I.D.E. comes over like the latter doing The Chemical Brothers.

BINGE

I'm late to the Barry (Neon) party but binged both seasons on a succession of flights late last month. If you're equally tardy, it's the bone-dry story of a disillusioned hitman (Bill Hader) who stumbles across an acting class and finds new purpose, with - ahem - inevitable and hilarious complications. The dramedy balance perhaps swings towards drama as it goes on but that's no bad thing. The crazy episode with a young martial arts exponent and the amazing reveal on the opening gag is arguably the best of the lot.

READ

I've read the story of Manchester band Joy Division many times. Jon Savage's painstaking oral history, This Searing Light, The Sun and Everything Else, uses extracts from 30 years of interview transcripts and nothing else. It's a fresh way to do it and lets the subjects speak for themselves. There are, not unexpectedly, few significant new insights into the band's story but some intriguing context about the environment they came from and the aesthetic used to sell them.