From the cover art to the hellacious guitar racket going on atop the track's spooky tribal drums to lyrics that reference "The Atrocity Exhibition" by J.G. Ballard (a controversial and experimental series of "condensed novels" obsessed with modern celebrity at that time -- 1970 -- including chapters about the Kennedys, Ronald Reagan and Marilyn Monroe), I find this completely unsettling and difficult to get through in one sitting. And it's been that way since I first heard it four decades ago. I've often wondered if the late Ian Curtis meant this song to be a commentary on audiences that came to see the band knowing that he could be gripped by one of his epileptic seizures at any point in their performance -- a true "atrocity exhibition."