How Did Fans React To Erasure Love To Hate You On Release?

I was probably the youngest in my friend group when 'Love to Hate You' hit the speakers at a house party, so I don’t have the long-term fanzine perspective, but the immediate vibe was pure electricity. Everyone was singing along before the second chorus and tossing around opinions: some called it an instant classic, others joked it sounded like a soundtrack to every night out they'd ever had. The online threads I lurked in were full of gifs and playlist swaps, and a couple of people even uploaded bootleg live clips that got passed around — those clips made it feel like a tiny communal discovery.
There was definitely a split between people who loved the shiny production and those who wanted more experimentation, but that split never turned venomous; it was more teasing than hostile. Ultimately, the track became one of those songs that stitched people’s memories together — a party starter and a debate topic all at once — and I still smile when it plays, wondering which friend will start the chorus next.

The first time 'Love to Hate You' spun on a shop's demo rig, I was the sort of person who judged singles by how quickly they wormed into my head — this one did it in one chorus. Older club regulars I chatted with that day were instantly on board: it felt like classic ’90s synth-pop with that irresistible bounce you couldn't help dancing to. There was a real split though — some of the more die-hard fans loved its gleaming production and the playful lyric hook, while others grumbled that it wasn't breaking new ground. In the middle of a sticky dancefloor and a pile of cassette mixtapes, that divide still meant lively conversation rather than cold dismissal.
Over the next few weeks the reaction broadened. Radio DJs pushed it hard, remixes made their way into club sets, and people started trading versions on tapes and early online forums. For me, the sweetest moments were seeing younger listeners discover the band through that single — kids who’d never grown up with their older hits suddenly squealed over the chorus the same way we used to over a rare b-side. At the same time, a small faction of fans wrote letters to fanzines arguing it was too polished, too radio-friendly, a sell-out move. I found those debates endearing more than enraging; they signaled passion.
Even now, when I stumble across 'Love to Hate You' on a playlist it sparks a sitcom-worthy memory: a cramped flat, a friend balanced on a radiator, a night that blurred into laughter. The initial release didn't create unanimous adoration, but it created movement — in clubs, on radio, and in people’s conversations — and for me that's the best kind of reaction a single can hope for.

I caught the release buzz from a slightly more analytical angle — I kept an eye on chart chatter and fanzine threads, then dove into mixes the following weekend. The reaction among the core fanbase was interestingly layered: immediate affection for the melody and production quality, paired with a smattering of critique about stylistic sameness. People praised how 'Love to Hate You' polished the signature sound and sharpened the hooks, which made it playlist-friendly and club-ready. Others, especially those nostalgic for earlier, rawer material, called it comfortable and calculated.
Beyond the initial fan debates, the song found its identity in different communities. DJs and clubgoers adopted it quickly because of that propulsive beat, so it became a staple in nights out — a track that could bridge older fans and newcomers on a crowded dancefloor. Critics gave mixed reviews, but that didn't stop remixes and covers from proliferating, which in turn fed back into fandom: debates over the best remix, discussions of lyrical nuance, and people sharing personal stories tied to the song. For me, that kind of layered response — half love, half critique, whole engagement — felt like healthy fandom: people cared enough to disagree and then dance to it anyway.