LTM have recently begun reissuing albums by Vini Reilly's Durutti Column, one of the acts who found a home on the late Tony Wilson's Factory Records. This particular album was originally released in April 1986 on the offshoot Factory Benelux label, a venture between the Manchester label and Les Disques du Crepuscule; this present edition features the original ten tracks in addition to ten bonus pieces, including five culled from various compilations and a further five tracks from the cancelled 1983 album Short Stories for Pauline.
LTM
Many years ago I had a good friend who was an absolute nut for the work of Reilly and he tried on numerous occasions to initiate me into the Manchester musician's world. I was quite resistant then, being somewhat young and headstrong, and even though I possessed the grace to at least listen to a few tapes, it didn't float my boat. Two decades later however, as the years have softened my sharp edges, I find myself very much savoring the beauty and musicianship evident on these finely crafted songs and instrumentals.
Vini Reilly has a laidback approach to playing guitar, the notes tripping lightly off the fretboard and floating serenely off into the ether. His arpeggiated six-string figures often acts as the warp to the weft of whatever instrument it is that happens to be accompanying him, whether it be violin, trumpet, piano or whatever, but when he allows his guitar to sing it is like liquid gold, the notes moltenly weaving around both melodies and backing alike. With one or two exceptions, the music here seems to carry with it a lazy summer-like quality, albeit touched with a hint of melancholy and regret, but mostly it feels bright and sunny despite that, light glinting sparklingly and scintillatingly off the multiform facets created by Reilly's fingers and compositional ability and acumen.
This is not to say that it is all brightness and light. Of the tracks which featured on the original release one of the most affecting is "Street Fight," where mournful piano is punctuated by the sound of machinegun-fire and voices—it is a paean perhaps to those who have died on revolutionary streets running with blood—and the delightful single "Tomorrow," Reilly's downbeat vocals heavily pregnant with regret and a tinge of frustration for a love that could have been but was never allowed to flower. Equally downbeat is his version of Hoagy Carmichael's "I Get Along Without You Very Well," featuring the vocals of Wilson's ex-wife Lindsay Reade, which was dedicated to him and issued as a single in 1983, and included here as one of the bonus tracks.
Sitting here as I am on a gray and overcast day the one overwhelming feeling flowing over me is the promise of the summer to come, lazy days spent wasting the hours delightfully doing nothing, a feeling particularly acute when listening to tracks like "Royal Infirmary," "Dance Pt I," and "Blind Elevator Girl (Osaka)," the latter perhaps being my especial favorite. Other tracks to take note of, bonus tracks all, are the quiet viola and reverb-laden guitar soulfulness of "All that Love and Maths Can Do," "The Aftermath," a piece that borders on the very edge of military dirge, the Joy Division–like "A Silence," and the drifting piano and saxophone dreaminess of "Cocktail."
Being re-exposed to the Durutti Column after a lengthy period of twenty years has quite frankly been something of a joyous revelation, and just like a fine wine Reilly’s music, not to speak of my tastes and capacity to appreciate, has matured considerably during those years into something possessing finesse and class. I have no doubt that as his music reaches the ears of a new generation of fans and listeners, those qualities will come to be understood and treasured even more.
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