Bottle Green Vinyl
It's been 16 years since the release of the last Durutti Column album and chances of another began to feel increasingly remote. The few recent photos of Vini Reilly that had surfaced had shown him to be looking increasingly wraith-like (even more so for a man who has generally cut a ghostly figure throughout his time in the public eye) and reports of his ill health - three strokes! - did not bode well, especially with the news that his ability to play the guitar, his signature instrument no less, had all but been lost to him. And yet here we are with Renascent, and proof that Factory’s most defiantly singular of artists was still exactly that. The defiance here, as throughout the entire DC catalogue, lies not in power but beauty, a trademark diaphanous sensitivity that’s both nakedly human and mesmerisingly alien. This is a vernacular very specific to Reilly, so much so that even now that he lacks the ability to perform and record as he once did, those that are around him are able to articulate the language on his instruction, so clear and persistent is that artistic voice. The two additional musicians in question, longstanding collaborators Keir Stewart and Bruce Mitchell, deserve great credit also, their contributions, be that via performance and/or production, are necessarily thoughtful but certainly not overly reverential or sterile. In short, this is no exercise in sentimentality or parodic retread, instead amongst some of the most compelling late period output in the vast 28 album catalogue. There are a few guest vocalists, though my preference is for when Reilly sings himself, who has never really ever been a singer and the reason why I like it best when he does - “all my favourite singers couldn’t sing” et al. The fragility in that voice is, conversely, oddly powerful, and adds additional credence to lyrics that seem laced with regret and remorse - “sorry, sorry, sorry” goes one such line. Furthermore, late on we’re served two astonishing stand outs, the Eno-esque ‘Scammer’ and ‘For Friends Everywhere’, what I’m choosing to hear as the sequel song to ‘For Belgian Friends’ - the clue is in the name, but also the emotional breadth of those cascading keys, horns and strings, a track of unexpected celebration rooted more in 20th century American post-modern composition than any dusty Manchester back room. But from those dusty back rooms the Durutti Column did come, a miracle in a way, then as it is now that music this delicate and unique could ever exist at all.
FFO: Steve Reich, early ambient era Eno, Arthur Russell, Penguin Cafe Orchestra
