Vini Reilly’s new album as The Durutti Column will inevitably appear poignant to fans. Since 2010’s A Paean To Wilson, his tribute to the late Factory Records boss who co-managed him for much of his career, he’s been largely absent, the result of strokes which left him so financially vulnerable his nephew had to crowdfund his rent. Two years ago, he told Uncut “there are no tunes happening” and trying to play “does my head in”. Indeed, and though a rash of reissues has helped compensate – including 1983’s once ‘lost’ Short Stories For Pauline – it’s hard to argue that Reilly isn’t still sorely underappreciated.
Fortunately, his enduring partners, drummer Bruce Mitchell (his co-manager, who first performed on 1981’s LC), and producer/instrumentalist Keir Stewart (who’s worked with him since 1998), have been conspiring on new tracks since 2017. They persisted even during the pandemic, social distancing by recording Reilly in his kitchen from a van outside. And what better time could there be for this unlikely renaissance? A recent addition to the reverent ranks of The Avalanches, Brian Eno, Dev Hynes and Morrissey – who hired him for 1988’s Viva Hate – is Harry Styles, whose “American Girls” owes a considerable debt to “Future Perfect”, from 1996’s Fidelity.
If its lengthy, disjointed origins suggest that Renascent might be a piecemeal affair that cannot do justice to his exquisite fretwork, rewind to 1980, when, frustrated by producer Martin Hannett’s technological indulgences, Reilly abandoned aimless sessions after two days, only to be presented with a masterful debut album. Famously released by Factory in sandpaper sleeves assembled by Joy Division under a title no less perverse, The Return Of The Durutti Column was sparse and startling, his intricate, instinctive melodies and bold, fluid fingerwork combining with Hannett’s inscrutable arrangements to immediately distinctive effect.
46 years on, Renascent confirms what that revealed, that the Mancunian, despite his enviable technique, revels in spontaneity which flourishes with sympathetic collaborators. Subtly recalling how The Return… began with the disparagingly titled “Sketch For Summer”, Renascent opens with a mere vignette, chiming electric guitar chords cautiously ascending towards “Echoes In The Memory”’s ensuing tranquility. In delighting in this familiar, impressionistic sound, it sets a suitably reflective mood for what must surely be interpreted as Mitchell and Stewart’s own tribute to their talented, commercially neglected friend.
Undoubtedly capricious, occasionally stubborn, Reilly has stated, “Every single piece of music writes itself.” Nonetheless, his potentially ephemeral flurries of vibrating air demand a fitting setting. If Renascent covers a mass of ground, that’s consistent with earlier albums, which, in ethereal manner, have often explored multiple styles, whether classical (1984’s Without Mercy), flamenco (1989’s Vini Reilly) or electronica (1990’s Obey The Time). Presumably it’s thanks to his colleagues’ understanding of these idiosyncrasies that, from moments snatched over a decade, they’ve managed to capture – as the title of another nebulous two-minute ‘sketch’ has it – “Vapour In A Matchbox”.
With their titles inviting comparison, “Your Shadow At Morning” and “Your Shadow At Evening” encapsulate Renascent’s range. The former aches with Arvo Pärt’s purity, Reilly teasing shadowy patterns from trademark harmonics and delicately resonant, sometimes Mediterranean lines, while the latter builds a quiet, Can-like storm of competing notes upon Mitchell’s resolute rhythms. Similarly contrasting are the shimmering, uncanny “Time Present And Time Past”, its title, like its hallmark drifting chords, indicative of its nostalgic flavour, and the strangely sinister “Liars”, its pillowy synths subverted by tenderly surging feedback.
Wilson periodically recoiled at the idea, but the latter boasts Reilly’s vocals, abandoning his typically instrumental template. Remarkably, he’s at his most charismatic, though it’s possibly no coincidence his cracked muttering is buried so deep only scant phrases, like the moving “I am sorry, I love you”, prove decipherable. “Scammer” is no less enigmatic, its redemptive air redolent of Brian Eno’s affecting cover of The Velvet Underground’s “I’m Set Free”. Elsewhere, too, his Manchester neighbour, Gondwana Records’ Caoilfhionn Rose, steps up for the poised, atmospheric “Agonistes” and a heartrending piano ballad, “Sargasso Sea”, her loaded “I don’t even regret a single cigarette” affecting but triumphant.
If this is to be Reilly’s last album – though obviously one hopes not – he departs with a farewell as glorious as he bade Wilson on A Paean…’s Marvin Gaye-sampling “Brother”. Retooling “For Belgian Friends”, one of his most sentimental pieces, in the orchestral fashion it deserves, Mitchell and Stewart ensure “For Friends Everywhere” offers an appropriately lavish finale. Already reworked multiple times, this latest reincarnation is emblematic of his collaborators’ attentive nature, its haunting melody given a spine-tingling, cinematic treatment. On CD and digital versions there’s an epilogue, the fragile “All I See Is Fire”, fronted by Lucas Elliott, but the credits are already rolling. So yes, to the maudlin, the rebirth that Renascent represents is unquestionably poignant. But then, like so much of Reilly’s six-stringed sorcery, it would be under any circumstances.
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