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The origins of The Durutti Column's first album are far from promising. Just before studio work were scheduled to start, the group split up acrimoniously. Guitarist Vini Reilly was so overwhelmed by depression that he could barely leave his home. Throughout 1979, numerous efforts were made to institutionalize him. Factory Records head Tony Wilson, concerned Reilly was “going to die”, stepped in by purchasing him a fresh guitar and suggesting he enter a studio with eccentric sound engineer Martin Hannett on an experimental basis.

The sessions proved catastrophic. Hannett paid little attention to Reilly, preferring to focus on sophisticated electronic gear he had brought along. The guitarist strummed sporadically before finally departing angrily, declaring, “I’m fucking sick of this.” He did not return.

Oblivious that a full-length record was being made, Reilly was “mortified” when Hannett handed over the completed work. He “absolutely hated” what he heard, consoling himself only in the belief that it would not find a broad public. The music on 1980’s The Return of the Durutti Column bore no resemblance to the straightforward post-punk material the initial lineup had contributed for the label’s sampler record A Factory Sample. Critics struggled for comparisons, likening it to the atmospheric instrumental music of ECM Records and Reilly’s playing to that of instrumental virtuosos and Jerry Garcia – neither of whom had minimal credibility in the post-punk world. Despite a positive review in the NME proposed listeners might regard the album as “hippy noodling.”

An Unexpected Enduring Influence

And that should have been the end of it. Merely one more Factory curio from a label that temporarily supported wildly obscure acts. Yet, 45 years on, we are faced with a deluxe edition of The Return of the Durutti Column, including a plethora of lo-fi early recordings and live tracks from gigs in European cities. These showcase Reilly’s early attempts to transform The Durutti Column into a performing entity were as problematic as expected. At one point, he remarks, “You’re a very nice audience,” before swiftly retracting his statement: “You’re a fucking awful audience.”

Surprising Longevity

For music that could seem as fragile as its maker – a reviewer compared Reilly’s dextrous guitar lines, woven into intricate latticeworks by effects, to “ice crystals” – the music of The Durutti Column has demonstrated remarkably robust. It has appeared on the scores of The Bear and video game Grand Theft Auto and been hailed by musicians from Red Hot Chili Peppers to R&B innovators. An sampling of their 1998 track Sing to Me lent a distinctly British sadness to Dev Hynes’ wonderful single The Field.

Appreciating the Record’s Lasting Appeal

Hearing The Return of the Durutti Column today, its longevity and influence are simple to understand. What counted against it in 1980 was its separation from the prevailing trends occurring at the period. That in the end worked in its favour: aside from the presence of early rhythm tracks, there’s little to link the compositions to a specific era, which means it remains timeless. Maybe the unusual circumstances of its creation – people experimenting for their own benefit, rather than actively producing an album for public consumption – helped forge its distinctly beguiling mood.

An Intimate Listen

The Durutti Column catalog includes sonically richer and broader albums that expanded the blueprint set here and grew to include styles ranging from electronic manipulation to flamenco. But from the moment Reilly’s instrument appears on opener Sketch for Summer – its relaxed echoing tones a ideal representation of a long, sun-dappled summer day – you feel pulled into a private universe, filled with personal emotions. It rarely sounds anguished or pained, but you wonder if the difficult circumstances in which Reilly was working have an influence on music that, for all its lush tunefulness, feels unfiltered, deeply personal.

• You don’t need to know that Collette and Katherine were inspired by Reilly’s past and present girlfriends to sense the tracks’ respective bittersweet tone and delicate euphoria.
• Lips That Would Kiss would sound like an manifestation of longing regardless of its title.
• The unspeakably lovely Requiem for a Father is so cloaked in echo that it seems to be transmitting from a faraway place, like a fading memory.

Despite the undeniable technical skill on display, the most remarkable thing about the album is its ability to move you rather than just dazzle: only the aptly named Jazz – laid down with a live rhythm section – falls into the category of background music. The rest is superb, an album its author never meant to be released, that you suspect people will discover and cherish for decades to come.