Tony Wilson: I’m surprised to realise I’ll miss him
I’ve been incredibly busy of late. So busy, in fact, that I’ve not been keeping up with the news. So it genuinely is with some sadness that I discovered today that Tony Wilson passed away well over a week ago. There is no doubt that the man was capable of spectacular grandiosity, narcissism, and—frankly—just generally being a wanker. There is also no doubt in my mind that he achieved genuine greatness. Factory Records were a cultural landmark: the seminal recordings of Joy Division, and, at the very least, the earliest New Order recordings; Peter Saville’s glorious but austere aesthetic. Those were some of my most formative artistic experiences, and they still resonate as strongly with me today as Miles Davis or a Reid Miles Blue Note cover. 24 Hour Party People may mercilessly lampoon him, but it is also a testament to what he achieved. There was just something about the ethos of Factory: the record sleeve with nothing on it except a catalogue number (if you didn’t know what it was, you didn’t deserve to buy it); no tours, no promotional videos, un-announced gigs (if you didn’t know it was on, you didn’t deserve to … well, you get my drift); the label owned nothing, the artist owned everything. There was just an arrogance, an elitism, and a thorough-going rejection of commercialism in favour of integrity of vision that it’s hard not to admire when it comes from a sector of Britain that was at the time thoroughly impoverished and had every reason to feel down-trodden. If you’re not convinced that what Tony Wilson created could have been anything more than just pop culture, if you think that that can’t be art then just listen to Closer by Joy Division, or better yet, go and see Control when it comes out in October.
