The Durutti Column
LC

THE REVIEW

"LC" is a masterpiece. I say it without fear, one of the best albums, one of the most atypical records of the early 80s. Martin Hannett grasped the genius of this boy who didn’t play the guitar, painted melancholic oil sketches born of his solitude. Another side of a more violent Jan Curtis. Paintings in melancholic notes, solitude. A genius who caressed the strings of a guitar with the same shyness with which he caressed a girl's skin.

This is also post-punk, introverted, closed within the soul of one of the best guitarists around, loved by Brian Eno. With few notes, he enters the heart, makes you fall in love with his minimal notes disguised by a simple pedalboard, paints landscapes, a melancholic voice mixed with emotions and chemistry.

Jan Curtis appears between the frames of his watercolors, introverted notes, a guitar very distant in sound but two hearts very close between the introverted notes of opposite colors.

Souls in the storm, different endings, different life's coincidences.

Music born from the same discomfort. You may take me for a visionary in associating these figures, but their sensitivities, though diverse as night and day, are born from the same heart and few have understood it, just the greats of the Factory.

In my confusion, I continue to think that "LC" is a monument of the 80s.