Wilson was, and took great relish in being, an enigma.
A man who often seemed as wise as he was naive. Someone mercilessly ambitious to achieve his goals, without ever quite grasping exactly what they were. Often fortune, often fame, often legacy, he seemed to often court derision.
Yet his importance within British culture can never be under-estimated.
Most successful producers, moguls or svengalis merely have the brains to realise the potential of something, but Wilson was as much part of the something he oversaw as any of the bands or movements within it. Those at Factory Records didn’t just sign acts and release the records, they in turn rebuilt a city. If Manchester was built on factories, it took a different Factory to save it from its darkest moment.
Already a minor TV personality when the notion to begin Factory struck him, it could have been merely a fleeting fancy for Wilson. Eloquently framing his desires to create life and beauty within the decaying circus of a lost city, it could be imagined that most would not have taken the Cambridge-educated raconteur very seriously. But if there was one thing Wilson could do, it was inspire. His taste was truly impeccable (most of the time); Joy Division, New Order and Happy Mondays are the names that most often pay testament to this, and for good reason. They are the sound of a city, a movement, a revolution, an attitude, a way of life. And he saw this when no one else could.
Wilson’s belief and support in these bands is as famous as it was infamous. As much a part of each band’s rise as their downfall. Believing in their genius whilst enabling their demons. Making what they produced financially successful whilst making them financially untenable.
Duality then is his real legacy. He was as loved as he was loathed, often by the same people. When described by those that knew him, you are as likely to hear the cutting terms as you are glowing ones – often in the same sentence. Martin Moscrop (A Certain Ratio) said after his death:
“Tony used to annoy lots of people. Rob Gretton would get pissed off. Everyone would get pissed off with Tony. Everyone thought he was a knobhead. Until he died. Then people looked back at him and thought this guy wasn’t a knobhead at all. He was just a really good guy.” (‘Tony Wilson – You’re Entitled to an Opinion But Your Opinion is ****’, David Nolan, 2009, John Blake Publishing Ltd).
And it’s this imperfect, unreliable, yet passionate and beloved man that Mike Garry and Joe Duddell have truly captured on ‘St Anthony‘. It’s a prayer to loss, to the history of a man and to the times he lived in. A passionate declaration of love. But more than all of these things, it is beautiful.
It’s an honest, lyrical and playful beauty. It speaks the truth and revels in the myth, which is the very juxtaposition that Wilson spent so many years bathing in.
Since his untimely death in 2007, Wilson has become something like the Tin Man’s missing heart of Manchester. It’s a city still searching for what he brought it, without realising it just has to look at itself. His narcissism seemingly knew no bounds, except for his love of his home town. And celebrating his life is merely celebrating the joy of Manchester; its people, its culture, its music, its history, its lyricism, its humour and its unorthodox way of looking at the world around it.
He may have formed a label, discovered bands, opened clubs and inspired movements, but what is remembered more than all this is the man himself. Love him or hate him – most people decided to do both – everyone misses him and what he brought to so many facets of UK culture.
He was certainly no saint, but he will be remembered with the same kind of reverence.
