| Pitchfork |
Four CDs covering 15 years in roughly chronological order: Communications 1978-92 has the difficult task of summarizing a famously wayward label. As you might expect, it can't do the job painlessly. Factory's magnificent, quixotic approach to branding-- catalogue numbers for buildings! Record sleeves that lost money on every purchase!-- helped build its legend, but also acted as a smokescreen for its erratic quality control. Almost every label makes duff signings, but Factory's were somehow excusable because of the mystique surrounding the organization-- founder Tony Wilson's charm, patter, and heroic whim giving the impression that allowing Crispy Ambulance to make awful records was part of the grand plan as surely as the menstrual egg-timer (FAC 8) was. Take away the aura the label cultivated, and a lot of the music on the box set feels awkwardly exposed.What saves it is Factory's uniquely local quality. Born out of Wilson's enthusiasm for the Manchester arts beat he covered for a regional TV show, Factory had a close relationship with the city's music scene from the start, which became positively symbiotic when the label opened a club there. "The Haçienda must be built" was the situationist slogan that gave the venue its name: "The Haçienda must be filled" was the more pragmatic principle guiding much of the Factory aesthetic from the second disc of this box set onwards. The club provides one (literally) concrete reason for Factory's status as the UK indie label that engaged first and fiercest with dance music, and tracks here from Quando Quango's bubbly "Genius" to Happy Mondays' threatening "Hallelujah" were designed for its dancefloors. And though the Haçienda never funded Factory, its legal and financial struggles amid the decline into violence of Manchester's club scene formed one backdrop for the label's collapse....full text |
| Bbc |
| While not meaning to under appreciate the importance of Factory records as a worthy model of independence, Communications does seem to underline a simple fact (ha!): that Tony Wilson's bespoke cottage industry devoted to promoting the excellence of its Mancunian stable really could get it awfully wrong at times. Besides the unimpeachable jewels of say Joy Division, Cabaret Voltaire or even early James this box set contains some right old duffers. Mind you, when Anthony H and co. got it right, they REALLY got it right. It seems hardly worth going on about the thoroughly documented, canonised and even biopic-ed Ballardian miserabalists, Joy Division. Martin Hannett's productions will always defy time. But let's face it, Curtis et al were, like Mike Oldfield with Virgin, almost the sole reason that Wilson's label became as iconic as it did. And New Order's forsquare disco tendencies floated them through the rest of the 80s. But there's plenty more here to make you believe that, at least for a spell, factory showed unwavering taste. The Durutti Column's spidery ambient guitars; A Certain Ratio's now-hipper-than-hell white boy funk; Section 25's minimal thunder; and let's not forget marvellous one-offs like...erm, Crispy Ambulance?...full text |
| Stylefeeder |
| Limited edition 2009 four CD collection, a tribute to the great Factory Records label as well as a dedication to the label's founder, the late Tony Wilson. The project celebrates 30 years of arguably the most important label in UK pop history, collating rare and obscure tracks from a diverse range of acts. Features 63 tracks including cuts from New Order, Joy Division, The Durutti Column, Happy Mondays, Electronic, A Certain Ratio, Section 25 and many others. Sleeve notes written by Paul Morley. Rhino UK....full text |
Various Artists lyrics

Four CDs covering 15 years in roughly chronological order: Communications 1978-92 has the difficult task of summarizing a famously wayward label. As you might expect, it can't do the job painlessly. Factory's magnificent, quixotic approach to branding-- catalogue numbers for buildings! Record sleeves that lost money on every purchase!-- helped build its legend, but also acted as a smokescreen for its erratic quality control. Almost every label makes duff signings, but Factory's were somehow excusable because of the mystique surrounding the organization-- founder Tony Wilson's charm, patter, and heroic whim giving the impression that allowing Crispy Ambulance to make awful records was part of the grand plan as surely as the menstrual egg-timer (FAC 8) was. Take away the aura the label cultivated, and a lot of the music on the box set feels awkwardly exposed.