Blue Nile - Industrial post-romanticism

If there is one reason for the term cult band to exist, it must be attributed to the existence of groups like Blue Nile, a trio that has built up around itself a mythology with no equal, to the point that fans of the Scottish group know every tiny sonic nuance, or everything there is to know about their unusual career as musicians. Blue Nile are the most cult band among all cult bands.

This biography isn't meant only for the band's fans, to whom nothing I write will sound new; this account is for those who have had a chance encounter with one of their albums or songs without ever going further, and above all for those who haven't yet crossed paths with their music.

In twenty-two years of career, Blue Nile have recorded only four albums, scornful of the rules of the record market, honest and consistent, meticulous and respectful of their audience, to the point of staying out of the spotlight for years without ever demanding recognition or fame. Even a celebrated Italian critic like Riccardo Bertoncelli admitted he discovered the Scottish group only thanks to a tip from Andy Partridge of Xtc. Paraphrasing the title of an album by Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, we could sum up their artistic philosophy as "We're only in it for the music."

The ecstatic, solid purity of their music has guaranteed a constant emotional flow from their audience toward them; anyone who has come to appreciate their creations has been unable to resist getting drunk on the band's precious harmonic distillates.

The band's uneasy relationship with fame and success is evident in two key moments of their story: after the release of their debut album, A Walk Across The Rooftops, a group of Paul Buchanan's friends are discussing a Scottish band that has recorded an incredible album; when Paul reveals he's one of the band's members, no one believes him. A few years later, during their first American tour (for the album Peace At Last), the promoters, unaware of their musical output, greeted the tour with skepticism, and the near-instant sold-out status of all ten dates surprised and intrigued industry insiders.

In telling you the story of Blue Nile, it's first necessary to pull the three Glasgow musicians out of anonymity: vocals and guitar for Paul Gerard Buchanan, born April 16, 1956, with a degree in literature and medieval history; keyboards and electronics for Paul Joseph Moore, born March 19, 1957, with a degree in electronics; and finally bass for Robert Bell, born August 22, 1952, with a degree in mathematics.

Paul Buchanan and P.J. Moore already knew each other as boys, and their friendship grew stronger during their university years, when they met Robert Bell, with whom they immediately clicked, trading records and other cultural influences.

The dream of these three young men from Glasgow wasn't to be in a band just so they could boast about it to friends and acquaintances; their early experiences as musicians were carefree and free of ambition.

After finishing their studies, P.J. Moore was hired by Scottish television as a sound engineer, Robert Bell ran a local news agency, and Paul Buchanan taught, but only in part-time positions. Their interest in music remained paramount, and between a musical soundtrack album bought at Woolworths (Robert Bell), a sampler featuring tracks by Who and Jimi Hendrix (Paul Buchanan) and a Wea compilation, "The Age Of Atlantic" (P.J. Moore), Bell and Buchanan put together their first band, Night By Night (a name inspired by the Steely Dan album "Pretzel Logic"), even writing a few songs ("Rio" and "Stay").

Paul and Robert invited P.J. to join them, and together with Brian Doran (drums) and Des McGoldrick (guitar), they formed McIntyre, a group heavily influenced by Steely Dan and their refined, full-bodied sound. A handful of demos (the best known being "Flags," "Undercover" and "We're Not In The Movies") aligned their sound with that of other Scottish bands devoted to the American duo Fagen and Becker (Deacon Blue, Hue And Cry, Hipsway). Their music was far removed from the rarefied sound of Blue Nile, but the lyrics already hinted at the lyrical elements and noir atmospheres that would come to define the band's future.

Short-lived was the life of Mcintyre, who split up after failing to land a deal with Chrysalis. Moore, Bell and Buchanan decide to carry on as a trio, forming The White Hats, once again taking their name from a Steely Dan song ("Only A Fool Would Say That"), but the great season of Scottish pop has yet to arrive, and their gigs draw so little interest that one night the audience is actually outnumbered by the band.

The buzz stirred up by Postcard and by Scottish bands like Orange Juice and Josef K changes the landscape, and for Paul, Robert and P.J. it's time to get serious. The trio sets up a label (Peppermint Records), whose logo will appear on a 45 by The Persian Rugs, "Burning Passion Pain", and on the trio's own debut for Rso, the single "I Love This Life".

The Beatles, Marvin Gaye and Mahler are the touchstones of the band's early experiments, which also favor an essential, at times minimal, almost impressionistic sound. The instrumentation is bare-bones: a guitar, a bass, a Farfisa organ and a small synth.

With just a handful of songs, Blue Nile head to Castlesound Studios, hoping to turn their first ideas into something concrete. Robert Bell had previously produced and recorded, in these very studios, the Persian Rugs single, whose credits also included Paul Moore as a musician.

The encounter with sound engineer Calum Malcolm will prove crucial to the band's future: the rapport with the former member of the disbanded The Headboys is instant, and the future producer wins the trio over with his refined, melancholy sonic mood (his production credits include Aztec Camera, Orange Juice, Go-Betweens).

After the early demos, the sound shifts towards atmospheres that are less American and more neo-romantic; “I Love This Life” foreshadows the neo-symphonic approach with a cascade of synths simulating an imaginary journey through images, the rhythm is still pulsing and frantic, but this attitude too soon disappears from their sound to be only partly revived on the third album, Peace At Last.

Recorded at Castlesound Studios by Calum Malcolm, the track is paired on the 7" with another song, "Second Act", a sparer, more melancholic piece that showcases Paul Buchanan's gifts, and together they form a potential single.

Calum Malcolm is approached by Robert Stigwood's Rso, the label responsible for releasing The Headboys' two albums (the producer's former band), and the two tracks by the Scottish group end up in the hands of the label, which decides to release the band's debut single — meaning they need to come up with a name, fast. Thus Blue Nile are born, though their recording career will hit an unexpected and unforeseeable snag.

Dealings with Rso are conducted by letter only, and promotion is less than stellar; Radio 1 doesn't turn its nose up at the track and it gets plenty of airplay, but the killer blow comes after just two months: Rso is engulfed by collapse — the film "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" is a commercial disaster, Eric Clapton has just left the label, and the Bee Gees have just launched a lawsuit against Robert Stigwood. Rso is wound up before the end of 1981, and Blue Nile are once again without a deal.

Once again Calum Malcolm's role proves crucial to the band's future. Linn is looking for a group to sign for a record with all the technical qualities suited to their hi-fi component productions, and the producer puts forward some of the band's demos. Ivor and Markus Tiefenbrun (Linn's founders) have just perfected a new turntable, the Sondek Lp12, and their previous recording venture with the Aloi label had proved fruitless and of little use to their needs; Ivor is thrilled by what he hears and signs Blue Nile with few production constraints. Calum brings in Nigel Thomas (introduced to the band by Craig Armstrong), and even though he never appears in the core lineup, many consider him the band's fifth member (the producer being counted as the fourth).

Since this is Linn Records' first pop-rock production, the label's executives reach out to Virgin Records to handle the album's distribution, while retaining their own role in promotion.

The genesis of A Walk Across The Rooftops unfolds amid practical and budgetary difficulties. Paul Buchanan's guitar technique is still raw, P.J. Moore's Roland Jupiter synth has limited capabilities, but the presence of four members of the Scottish National Orchestra, Calum Malcolm's production, and the band's creative drive make the miracle possible.

Blue Nile's debut is rich in innovation and sonic exploration; its pop sensibility is eccentric, almost seeming to deny itself through jarring orchestral textures and learned nods to Bela Bartok and Terry Riley. The mainstream, almost danceable elegance of the single "Stay" throws some Italian critics off balance, who hastily dismiss the album, filing it away as navel-gazing disco-music (Mucchio Selvaggio, 1984).

Not everyone, in truth, is ready to grasp the shift taking place in those years: the golden age of new wave and post-punk is over, metal is rampant, grunge is just around the corner (Green River, Melvins, etc.) but it will take at least 5 more years to fully break through (Nirvana, Mudhoney); what remains is a musical landscape split between attempts to restore classic rock with a leaning toward metal and hard rock (the comeback of Deep Purple being emblematic of this) and an intriguing creative current poised between gothic-dark and languid melancholy.

There's no doubt that the best records of 1984 are, in part, attributable to this leaden-toned neo-romantic trend: 4AD is at the peak of its output (Cocteau Twins, "Treasure"; Dead Can Dance, "S/T"; This Mortal Coil, "It'll End In Tears"), but it's also the year of "Brilliant Trees" (David Sylvian), "Climate Of The Hunter" (Scott Walker), "The Splendour Of Fear" (Felt) and of "Broadcasting From Home" (Penguin Café Orchestra), fitting company for the Scots' debut.

The album's opening notes (the title track) leave no doubt as to the band's intentions: the drum machine's sound clashes against the pizzicato strings, while the bass zigzags between the notes of piano, guitar and trumpet; A Walk Across The Rooftops sounds unlike any other record of its era, and the best is still to come. The key element, however, is Paul Buchanan's voice, as cutting as Sting's, shaped with the same passion as Frank Sinatra's, but above all capable of imbuing a single word with a vast emotional spectrum.

Take the superb “Tinseltown In The Rain” as an example, where Paul's voice soars with no emotional restraint, while piano, bass, drums and strings create one of the most memorable grooves in electronic pop-funk: a track that, more than any other, puts into practice one of Brian Eno's theorems, namely dance music with classical elements.

The sound turns abstract and less physical again on “From Rags To Riches”, with electronic noises and the circular, repetitive sound of the keyboards paying tribute to Terry Riley and his masterpiece “A Rainbow In A Curved Air”.

The exuberance of “Stay” opens side two of the album; the robotic rhythm and the emotional progression are flawless, a pop song brimming with instrumental ideas and unconventional arrangement choices that, sadly, fails to make a dent in the English charts.

When the piano notes open “Easter Parade”, it's hard not to think of the best of the American tradition (Frank Sinatra) and songwriters like Tom Waits, an intense, nocturnal ballad that the Blue Nile would later revisit in a duet with Rickie Lee Jones.

The woody tone of the keyboards on “Heatwave” grows intoxicated with ethnic references and erudite avant-garde citations, while amiably staying within that black-and-white romanticism that would come to define the Scottish trio's sound: the sounds of bells, bones and birdsong fill some of the harmonic spaces deliberately left hanging.

Closing the show is “Automobile Noise”, a rare example of industrial pop with a rarefied, understated feel, a harmonically simple track caressed by a pregnant lyrical minimalism, as well as cradled by a percussive rhythm reminiscent of a metronome, over which hypnotic keyboard arpeggios settle.

A Walk Across The Rooftops is an album in which nothing is left to chance, every track is a small concentrate of inventiveness, with no filler whatsoever. A Robert Bell song, “St Katherine's Day”, is left out only because it was deemed too romantic and personal (it would be included on the 2012 deluxe reissue).

A black-and-white photo of Paul, Robert and P.J. standing in front of an abandoned church is chosen for the album cover, released only on vinyl; it's a perfect image to describe their sophisticated, almost immaculate, impressionistic sound.

The press is captivated, Bono Vox names it among the best albums of the year; in England it only reaches number eighty on the charts, but in Australia, North America and Europe it becomes a cult album, and in the Netherlands it achieves unexpected success thanks to the single “Tinseltown In The Rain”.

For the singles pulled from the album, no outtakes or unreleased material are dug up, except for the 12-inch edition of “Tinseltown In The Rain” (“Regret”, an introspective, crepuscular track also included on the compilation dedicated to the Italian-Scottish photographer Oscar Marzaroli, “The Tree And The Bird And The Fish And The Bell”), while the B-sides of the singles are given over to two instrumentals (“Saddle The Horses”, essentially “Automobile Noise” without vocals, and “Heatwave-instrumental”).

Despite the support of English critic Paul De Nojer and the praise of Steve Lillywhite (who includes it among the five best albums of 1984), the Blue Nile fail to overcome the prejudices of critics and audiences toward the new wave of pop; meanwhile Linn rents a house in Gullane, near Edinburgh, in an attempt to spark inspiration for the new album, but the only fruit of this is a demo of “From A Late Night Train”, one of the saddest songs the band ever wrote. Tension runs high; Virgin even offers up the Manor studios, but the Blue Nile are in search of new vibrations.

The band records a few songs but none of them will ever find a place on their albums, among them a more polished version of “St Katherine Day”, a couple of cover versions (“All The Way”, “Strangers In The Night”) and a few unreleased tracks (“Christmas”, “Broadway In The Snow”), among which “Young Club” stands out in particular, a track in which the trio begins experimenting with the technique of sonic subtraction that would lead them toward a less powerful, more essential sound. Strange rumors circulate about tapes burned or accidentally erased, but the truth is still, to this day, a matter of debate and denial among the musicians.

Fate doesn't seem to be on their side: the death of P.J. Moore's father, the divorce of Paul Buchanan's parents and the end of his relationship with Judy McNichol put all three Scotsmen through the wringer, while meanwhile the success of Live Aid brings old stars like Elton John, Phil Collins and Queen back into the spotlight.

While the band stays on stand-by because the Castlesound studios are occupied by It's Immaterial (who in 1990 would release an album in perfect Blue Nile style, “Song”), Bell, Buchanan and Moore accept an offer from the BBC, who commission a soundtrack for a TV film titled “Govan Ghost Story”. Channel 4 also contacts the band for a theme for an arts, music and live performance programme: “Halfway To Paradise”.

The relationship with Channel 4 doesn't end there, though: director Don Coutts wants them on TV for a brief live performance, and the band agrees, asking to bring in Rickie Lee Jones, a great admirer of the band, for the occasion. It all takes place after the release of the second album, with a performance that anticipates the title track of the American songwriter's new album, “Flying Cowboy”; another recording, a two-voice version of “Easter Parade”, won't be used on the TV programme but will see the light of day on a Blue Nile single (“Headlights On The Parade”).

Back at Castlesound Studios under the guidance of Calum Malcolm, the band finds its inspiration again, forcefully and unexpectedly, recording "Let's Go Out Tonight", "Headlights On The Parade" and "From A Late Night Train" in just five days, although the first track to be polished and finished will be "The Downtown Lights", which the band sees as the reference point for making the new album.

The sound is monochromatic, at times noir, minimal yet airy, electronic yet full of soul, not joyful but compassionate — everything is more intimate and direct.

The band also brings fans into the project, selecting a few of them to test the impact of the recorded songs: the sequel to A Walk Across The Rooftops is ready, and it's called Hats.

Hats, four letters, one word, an oxymoron through which the post-punk generation reclaims the buds of an ancestral feeling: love.

A perfect "Honey At The Core" crafted by three musicians eager to reclaim the romantic, sentimental song — the lived-in, suffering kind sung by Billie Holiday, the elegant, seductive kind sung by Frank Sinatra, and also the kind full of restraint found in the first cries of beat music.

Hats, four letters that replace the now-flattened word "Love", dressing that archaic impulse in new clothes — the force behind encounters between men and women wanting to communicate only through the language of passion.

A black-and-white cult movie, where the setting shifts from the smoky streets of New York or Chicago to the rain-soaked streets of Glasgow, a collage of seven mini-symphonies where technology and emotion tell of urban, nocturnal love affairs played out in the rain, between last-stop buses and the neon lights of bars.

The album consolidates all the band's qualities: Paul Buchanan's voice is richer with soul, technological progress yields warmer electronic textures, and Robert Bell's bass touch is more measured and lean; the avant-garde temptations and occasionally cacophonous dissonances of the debut are now tempered, as if the band had spent most of its studio time stripping away everything superfluous, leaving the bare bones of the songs to carry all the emotional weight. The vulnerability and tension running through the recordings shape an almost melodramatic romanticism, like something out of a Hollywood film — seven tracks that sound like seven little classics.

The soft electronic beat that opens "Over The Hillside" is the beating heart of Hats' 35 minutes, a soul mantra that piles up images of everyday life in a sequence full of pathos, releasing its tension in the orchestra's romantic refrain.

As in a film, the lights of the screen blur into the real world and silence falls: "The Downtown Lights" is a short film, a neorealist fresco in which traffic, city lights, emptying streets and the last buses move in sync, while the music interlocks pulsing geometric shapes with chromatic shifts like those of a kaleidoscope. "The Downtown Lights" is a modern Sufi dance in praise of love, a true masterpiece. Solemn and introverted, "Let's Go Out Tonight" restores the narrative tone of "Over The Hillside", a lullaby for adults who have never stopped dreaming of a night of love.

"Headlights On The Parade" opens side two with a synth-bass riff, wrapped in keyboards and a piano given full harmonic freedom, a bitter, solitary pop song that failed to make a dent in the charts (peaking at 72 in the UK) despite its more epic, straightforward tone. Conversely, "From A Late Night Train" is the exact opposite of "Headlights On The Parade": the melancholy is palpable in every lyrical space, piano and voice carry a deliberately spartan arrangement, where the few alien instrumental touches (the trumpet) have the allure of memories — it's a ballad for a sleepwalker rather than a dreamer, as the silence of darkness falls.

Feelings and hopes run dry, and Paul Buchanan wonders where love has gone, but he won't find an answer even in what might be called the bleakest, loneliest song the Blue Nile ever wrote, "Seven A.M."; the line "Stop! Go" rings out like the last spiritual cry of a troubled, defeated soul.

Hats, like all great neo-romantic albums, offers no solutions or hope: the notes of the closing "Saturday Night" promise no final redemption, only contemplation and wonder — two emotions that life can offer through an encounter with an ordinary girl who manages to make your Saturday night special, as the violins soar majestically, celebrating the epiphany of the everyday.

Hats is an album that suffers more than it was suffered over, meditative rather than meticulously planned, the fruit of a very difficult period for the three musicians, yet its language is universal, its music as clear as a mirror — a sonic diary in which each of us can find ourselves, a way to exorcise pain and loneliness. In these 35 minutes of new-symphonia, love transcends the everyday and becomes the biography of shared, universal feelings: industrial post-romanticism was born.

The enormous creative vitality of Hats is also borne out by the quality of the unreleased tracks and B-sides of the three singles: alongside the version of "Easter Parade" with Rickie Lee Jones, the band released "Halfway To Paradise" (the theme to the TV show of the same name), "Our Lives" (a track in three movements written for a stage production) and the excellent "The Wires Are Down"; another unreleased track, "Christmas", will appear on the recent deluxe edition of Hats, while the evocative "Broadway In The Snow" will sadly remain unreleased.

The English press is enthusiastic about Hats (it will appear on every year-end list), but the album stalls at No. 12 on the UK chart and the singles don't climb past the fiftieth spot; NME critic Stuart Maconie describes "The Downtown Lights" as "too big to ever become a hit", arguing that "its worth lies well beyond that". In those years Scotland was experiencing an incredible cultural ferment: for the first time famous artists like Dario Fo and Frank Sinatra chose it as a stage, and clubs and bars were teeming with new talent, among them Jerry Burns, a gifted singer the band meets at the Di Maggio pizzeria: she's the author of a pleasant, self-titled album, heavily influenced by the Blue Nile sound.

It's time for the band to overcome its reluctance and take the stage. The first concert runs no longer than 87 minutes, tension is high, and the group will play only one more date in England before flying to America.

Ron Fernstein is the manager of the American tour: his experience with musicians of the calibre of Mary Chapin Carpenter, Suzanne Vega and Shawn Colvin makes him a perfect fit for the Blue Nile. Steve Gaubory, Larry Saltzman (already a guitarist for Paul Simon) and Nigel Thomas round out the line-up which, despite the organisers' fears, draws a hugely enthusiastic audience, with sold-out dates and excellent live performances. The sound engineer is Robin Danar, an American musician who will later host Paul Buchanan on his solo album. A documentary, "Flags And Fences", gathers half an hour of sounds and commentary from the band's first American experience, which also includes a cover ("I Left My Heart In San Francisco") in the setlist and cements their fame in the States, where they achieve solid success (No. 108 on the Billboard chart).

The Blue Nile enchant audiences, who take in their performances in near-religious silence; music is the only language allowed, and the band even forgoes the usual concert merchandise, confirming modesty and integrity as essential elements of their artistic identity. Behind the success of Hats, however, Buchanan senses a threat to his privacy and decides to leave Glasgow for Los Angeles. Pressure for a new album strains the band's relationship with their labels, Linn and Virgin, while A&M is acquired by Polygram. Before long, the band find themselves without a contract.

A love story changes Paul Buchanan's life and the band's fate: it's Rosanna Arquette who brings about the meeting between Paul and Mo' Ostin, Frank Sinatra's former accountant and head of his label, Reprise, which The Voice had meanwhile sold to Warner Records.

Ostin becomes president of Warner Reprise and, after meeting Paul (thanks to Arquette), offers him a double deal: one for the Blue Nile as a band on the record label side, and one as a songwriter for the Warner Music Corp. publishing arm, the latter holding a long catalogue of songs written for other artists.

For the recordings of the new album the band chooses a different creative approach: the songs are developed over a long period of travel. France, Italy, Holland, Ireland and New York are the urban birthplaces of the ten new songs on Peace At Last, and Paul will tell the press that after the tragedies it's time to move on to comedy, confirming a different sonic language, more modern and accessible.

In place of the immaculate perfection of the two previous albums, the band now brings in a more intense lyrical spirituality and warmer, more soulful, joyful sounds; family life and faith replace suffering and melancholy.

The Blue Nile's third album doesn't replicate the formula of Hats or A Walk Across The Rooftops; childhood and religious symbolism now occupy Paul's imagination, and to leave no room for doubt he chooses to open the album with "Happiness": an evocative folk-gospel tune (featuring a spiritual choir heard in a church) that vibrates with intense spirituality around the simple chords of his new Gibson acoustic guitar, bought at Sam Ash, a musical instrument store that Paul and Robert had both visited on the same day, unbeknownst to each other, both noticing that very guitar, as if it had been sitting there waiting for Paul. It's the Gibson again that has the honour of opening "Tomorrow Morning", a ballad with delightfully upbeat movements, a perfect synthesis of the band's noir romanticism and their new way of life; the band initially makes a video to promote the track, but the choice for the single ultimately falls on "Happiness".

The passion for Marvin Gaye's soul and the band's early experiences with the McIntyres come roaring back in "Sentimental Man", a gripping funk-soul track rich in rhythm and new sonic solutions born of P.J. Moore's passion for the endless possibilities offered by the computer.

That the band's sonic discipline has shifted is evident in the fragmented arrangements: on one hand, the simpler sound of Paul's acoustic guitar dictates new emotional directions to good effect (the already-mentioned "Tomorrow Morning" and "Love Came Down"), while on the other there's a set of more intrusive electronic textures that bring the band's poetics to its knees with arrangements that aren't fully calibrated ("War Is Love") and an ugly synth-soul muddle ("Holy Love"), whose inclusion seems pointless, if not downright unjustified, given that the band had songs like "Wish Me Well" or "O' Lolita" on hand, two tracks that would end up as single B-sides.

Peace At Last is a project whose worth seems diminished by comparison with the past, but it is, once again, a rare example of excellent adult-pop. The notes of "Family Life", for instance, are yet another ecstatic display of passion and romanticism, one more archetype of urban-soul, with piano and voice proving more devastating and absorbing than a full symphony orchestra.

"God Bless You Kid" is the most atypical track, dominated by electric guitar complete with wah-wah and a compelling rhythmic groove, further proof of the album's stylistic range. It falls to the closing "Soon" to steer the music back onto more familiar tracks, with a perfect interlocking of rhythmic minimalism, refined synth-strings textures and a spine-tingling vocal performance that turns the clock back to 1984.

Despite Warner's powerful resources, promotion of the album is far from ideal, and even the release date raises doubts and confusion: May is a poor fit for a record with such autumnal, Christmassy qualities; mixed reviews in the English press don't help, and the No. 13 showing on the UK chart finds no equivalent placing in America — the sole exception being Japan, where the Blue Nile top the charts.

A new UK tour is greeted with success, and a new frontier seems to be opening up for Paul and co.; the band prove more at ease in a live setting, but the first signs of friction are already in the air: the relationship with P.J. Moore grows increasingly difficult, to the point that his absence from the album's cover art lends weight to theories branding Peace At Last as Buchanan's first solo work.

It should however be noted that in the period between Hats and Peace At Last, fan mythology increasingly centred on the group's singer and songwriter, partly due to a string of songs that graced albums by other artists such as Julian Lennon ("Other Side Of Town"), Robbie Robertson ("Breaking The Rules"), Annie Lennox ("The Gift"), Michael McDonald ("I Want You"), Chris Botti ("Midnight With You"), Matraca Berg ("Let's Face It", which Loredana Berté would later turn into "Comandante Che"), Jenny Muldaur ("Wandering", which Di Bella and Baroni would rework as "Sweet Love" for the voice of Patti Pravo), Riccardo Fogli (the lyrics of "Fango"/"You're All I Need") and Zucchero (the lyrics of "The Promise", "She's My Baby" and "Come Back The Sun").

At the same time, Robert Bell wrote some songs for Colin Woore (ex-Europeans) and co-wrote "Running Around Again" with Nicky Holland for the solo debut of the Tears For Fears keyboardist, while P.J. Moore was one of the writers on Chris Botti's "Like I Do Now" and composed the soundtrack for the film "The Hunger Artist", which also featured Buchanan among its cast, playing an exotic animal dealer; the two also played together on Marie Brennan's album Misty Eyed Adventures, on a highly original version of a Joni Mitchell song, "Big Yellow Taxi".

The Blue Nile's back catalogue was also plundered for cover versions: "Saturday Night" (Eddi Reader), "Let's Go Out Tonight" (Isaac Hayes, Craig Armstrong), "The Downtown Lights" (Rod Stewart, Annie Lennox), "Wish Me Well" (Brian Kennedy), "From Rags To Riches" (Liberties), "Soul Boy" (Edyta Gorniak).

Buchanan's dominant role and the distance between America and Scotland, where Moore and Bell still lived, did little to help the group's fortunes. And after five years, Paul's relationship with Rosanna Arquette also hit a crisis point: the cultural and social differences became increasingly apparent, and for the Blue Nile singer there was little appeal in being part of showbiz, which he observed with a kind of candour, never quite feeling part of it. Meanwhile, the American venture failed to bear the hoped-for fruit: the band was unhappy with the lack of support from Warner Records, who, in open conflict with Paul, blew the group's entire budget on a single event (a radio performance) while no one from the label ever showed up to their concerts.

Once again, the power of their music changed the course of events: record manager Ed Bicknell (former drummer with Mogul Trash) got hold of a copy of Peace At Last and decided to meet Buchanan: it would be Ed himself who engineered the Blue Nile's brief rebirth in 2004.

In the period following the album's release, Buchanan kept writing for other projects ("Downside Up" and "Make Tomorrow" for Peter Gabriel's "Ovo"), and in 2002 drummer Nigel Thomas (long considered part of the group) recorded his debut solo album under the moniker Quiet City (Public Face, Private Face), giving the three musicians a chance to reconvene on more familiar musical ground, restoring the stripped-back tone of their early work while adding a jazz touch well suited to the Blue Nile's harmonic geometries.

The nearly nine minutes of "Due North" are a godsend for the band's fans: the steady build of piano, horns and bass is laden with tension and carefully judged emotional pauses, bound together by an orchestra with a Phil Spector-like pathos, while Paul frames the track with a vocal performance worthy of Hats' finest moments.

The other track sung by Buchanan, "Things We Should Say", brings out seemingly new jazz shades, confirming the vocalist's crooner leanings — he has always been a great admirer of Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett.

In 2001 the band took part in the live tribute "A Wee Night For Uaneen" alongside Sinead O'Connor, Undertones, Therapy, Devlins and Ash, performing, alongside "Easter Parade" and "Tomorrow Morning", a stark, minimal version of Sinatra's "All The Way".

Meanwhile, Ed Bicknell sorted out the contractual issues with Warner and brought Sanctuary on board for the band's fourth album, for which they had by then amassed a sizeable stockpile of songs.

High was recorded in a church with the help of Willie Knox, and is the first album by the group to be recorded almost entirely in Glasgow (save for a few short sessions at Fish's Funny Farm Studios), amid friction and misunderstandings between P.J. and Paul, with Robert acting as mediator.

"I Would Never" was the lead single for the new record, also including the first two rare recordings from the "I Love This Life" 7-inch, and reaching a respectable number 53 on the UK chart. The monochrome, cinematic tone was restored, though the songs were not stories so much as fragments of ordinary life, observed through the glass of a bar window or a taxi. The narrative power of the opening trio of tracks is pure Blue Nile sound: the interplay of piano and soft drum machines on "Days Of Our Lives", the orchestral, almost acoustic pathos of "I Would Never", and the cyclical pulse of synthetic, minimal sounds set against the sensual, romantic vocal of the excellent "Broken Bones" all carry the same epic quality that made their music so distinctive.

The recording of High continued not without problems, as relations between the three musicians grew increasingly formal: more than friends, they were three musicians held together by an intense intellectual synchrony. P.J. Moore was the most emotionally invested, spending much of his time experimenting with new sounds, while Paul Buchanan was so overwhelmed by tension that his anxiety manifested as physical symptoms (chronic fatigue), leaving him unable to drive or carry out other ordinary activities. When Ed Bicknell listened to the recordings, he was on holiday in Barbados with Buchanan, and his reaction was harsh: the sound was sterile, at times dated, and the album's short running time was far from the production standards of the day; in short, for Ed, the album was a disaster. Paul didn't speak to him for days, before eventually admitting that the real challenge was convincing the band they needed to go back into the studio.

It was at this point that Ed asked Paul to let him hear some compositions that had been left off the recordings. The first was "Because Of Toledo", an unusual foray into folk singer-songwriter territory, built around a delicate touch of acoustic guitar, a light bed of synths and a lone trumpet: just a handful of elements supporting a simple, caressing melody; the other was "Stay Close", a long ballad underscored by an obsessive, plodding electronic rhythm that clashes with the pained, sorrowful tone of the vocal, one of the least accommodating tracks in their catalogue.

What's striking about High is the band's absolute stylistic incorruptibility: in twenty-two years their music has undergone few changes, and creative and instrumental expansion has never compromised their style; the narrative power and crepuscular tone of the title track, for instance, while sounding more modern, carry the same charisma as Hats, while the pop-soul of "Soul Boy" retraces the steps of "Peace At Last" with a self-awareness and understatement previously absent from their work.

The fourth Blue Nile album, while reconciling the band with the public and achieving their best chart placing, reveals a faint sense of routine that foreshadows the end of the adventure: when Ed calls Paul to congratulate him on the success (No. 10 and 150,000 copies sold), he learns that the band has split up. The news is kept secret so as not to lose the promotional support of Sanctuary, which has just released High.

Paul returns to the stage with a series of concerts with Bell billed as "Paul Buchanan sings the songs of The Blue Nile", which also feature a number of new songs ("Meanwhile", "Start Again", "Runaround Girl" and "Bring The House Down") that will remain unreleased; during the tour, P.J. Moore will publicly voice his dissent by sending journalists a letter full of accusations against his former colleague.

A string of unreleased tracks and duets keeps the fans' passion alive: Buchanan lends his voice to “Sleep” by Texas, “Rock Paper Scissors” by Michael Brook, “Garden Of Love” by Aqualung, “Until I Met You” by Paula Cole, “Feelings” by Up Dharma Down, and “It’s The Things You Say” by the Michael Cannon Band; he also records a version of “Silent Night” for a Christmas compilation, and a cover of “Message Of Love” by the Pretenders for Robin Danar's album. On top of that, he writes two new songs, one in collaboration with Matt Hales (“36 Hours”) and another with Bell for Scotland's National Theatre (“Can’t Get Over”), alongside a Bell-composed soundtrack for the documentary “The Colour Of Sound” and a version of “Oh Little Town, Oh Bethlehem” recorded by P.J. Moore and Chris Thompson.

The evolution of the record industry and the advent of the internet have revolutionised the way music is consumed - jarring developments for the Blue Nile, whose status as a cult band sits a long way from the rules of the business. Their visibility on the music scene resembles that of a volcano, forever dormant and still, waiting for the event that will stir it back into fire and flame.

Even though High sees the band conquer the charts, it becomes ever more apparent that the magic has vanished, replaced by a sterile professionalism devoid of genuine pathos.

Moore's recollection of his last encounter with P.J. is telling: Paul arrived in his Mercedes jeep, loaded up all the equipment that was still sitting in Buchanan's home studio, and when they had finished, he turned and asked him: “Is that it? Is there nothing else?”. The reply came without a flicker of emotion: “There's nothing else to say, that's it”. The Blue Nile's adventure was now over.

Eight years later, Paul Buchanan's first solo album, Mid Air, saw the light of day.

An album made up of thirteen tracks plus one instrumental, barely sketched out by piano and an evocative voice turned into a breath, or more often a whisper. The music uses an ever-wider spectrum of light to draw endless shades out of a single note, as if underlining the artist's constant sonic quest - forever chasing the sound of silence that sits between harmonic pauses, to forge a new archetype of musique concrète.

It's music that carries the flavour of first thing in the morning, that indefinable moment gathering up the roar of thoughts and feelings from a hard day. Buchanan had promised an album full of optimism, but fans will have to wait, because Mid Air lines up disillusionment and the heavy weight of experience before finally letting hope take root.

Even more ethereal and intangible, the music spins fourteen emotional variations on a handful of harmonic hints, never once succumbing to the temptations of tedium or self-indulgence.

The fragility of these sonic shards gathers into woody, solid bodies, conjuring fresh and vigorous suggestions.

Mid Air is a new beginning, rich with the same unspoiled charm as the first Blue Nile album but with a humbler, more poetic tone; Buchanan revisits the emotional currents of tracks like “Eastern Parade” or “Family Life”, but these are brief photo-frames that never run past three minutes - a eucharistic celebration marking a spiritual rebirth that often sounds like an epitaph.

Even the literary suggestions are fragmented and devoid of any final moral, as if marking out new boundaries for an inspiration that isn't searching for new sounds, but reinventing their contours.

There's no sonic or tonal revolution here: these are already familiar torch songs, capable of bringing to life endless chromatic shades of an intensely romantic and passionate music, in a frustrating quest for essentiality that pushes the voice toward an almost intangible emotional core.

The trumpet on “I Remember You” and the flaking strings and synth-and-piano intrusions of “Buy A Motor Car” are the same as on the first two albums - everything seems barely sketched in, yet surprisingly more defined and harmonious. Every note, every word echoes and swells until it becomes poetry. Piano and strings carry the tenderness of “Two Children”, defying the urge for a pop refrain on the hypnotic “Summer’s On Its Way”, while the simple harmonies of the title track create the perfect archetype for ushering the listener into Buchanan's world.

Rain, the loneliness of a grey dawn, are transformed into inspiration for a poetry that remains familiar yet never static, and so “Cars In The Garden” and “Newsroom” come to define the character of songs ready to win over anyone who knows the secrets of the Scotsman's music.

In the endless variation of his early-morning symphony, Buchanan reaches new lyrical heights with the poignant “My True Country” and the closing “After Dark”, in which weariness and resignation seem to take hold of his voice, as if after hours spent calling out to be heard by the person he loved and lost, even the urge to cry “I love you” has faded away. The neoclassical touches and rarefied instrumentation vibrate across tones and semitones that bridge back to Debussy and Satie, feeding new life into the music still to come.

Once again, Buchanan paves the way for all those who will go on to tell the feelings and anxieties of ordinary people; aware that, once more, it won't be him who receives the honours and the glory, which will remain suspended in mid-air, while still hoping that these precious fruits won't go to waste.

Silence falls once more over the future of the three former Blue Nile members, disturbed only by a series of deluxe reissues which, besides gathering B-sides and unreleased tracks (Peace At Last includes in its reissue three unreleased songs: “Turn Yourself Around”, “There Was A Girl”, “A Certain Kind Of Angel”), stand out for the excellent quality of the CD restoration work (the first two albums were released back when vinyl still reigned supreme). In 2015 Buchanan recorded a version of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” for a tribute album to Ewan McColl, titled “The Joy Of Living”, while rumours hinted at a new solo album with sounds closer to the old Blue Nile, but once again everything was shrouded in mystery.

The fate of the Scottish group remains tied to its status as a cult band, an artistic role always lived out in an atypical and unconventional way. Perhaps Paul Buchanan was right when he claimed that their attitude and their relationship with the record industry was closer to punk: a punk band that, instead of mockery and provocation, chose the language of music, three perfectionists of emotional rarefaction to whom history has never restored their rightful fame.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google