Just a few months ago, I reviewed The Blue Nile frontman Paul Buchanan’s solo album Mid Air for my blog, so I was totally excited when brand-new Collector’s Editions of The Blue Nile’s first two albums, 1984’s A Walk Across the Rooftops and 1989’s Hats, arrived in my mailbox this past week. When you’ve spent over two decades listening to music that’s as indelibly crafted as these two albums are, the songs set up residence somewhere inside you, and both of these albums by the quietly lauded Glasgow trio of Buchanan, Robert Bell, and Paul Moore are, without reservation, contemporary classics. Despite its aura of enchantment, the music is so unassuming and real that calling it genius almost isn’t enough.

First, a little history on how these two unique, enigmatic albums came about. At the dawn of the 1980s, as electronic technology and synthesizers were beginning to dominate the mainstream music industry, a company called Linn had manufactured a drum machine that it sought to find a band to promote. The Blue Nile became that band, and its first two albums were recorded as a sort of showcase for Linn’s drum machine. Though released five years apart, the band’s debut and its sophomore effort garnered enough critical acclaim and modest commercial success that Virgin Records picked them up and delivered the distinctive, contemplative sound of The Blue Nile to a wider international audience.

The Blue Nile: A Walk Across the Rooftops: Collectors Edition, Hats: Collectors Edition(both Virgin) It’s one of those weeks in which, sad to say, the absolute best albums being offered are deluxe reissues of classics originally offered in the ‘80s! Bosch kts 301 tester. Yep, just as you’ve always suspected, all the best stuff came out long before you were.

I love the story of how I first discovered The Blue Nile as a teenager living in the sprawling Midwestern suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio. Aside from the city’s best pop radio station, Q102, my only other link to the greater world of pop music at that time was the lone copy of Billboard magazine that sat on the shelf in Waldenbooks every week at our local shopping mall. I’d spend an hour browsing through it from cover to cover, poring over the music charts and new releases. Once, late in 1989, I spotted a tiny, text-only advertisement somewhere in the back pages of the magazine. “Call this toll-free 1-800 number,” it said, “and we’ll send you a free promotional copy of The Blue Nile’s latest album Hats on cassette tape.”. I had no idea who The Blue Nile were, but I called the telephone number, left my name and mailing address on their recorded answering service, and the free cassette showed up about a month later.

Hearing those songs for the first time was a strange experience for 16-year-old me, who’d grown accustomed to the ’80s pop/dance music of the era in which I came of age. This unusual music by The Blue Nile was dark and moody, pulsing and vaguely shimmering, a stretch for me to connect with back then; to my young and unsophisticated ears, the songs sounded as far away as the country of Scotland did. Without articulating it to myself entirely, somewhere in the back of my mind I thought, “File this tape away for future reference, and come back to it in a few years when you’re ready.”. Fast-forward to my college years in Boston, when I finally worked my way backwards in The Blue Nile’s catalog and purchased an import CD of A Walk Across the Rooftops at Tower Records on Newbury Street. Listening to the remastered versions of the seven songs again now, I’m struck by how eccentric and reserved they are at once.