There are moments when mythical recordings are finally unearthed - recordings veiled in considerable mist and mystery, not to mention a little hype - that fully justify the weight of expectation which surrounds them; think of Brian Wilson's Smile, or Bob Dylan's Basement Tapes. But those moments, alas, are few and far between, and more often than not the reality doesn't match up to the legend. But, believe it or not, this humble music lover has just experienced one of those rare moments for himself.

Let me explain.

You remember The Vivids, that legendary garage band from the North West of England, who, despite their growing reputation in music industry circles, refused point blank to release any albums? Well... wait for it... I've recently got my hands on a cdr containing 11 tracks culled from two of their albums recorded in 1992 and 1993.

I know what you're thinking... but this isn't a hoax. This is the real deal; a wonderful, fateful tumble of the dice, a once in a lifetime opportunity - a narrow window into the shadowy world of early nineties guitar experimentation, delightfully obtuse lyrics, and revelatory melodies - The complete Vivids experience.

But before I tell you about the recordings themselves, a little history lesson...

Legend has it that, inspired by their shared love of the Velvet Underground, four (or was it five?) young lads got together, and began to create music that could have changed the British music scene, if not the world, had they seen fit to actually release any of their songs. But fatefully, and perhaps in a tribute to Led Zeppelin, who famously refused to sanction the release of any singles throughout their career, The Vivids decided to go one better, and refused to release anything at all. And so a legend was born, and music fans up and down the land would gather together in shadowy corners and speak in hushed and reverent tones about the welter of amazing material the Vivids were recording - eight full albums, some said even as many as ten, in the space of just a few short years.

And now I have one, or should I say I have some of the songs from two, pressed onto a single, priceless cdr.

I am not ashamed to say that I raced home as though I had just bought my very first record, eager to listen, desperate to know whether all of the stories were true. I was about to become the first person, outside the close-knit Vivids circle, to hear this most legendary of bands on cd. I threw off my coat and powered up the hi-fi, my hands trembling as the little silver disc disappeared into the cd player, and then...

And then I knew.

From the first languid notes played on the electric guitar, from the laid-back bass and the delicate drumming which saunter in to meet it, from the way the vocalist lazily introduces Lou Reed's wonderfully simple lyric, "I don't care..."

From that moment you know that everything, as the song itself stresses, is going to be alright. The Vivids covering the Velvet Underground's little known It's Alright is at once a fitting introduction to this most mysterious of bands, and a stroke of understated genius. Fantastic.

Next, a song called I Love the Way, largely instrumental, and to these ears reminiscent of surf music initially, but then the descending chords bring to mind early garage rock cut on both sides of the Atlantic. Clearly the Vivids drew from a rich resevoir of inspiration.

And so the music begins to pull you in, drawing you into the Vivids world - a place of reverie, of midnight trysts and mysterious secrets - a place where vulnerability and bravado collide on sultry street corners - as if the essence of the night itself had been captured and transferred onto tape.

The third track, Break out of the shade, drags their love of the Velvets back to the fore again - that same garage recording technique, those same simple but effective guitar figures - this could be the sweltering heat of New York in the late sixties, with Andy Warhol and a host of glamorous, drugged-up, bit-part actors looking in, rather than Formby in the early-nineties, recording in a band member's bedroom perhaps, or even their draughty shed, come rain or come shine.

"And maybe one day, you're gonna break out of the shade..." they sing, and every music lover wishes The Vivids had followed their own sound advice.

The songs race by, begging repeated listening, bringing to mind Dylan in '65, the Velvet Underground of course, and more recent exponents of such art-house and experimental rock - perhaps Sonic Youth in a quiet mood, or Gomez recorded through a long tube... but fascinating and exhilarating none the less. A special word then for the quality of the recordings rather than the quality of the songs themselves. To these ears it sounds as though a mono tape recorder was placed on the floor in the middle of a room as the band plugged in, the record button was pressed, and then a cushion was thrown on top of it, or perhaps two - but nonetheless the richness and colour of the songs shine through.

The guitar solo which brings Satisfied to a close, the vocal onYour Eyes Shoot it Down (think George Harrison in an unguarded moment), the driving Why Does It Always End This Way? which recalls It's Alright Now Baby Blue, the melodies in the Lowlight Times, even the bare-faced arsing about during Pirates on the Sea (perhaps The Coral have heard these tracks, you begin to think, but then you remember, they couldn't have...)

Around every corner and in every narrow crevice you find a pearl. And the lo-fi nature of these recordings, which make Nirvana's roughest cuts sound as though they were recorded in the most lavish 64-track digital studio in Seattle, only enhances their cult status. These are tremendous songs, very well played, which cut through the darkness like the eyes of a cat - cunning and shrewd and comforting by turns, very definitely a creature of the night.

Blue Angel Rising, complete with the Dylan-esque timbre in the singer's voice (a ploy used to great effect on several of these recordings) rushes by far too quickly.

"If I could just see your face..." he sings, as the rest of the band accompany him with understated guitars and what sounds like a tambourine. How prescient... and how ironic.

The very next track on the cd, Walls of Truth, which sounds as though it was recorded when the band were at the bottom of a well (but it's none the worse for that, I can assure you), conveys all of the majesty and the sadness, the simple truth and the melancholy, that surrounds the Vivids music.

Who knows what motivated this band of brothers (quite literally brothers in the case of two of them, so legend has it) to act the way they did? Why did they write and record so many great songs and yet refuse to allow anyone to listen to them? Why did they deny the world the opportunity to glory in their greatness? Why didn't they club together and invest in a better tape recorder? We might never know. All we can do is treasure this cd, and hope and pray that someone, somewhere, unearths another trove of lost Vivids music, and paints for the world another picture that The Vivids themselves always refused to paint.

Keith Wright

30 October 2004