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Foisting era-defining bands like Joy Division, New Order and the Happy Mondays on England during the late 1970s and 1980s, the maverick British label Factory Records needed a slick design aesthetic to compliment its talented roster. Matthew Robertson's lush and definitive overview of the label's visual output shows numerous flashes of brilliance, but perhaps the most defining example isn't a poster or cover art. The "standard" Factory Contract Binder -- sort of a joke instituted after the independent label had run without any contracts for more than a decade -- was as much a commentary on the music industry as it was a visual marvel. Comprising two sheets of thick plastic that folded over the agreement and obscured everything but the signature lines, the object was held together by a series of large industrial bolts and decorated with a sadomasochistic image of a man literally caught by the balls.

It was a fitting statement for the Manchester-based label, so focused on pushing ideas and artistic freedom forward that cost and propriety were rarely deciding factors. It represented the freewheeling, flippant and detail-oriented brilliance that made an icon out of Factory, run by the manic Tony Wilson (profiled in 24 Hour Party People). Record sleeves were often worth as much as the music they contained, and many times they cost more. The most famous example is the sleeve for "Blue Monday," New Order's best-selling dance single. Designed to look like now-archaic black floppy discs, it was a revolutionary concept and also so expensive that the label sold the first pressing of the single at a loss. The sleeve of The Return of the Durutti Column LP was covered in sandpaper, sure to scratch anything stacked next to it, and A Certain Ratio's The Graveyard and the Ballroom cassette-only LP was packaged in a plastic purse.

Robertson's obsessive collection of Factory's eclectic cover art, posters and ephemera showcases everything in the catalog -- literally a catalog, since every item, from a promotional poster to a 12-inch single, had an assigned number -- and the label's ambitions beyond music. The two spin-off nightspots operated by Factory, the legendary club and rave incubator Hacienda and the more sedate bar Dry, featured cutting-edge layouts. Even the company Christmas cards were works of art. The main problem with the book is Robertson's presentation, which is a little too reverent and specialized. The scant introductory essays don't provide much context, both in terms of the graphic design of the era and the music being discussed. At a time when music commerce is fast becoming digital and the cutting edge of music art has gravitated, in many ways, toward flyer and poster designs, it would have been interesting to get a more in-depth description of how this elaborate artwork was conceived and created. But this compendium of exciting and exacting works, most from before the age of Macs and Photoshop, really speaks for itself.