Reid all about it
David Belcher / The Herald
03.04.1998
03.04.1998
(Glasgow, Scotland)
Boss Grooves: David Belcher welcomes the pop renaissance of Creation's original siblings
Even taking into account London's inflated prices, it remains undeniable that £40 should still be sufficient these days to allow a couple of geezers to get splendidly blootered. Ah, but would £40 be enough for two members of the Jesus and Mary Chain? This pop alco-puzzle was among my concerns when I met Mary Chain-men Jim Reid and Ben Lurie in a Camden pub last week.
For the Mary Chain, remember, are the band who, as wee teenaged laddies, created a reputation for pyrotechnical rock'n'roll riotousness when they first ventured from their home in East Kilbride to stage their debut performance in Glasgow. At that gig in 1984 they a) fell out with the bloke operating the sound-deck; b) bust up his gear; c) bust up the headlining band's gear; d) bust up a dressing-room, and e) eventually got duffed up by the venue's bouncers.
Thereafter, as the band's latest press biog makes clear, the Mary Chain's two fraternal mainstays, Jim and William Reid, led a notable life of rock'n'roll excess in all areas. A German drug bust featured early doors. Later in 1984, at London's artily-experimental ICA, there was an apres-gig riot when the crowd decided to be insulted by the band's terse 25-minute set.
Over the years, the JAMC CV has encompassed at least one more rioting London audience; one not-so-fraternal on-stage fist-fight; a Radio 1 airplay ban (for supposed drug references); a refusal by record-plant workers to press a Mary Chain single (on the grounds of obscenity or blasphemy or both). Oh, and in Toronto in 1987 Jim Reid was charged with assaulting an audience-member with his mikestand.
More importantly, the Jesus and Mary Chain spat out a stream of lasting albums and hit singles, in the process establishing their own trademark sound: a sizzling white-hot blast of white noise which somehow managed to be melodic, angry, nihilistic, uplifting, and fizzing with righteous alienation all at once.
Then, at a time when a host of other bands belatedly started having hits with exactly the same sort of melodic-yet-alienated white noise, the Mary Chain mysteriously dropped from sight.
Three years on, however, the Mary Chain are back, reunited with their first manager, a fiery and no-nonsense Glaswegian fellow by the name of Alan McGee, who now runs his own label... a label which has latterly had a measure of success with a band featuring another couple of squabblesome siblings, the Gallaghers.
Aye, yon folk who brought you Oasis, Creation, are poised to issue a corking new Mary Chain single, Cracking Up, on Monday, to be followed in June by an album, Munki, that's every bit as caustic and tuneful as anything the Reid brothers have ever done. Don't miss the Mary Chain when they kick off a low-key UK tour in Scotland at the Loft, Dumfries, on April 22, and Glasgow's Garage (April 23).
But where have the Mary Chain been? What went wrong in their relationship with their previous label, Warner Brothers? What have they learned? How have they changed? Where are they going? And how much of Creation's £40 bar-kitty will they sup during our hour together? Jim Reid reflectively savours his half-pint of Belgian wheat beer, the real ale connoisseur's choice. "We feel rejuvenated," Jim says flatly. He looks as unhealthily pallid as ever he did, but there's a discernable vitality about him now. A new-found maturity, too.
"Warners didn't like our current album when they heard it half-way through. It was honest of them to tell us, and they did say they'd still release it. But we'd always felt they never knew what to do with us.
"Maybe we'd shut the label out in the early days... maybe we were a tad paranoid, seeing musicbiz monsters and demons where there weren't any. We probably wasted time and energy fighting them. There we were, a bunch of kids thinking we were walking through a minefield, when in fact we'd actually just locked ourselves in a studio, imagining that everyone was out to get the Mary Chain.
"Anyways, Warners and the Mary Chain having mutually got rid of each other, the best thing we could do was finish the record. We got rid of our management, too. So it's been a hard couple of years, with no safety blanket. It was hard watching the rise of Creation at the same time.
"Creation is the most natural label for us to be on, but at the same time, because Alan is a mate, we didn't want to go and ask him to sign us. We wanted Alan to hear the music and like it for what it is."
He did. He does. Everything is bliss-shaped and Mary Chain-fashion. But why Munki?
"We wanted a title that was un-Mary Chain-ish, something that would make people think: 'That's weird, you wouldn't expect that from them.' We wanted something that would pigeonhole us less as dark, brooding, miserable, rain-drenched - all the things we're usually seen as. 'Munki' is simply a meaningless word our younger sister, Linda, thought of."
While 'munki' is meaningless, Munki is an album notable for being pithy, zippy, poppy, perky, jaunty. Linda Reid sings on one track, too. "She'd never sung before, but she's a natural. She stays with our parents in East Kilbride - she's an English student in Glasgow - and she happened to be down in London with us in our studio."
The long-term plan?
"There isn't one. There never is. We'd like to tour as many places as possible, and see where the demand might be. We like to be liked. We don't want to be sitting in the middle of nowhere, playing to no-one, thinking: 'What are we doing here?'"
When the Mary Chain began, though, this urge to strike a chord with the populace wasn't exactly evident, chaps. "Our early stuff involved us putting on a front. We always wanted to be popular, but we didn't have enough confidence on stage. So we got drunk; we bluffed it; we looked as if we didn't care. We were actually hurt when people didn't like what we were doing, or we played badly at a gig.
"Because if people get the point of a gig, there's nothing better."
Agreeing, I prepare to exit. At this juncture, Ben decides to replenish his beer. And ach, why not, he'll add a double whisky. Jim opts for a Bloody Mary. A wild old JAMC night seems in prospect. But a couple of days later a Creation bod inadvertently revealed that most of the label's drinks-money was in fact returned to them. 100% aged in sober wisdom: the Mary Chain are stronger than ever.
Boss Grooves: David Belcher welcomes the pop renaissance of Creation's original siblings
Even taking into account London's inflated prices, it remains undeniable that £40 should still be sufficient these days to allow a couple of geezers to get splendidly blootered. Ah, but would £40 be enough for two members of the Jesus and Mary Chain? This pop alco-puzzle was among my concerns when I met Mary Chain-men Jim Reid and Ben Lurie in a Camden pub last week.
For the Mary Chain, remember, are the band who, as wee teenaged laddies, created a reputation for pyrotechnical rock'n'roll riotousness when they first ventured from their home in East Kilbride to stage their debut performance in Glasgow. At that gig in 1984 they a) fell out with the bloke operating the sound-deck; b) bust up his gear; c) bust up the headlining band's gear; d) bust up a dressing-room, and e) eventually got duffed up by the venue's bouncers.
Thereafter, as the band's latest press biog makes clear, the Mary Chain's two fraternal mainstays, Jim and William Reid, led a notable life of rock'n'roll excess in all areas. A German drug bust featured early doors. Later in 1984, at London's artily-experimental ICA, there was an apres-gig riot when the crowd decided to be insulted by the band's terse 25-minute set.
Over the years, the JAMC CV has encompassed at least one more rioting London audience; one not-so-fraternal on-stage fist-fight; a Radio 1 airplay ban (for supposed drug references); a refusal by record-plant workers to press a Mary Chain single (on the grounds of obscenity or blasphemy or both). Oh, and in Toronto in 1987 Jim Reid was charged with assaulting an audience-member with his mikestand.
More importantly, the Jesus and Mary Chain spat out a stream of lasting albums and hit singles, in the process establishing their own trademark sound: a sizzling white-hot blast of white noise which somehow managed to be melodic, angry, nihilistic, uplifting, and fizzing with righteous alienation all at once.
Then, at a time when a host of other bands belatedly started having hits with exactly the same sort of melodic-yet-alienated white noise, the Mary Chain mysteriously dropped from sight.
Three years on, however, the Mary Chain are back, reunited with their first manager, a fiery and no-nonsense Glaswegian fellow by the name of Alan McGee, who now runs his own label... a label which has latterly had a measure of success with a band featuring another couple of squabblesome siblings, the Gallaghers.
Aye, yon folk who brought you Oasis, Creation, are poised to issue a corking new Mary Chain single, Cracking Up, on Monday, to be followed in June by an album, Munki, that's every bit as caustic and tuneful as anything the Reid brothers have ever done. Don't miss the Mary Chain when they kick off a low-key UK tour in Scotland at the Loft, Dumfries, on April 22, and Glasgow's Garage (April 23).
But where have the Mary Chain been? What went wrong in their relationship with their previous label, Warner Brothers? What have they learned? How have they changed? Where are they going? And how much of Creation's £40 bar-kitty will they sup during our hour together? Jim Reid reflectively savours his half-pint of Belgian wheat beer, the real ale connoisseur's choice. "We feel rejuvenated," Jim says flatly. He looks as unhealthily pallid as ever he did, but there's a discernable vitality about him now. A new-found maturity, too.
"Warners didn't like our current album when they heard it half-way through. It was honest of them to tell us, and they did say they'd still release it. But we'd always felt they never knew what to do with us.
"Maybe we'd shut the label out in the early days... maybe we were a tad paranoid, seeing musicbiz monsters and demons where there weren't any. We probably wasted time and energy fighting them. There we were, a bunch of kids thinking we were walking through a minefield, when in fact we'd actually just locked ourselves in a studio, imagining that everyone was out to get the Mary Chain.
"Anyways, Warners and the Mary Chain having mutually got rid of each other, the best thing we could do was finish the record. We got rid of our management, too. So it's been a hard couple of years, with no safety blanket. It was hard watching the rise of Creation at the same time.
"Creation is the most natural label for us to be on, but at the same time, because Alan is a mate, we didn't want to go and ask him to sign us. We wanted Alan to hear the music and like it for what it is."
He did. He does. Everything is bliss-shaped and Mary Chain-fashion. But why Munki?
"We wanted a title that was un-Mary Chain-ish, something that would make people think: 'That's weird, you wouldn't expect that from them.' We wanted something that would pigeonhole us less as dark, brooding, miserable, rain-drenched - all the things we're usually seen as. 'Munki' is simply a meaningless word our younger sister, Linda, thought of."
While 'munki' is meaningless, Munki is an album notable for being pithy, zippy, poppy, perky, jaunty. Linda Reid sings on one track, too. "She'd never sung before, but she's a natural. She stays with our parents in East Kilbride - she's an English student in Glasgow - and she happened to be down in London with us in our studio."
The long-term plan?
"There isn't one. There never is. We'd like to tour as many places as possible, and see where the demand might be. We like to be liked. We don't want to be sitting in the middle of nowhere, playing to no-one, thinking: 'What are we doing here?'"
When the Mary Chain began, though, this urge to strike a chord with the populace wasn't exactly evident, chaps. "Our early stuff involved us putting on a front. We always wanted to be popular, but we didn't have enough confidence on stage. So we got drunk; we bluffed it; we looked as if we didn't care. We were actually hurt when people didn't like what we were doing, or we played badly at a gig.
"Because if people get the point of a gig, there's nothing better."
Agreeing, I prepare to exit. At this juncture, Ben decides to replenish his beer. And ach, why not, he'll add a double whisky. Jim opts for a Bloody Mary. A wild old JAMC night seems in prospect. But a couple of days later a Creation bod inadvertently revealed that most of the label's drinks-money was in fact returned to them. 100% aged in sober wisdom: the Mary Chain are stronger than ever.
