Return of the Jesus and Mary Chain
Robert Hilburn / LA Times
12.11.1989
12.11.1989
One of Britain's most controversial and acclaimed bands is back with a new spirit of confidence and alertness
The joke used to be that when you went to interview the Jesus and Mary Chain you didn't know whether to bring along a tape recorder or a book of crossword puzzles - to give you something to do during the long pauses in the conversation.
Jim and William Reid, the brothers who are the architects of the British rock group's mostly dark, emotionally-charged soundscapes, weren't exactly effusive. Early in their career they were known to walk offstage after just 15 minutes some nights, and it was easy, after meeting them, to picture some of their interviews being even shorter.
Shy and soft-spoken, the Scottish brothers seemed so wary of a reporter's questions during a 1987 interview in London that they came across as reluctant tag-team partners. No one wanted to step into the ring. The result was a lot of awfully l-o-n-g gaps in the dialogue as the Reids stared dejectedly into space.
The reason reporters bothered to talk to them at all: The Jesus and Mary Chain made some of the most absorbing rock'n'roll of the '80s.
This is a band that made two of the most compelling albums of the decade - 1985's "Psychocandy" and 1987's "Darklands" - and still had enough music left over for a compilation of odds and ends (1988's "Barbed Wire Kisses") so inviting that it showed up on several critics' Top 10 lists that year.
"Psychocandy" was one of the most thrilling debuts since the Sex Pistols' "Never Mind The Bollocks . . ." - and nearly as controversial. The album's mix of beautiful melodies, melancholy themes and brutal guitar feedback was hailed as brilliant by some but dismissed by others as simply a gimmick.
On "Darklands," the brothers - stung by the latter criticism - set aside much of the feedback in favor of more focus on the songs. Remarkably, the change in tactics didn't diminish the music's emotional fury.
After nearly three years, the perfectionist Mary Chain is back with its official "third" album, and there's a new spirit of confidence and alertness in both the music and in the brothers' manner.
The change in the brothers was quickly apparent as they sat in a borrowed office recently at Warner Bros. Records in Burbank. They may not have smiled for the camera, but they actually stood up to welcome a reporter and appeared eager to talk about what has happened to them in the first, explosive chapter in their hectic pop career.
"I remember the last time we talked," said Jim Reid, 28, the group's singer, speaking speaking with a heavy Scottish accent and referring to the 1987 interview in London. "We were really worried and confused because we didn't know how people were going to see 'Darklands.' We felt we were taking a risk in changing styles, dropping a lot of the feedback.
"You've got to remember that there were a lot of things in the British press suggesting that we should split up after 'Psychocandy,' because they said we'd never be able to come up with another record anywhere near that good...."
Without waiting for his brother to finish the thought, guitarist William Reid, 31, broke in.
"What made that time all the more scary was that seven months before 'Darklands,' we had fired our manager and we were alone," he said, his bird's nest hair even more tousled than his brother's. "When you have a manager and people there, they bring some healthy optimism into your life... and we had nobody to do that at the time.
"We probably overreacted to what people were saying about 'Psychocandy,'" William continued, wearing his trademark dark glasses and dark shirt and trousers. "We hated it when people - even people who liked the first album - started saying all we could do was make noise with guitars. Because we always considered songwriting to be our real strength. We never set out to be these 'masters of noise' or anything...."
Taking advantage of a split-second pause by his brother, Jim Reid broke in.
"We just hated being known as the Jesus and Mary Chain Feedback Band, a group that had just one trick. And 'Darklands,' it turned out, got us away from that completely. After that album, no one knew what to expect from us - and that's good. The fact we had been able to make such a drastic change and still be accepted gave us a lot of confidence. That's what you see in us now."
It's hard to imagine anyone mistaking the rather shy brothers Reid - who are from Glasgow, but now make their home in London - with an outspoken pop anarchist like Johnny Rotten. But, when the Jesus and Mary Chain surfaced in England, it stirred a controversy that was reminiscent of the Sex Pistols furor of the late '70s. The biggest problem was the noise.
The sound of the guitars on "Psychocandy" was as shrill as the chain-saw stylings of Einsturzende Neubauten, the German industrial rock band. To most pop-rock fans, it was as unsettling as a dentist's drill. This meant that the group, while critically acclaimed and rating high in the alternative rock market, was destined to struggle on the mainstream pop album charts.
Few bothered to listen to the artful way the brutality of that feedback balanced with the richly sentimental strains of the Reids' melodies to serve as a masterful background for the tales of romantic obsession. It was the same kind of balance of beauty and torment that made David Lynch's "Blue Velvet" such a memorable film.
The harshness of the sound led many observers to believe the Mary Chain was simply a self-consciously arty band that aimed at pleasing a small underground clique.
In truth, the Reids had a strong streak of Populism. They grew up in Glasgow adoring classic Top 40 hits such as the Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack" or anything by Phil Spector. Yet it's part of their duality that they also loved the darker strains of the Velvet Underground and the sheer assault of the Stooges.
But the Reids said they always wanted to reach a wide audience. They never took pride in being underground heroes. In fact, they hated some of the snobbishness that grew up around the band when "Psychocandy" was the toast of underground English rock.
"The thing people don't understand about us is that we always wanted to play stadiums, especially in the beginning," William Reid said. "When we made 'Psychocandy,' we imagined playing Shea Stadium. We didn't see how we could fail. We thought that album would be the greatest thing, that everyone would love it and want to hear it live. That was our fantasy... like the Beatles. We never wanted to be an underground group..."
Now that they are talking more easily to the press, the Reids spend so much time explaining themselves that they don't have much time left to talk about the new record, which is a step back toward some of the feedback of "Psychocandy."
Asked about their plans in making the record, Jim Reid says, "I think the new album is a natural evolution for us. We realized we wanted to pick up some more of the feedback, but not in the same way. We wanted it to be more controlled. But the specifics of an album don't interest me as much as the emotion of the album.
"What comes across more than anything when I listen to 'Psychocandy' again now is the enthusiasm. People talk about how dark the record is, but it sounds really up to me. That's because we were so enthusiastic at the time. It'll take some distance before I can tell about the mood of this album, but my initial impression is one of confidence and eagerness again - because that's us."
One thing the brothers still don't like to talk about is their themes, except to say they enjoy songs that touch on the extremes of emotion.
"I don't think there is anything worth talking about that isn't extreme," Jim Reid said. "No one really wants to hear about a box of cereal. People are interested in extremes."
Asked about the meanings of some of the elusive lyrics, however, William said sharply, "We don't like to explain them because the important thing is what the listener gets out of the song. There's nothing worse than hearing the record that you love and then the writer says, 'Oh, no, it's about something else altogether.'
"I remember istening to 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' and knowing exactly what it means. I don't ever want to hear Bob Dylan explain exactly what he meant in those songs. I want to think of the song the way I have for all these years. After a while, a great song becomes as much yours as the writer's - at least in terms of interpreting it."
The Reids, who plan to tour the United States early next year with three other musicians, say their more outgoing attitude this day wasn't an accident.
"I think our records and our early [brushes with the media] gave people the wrong idea about us... that we were some kind of manic depressives who sat around in the dark all the time," Jim Reid said. "At the same time, I think we have more bad days than most - at least that's the feeling I get from listening to other people's albums or the radio.
"Most people seem incredibly happy all the time. I am not the most miserable guy in the world, but I don't go around with a smile on my face either. I think most people are like us."
The joke used to be that when you went to interview the Jesus and Mary Chain you didn't know whether to bring along a tape recorder or a book of crossword puzzles - to give you something to do during the long pauses in the conversation.
Jim and William Reid, the brothers who are the architects of the British rock group's mostly dark, emotionally-charged soundscapes, weren't exactly effusive. Early in their career they were known to walk offstage after just 15 minutes some nights, and it was easy, after meeting them, to picture some of their interviews being even shorter.
Shy and soft-spoken, the Scottish brothers seemed so wary of a reporter's questions during a 1987 interview in London that they came across as reluctant tag-team partners. No one wanted to step into the ring. The result was a lot of awfully l-o-n-g gaps in the dialogue as the Reids stared dejectedly into space.
The reason reporters bothered to talk to them at all: The Jesus and Mary Chain made some of the most absorbing rock'n'roll of the '80s.
This is a band that made two of the most compelling albums of the decade - 1985's "Psychocandy" and 1987's "Darklands" - and still had enough music left over for a compilation of odds and ends (1988's "Barbed Wire Kisses") so inviting that it showed up on several critics' Top 10 lists that year.
"Psychocandy" was one of the most thrilling debuts since the Sex Pistols' "Never Mind The Bollocks . . ." - and nearly as controversial. The album's mix of beautiful melodies, melancholy themes and brutal guitar feedback was hailed as brilliant by some but dismissed by others as simply a gimmick.
On "Darklands," the brothers - stung by the latter criticism - set aside much of the feedback in favor of more focus on the songs. Remarkably, the change in tactics didn't diminish the music's emotional fury.
After nearly three years, the perfectionist Mary Chain is back with its official "third" album, and there's a new spirit of confidence and alertness in both the music and in the brothers' manner.
The change in the brothers was quickly apparent as they sat in a borrowed office recently at Warner Bros. Records in Burbank. They may not have smiled for the camera, but they actually stood up to welcome a reporter and appeared eager to talk about what has happened to them in the first, explosive chapter in their hectic pop career.
"I remember the last time we talked," said Jim Reid, 28, the group's singer, speaking speaking with a heavy Scottish accent and referring to the 1987 interview in London. "We were really worried and confused because we didn't know how people were going to see 'Darklands.' We felt we were taking a risk in changing styles, dropping a lot of the feedback.
"You've got to remember that there were a lot of things in the British press suggesting that we should split up after 'Psychocandy,' because they said we'd never be able to come up with another record anywhere near that good...."
Without waiting for his brother to finish the thought, guitarist William Reid, 31, broke in.
"What made that time all the more scary was that seven months before 'Darklands,' we had fired our manager and we were alone," he said, his bird's nest hair even more tousled than his brother's. "When you have a manager and people there, they bring some healthy optimism into your life... and we had nobody to do that at the time.
"We probably overreacted to what people were saying about 'Psychocandy,'" William continued, wearing his trademark dark glasses and dark shirt and trousers. "We hated it when people - even people who liked the first album - started saying all we could do was make noise with guitars. Because we always considered songwriting to be our real strength. We never set out to be these 'masters of noise' or anything...."
Taking advantage of a split-second pause by his brother, Jim Reid broke in.
"We just hated being known as the Jesus and Mary Chain Feedback Band, a group that had just one trick. And 'Darklands,' it turned out, got us away from that completely. After that album, no one knew what to expect from us - and that's good. The fact we had been able to make such a drastic change and still be accepted gave us a lot of confidence. That's what you see in us now."
It's hard to imagine anyone mistaking the rather shy brothers Reid - who are from Glasgow, but now make their home in London - with an outspoken pop anarchist like Johnny Rotten. But, when the Jesus and Mary Chain surfaced in England, it stirred a controversy that was reminiscent of the Sex Pistols furor of the late '70s. The biggest problem was the noise.
The sound of the guitars on "Psychocandy" was as shrill as the chain-saw stylings of Einsturzende Neubauten, the German industrial rock band. To most pop-rock fans, it was as unsettling as a dentist's drill. This meant that the group, while critically acclaimed and rating high in the alternative rock market, was destined to struggle on the mainstream pop album charts.
Few bothered to listen to the artful way the brutality of that feedback balanced with the richly sentimental strains of the Reids' melodies to serve as a masterful background for the tales of romantic obsession. It was the same kind of balance of beauty and torment that made David Lynch's "Blue Velvet" such a memorable film.
The harshness of the sound led many observers to believe the Mary Chain was simply a self-consciously arty band that aimed at pleasing a small underground clique.
In truth, the Reids had a strong streak of Populism. They grew up in Glasgow adoring classic Top 40 hits such as the Shangri-Las' "Leader of the Pack" or anything by Phil Spector. Yet it's part of their duality that they also loved the darker strains of the Velvet Underground and the sheer assault of the Stooges.
But the Reids said they always wanted to reach a wide audience. They never took pride in being underground heroes. In fact, they hated some of the snobbishness that grew up around the band when "Psychocandy" was the toast of underground English rock.
"The thing people don't understand about us is that we always wanted to play stadiums, especially in the beginning," William Reid said. "When we made 'Psychocandy,' we imagined playing Shea Stadium. We didn't see how we could fail. We thought that album would be the greatest thing, that everyone would love it and want to hear it live. That was our fantasy... like the Beatles. We never wanted to be an underground group..."
Now that they are talking more easily to the press, the Reids spend so much time explaining themselves that they don't have much time left to talk about the new record, which is a step back toward some of the feedback of "Psychocandy."
Asked about their plans in making the record, Jim Reid says, "I think the new album is a natural evolution for us. We realized we wanted to pick up some more of the feedback, but not in the same way. We wanted it to be more controlled. But the specifics of an album don't interest me as much as the emotion of the album.
"What comes across more than anything when I listen to 'Psychocandy' again now is the enthusiasm. People talk about how dark the record is, but it sounds really up to me. That's because we were so enthusiastic at the time. It'll take some distance before I can tell about the mood of this album, but my initial impression is one of confidence and eagerness again - because that's us."
One thing the brothers still don't like to talk about is their themes, except to say they enjoy songs that touch on the extremes of emotion.
"I don't think there is anything worth talking about that isn't extreme," Jim Reid said. "No one really wants to hear about a box of cereal. People are interested in extremes."
Asked about the meanings of some of the elusive lyrics, however, William said sharply, "We don't like to explain them because the important thing is what the listener gets out of the song. There's nothing worse than hearing the record that you love and then the writer says, 'Oh, no, it's about something else altogether.'
"I remember istening to 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' and knowing exactly what it means. I don't ever want to hear Bob Dylan explain exactly what he meant in those songs. I want to think of the song the way I have for all these years. After a while, a great song becomes as much yours as the writer's - at least in terms of interpreting it."
The Reids, who plan to tour the United States early next year with three other musicians, say their more outgoing attitude this day wasn't an accident.
"I think our records and our early [brushes with the media] gave people the wrong idea about us... that we were some kind of manic depressives who sat around in the dark all the time," Jim Reid said. "At the same time, I think we have more bad days than most - at least that's the feeling I get from listening to other people's albums or the radio.
"Most people seem incredibly happy all the time. I am not the most miserable guy in the world, but I don't go around with a smile on my face either. I think most people are like us."
