By Benjamin Leatherman
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Troy Farah
By Roger Calamaio
By Mark Deming
By Glenn BurnSilver
By Brian Palmer
When the Reid bros., William and Jim, started the Jesus and Mary Chain back in 1984, they had a modest little goal in mind¤namely to piss off more people than other any band in rock 'n' roll history. Within a year they'd gone a long way toward achieving that aim, grating on the nerves of rock journalists, U.K. radio stations and even some fans. All of this led to the band being slapped with a bad-boy label, which William says was completely justified.
"I think the bad-boy image was pretty true," reflects Reid unapologetically in a telephone interview from the band's home base in London. "Because back then we were pretty aggressive toward people we met in the business¤to journalists, to deejays and to record company people."
The singer claims this rude-boy act was just his way of coping with the phoniness and game playing he encountered in the music biz. "We had just come from East Kilbride, which is a small place near Glasgow," explains Reid. "We had been on the dole for five years, and then all of a sudden we were thrown into the music business, which is a pretty bullshit world. And rather than go along with the bullshit, we were . . . I don't suppose we were aggressive, but we were very frank. So it gave us a bad image, an image that we're still trying to play down."
The misadventures of the bratty Reid brothers were covered in great detail in the U.K. rock sheets, which at least served to win the fledgling band some free publicity. In fact, the Chain learned early on how to manipulate the scandal-happy London music papers to their own advantage. The boys would prod their manager to leak bizarre¤and often concocted¤stories of sex-and-drug exploits to the British tabloids just to get their name in print. "There were some wild stories," smirks Reid. "Some of them we made up, but some of them were quite true."
After inciting the print media, the Chain gang went to work on riling U.K. radio. Reid claims that he's always had it in for British program directors, who he says ignore alternative bands even when they're chart-toppers. When the Chain began doing radio interviews early in its career, the group didn't miss the chance to spout criticism of the commercial-minded London pop stations. But these radio tirades only made it harder for the band's records to score any airplay. "We made a lot of enemies," admits Reid. "But I don't care. The enemies we made I'm glad we made."
The band even managed to alienate some listeners, largely because of its notoriously short gigs. Fifteen-minute shows were the rule, but one concert actually clocked in at just under ten minutes¤hardly time enough to get a couple of stage dives in. To make things worse, the pair snottily refused to play encores.
"There were a few ideas behind [the fifteen-minute gigs]," explains the singer. "One was that we only had about five songs in those days. Also, the sound we had then was so intense, so explosive, that we couldn't have sustained it for over an hour. It would have been too exhausting, and maybe it would have been boring, as well. But over fifteen or twenty minutes it sounded absolutely fantastic."
The band's mini-shows routinely inspired demands for refunds and even a riot or two. Before long, however, the Chain's repertoire expanded, and the group became more interested in performing than provoking. But by that time, the crowds had actually come to look forward to the abbreviated shows.
"After about a year, people would complain if we didn't do a fifteen- minute gig," recalls the singer. "If we went out and played for an hour, people would say that we sold out. We did a tour of Scandinavia, and the promoter advertised us as `Jesus and Mary Chain: The Twenty-Minute Gig Group.' We went, and every gig we did we played for an hour. I think people were disappointed."
Considering that many of the group's early shows consisted of little more than an endless assault of squealing feedback, it's no wonder some listeners were grateful that the shows didn't last long. The ear-splitting guitar noise at the band's last Valley gig a few years back (at the now-defunct teen disco Prisms) had even seasoned amp-sitters racing for the exits.
Of course, all that feedback and fuzz was crucial to the Chain's early sound. The band's debut LP, Psychocandy, combined classic pop songs and screeching distortion, which obscured, but never eclipsed, the irresistible melodies. The album wasn't unlike the work of feedback-meisters Sonic Youth, only with less self-conscious artiness and twice as much guitar noise.
As acclaimed as its wall-of-white-noise aesthetic was, the Chain came to see it as a gimmick that overshadowed the group's deft pop songwriting. "On the first LP, I think there are great songs there," asserts Reid. "I mean, feedback is easy to make. Feedback and noise are some of the easiest things to create. Writing a song is what's incredibly difficult. And yet we were getting noticed for the feedback!"