The Jesus and Mary Chain Review: Scottish Counterpart to the Gallaghers

Languishing on the dole on an East Kilbride council estate in the early 80s, William Reid and his younger brother Jim of The Jesus and Mary Chain wondered why no one had combined 60s girl-group melodies, Velvet Underground’s nihilist drones, and piercing feedback. To them, it was a genius yet obvious concept: blending gritty layers with yearning sweetness.

The brothers formed a band with minimalist trappings—donning drainpipe trousers, black leather, and stormy fringes. Their casual misanthropy helped them bait early audiences, and naturally, they had a standing drummer. This position had so much rotation that Bobby Gillespie was among those who filled it. Clearly, their concerts were meant to test endurance. Despite the challenges, they were destined to find their audience, even if it meant facing the threat of physical confrontations.

Finding kindred spirits is easier now with the internet, but for these two outsiders, coming of age in a Glasgow working-class family was a defining experience. Both William (guitar) and Jim (vocals, determined by a coin toss) admit they don’t fully understand how their aesthetic was born in this memoir filled with more low points than marooned ocean depths.

Uprooted from Glasgow’s tenements to its outskirts, their childhoods feel almost as distant as the postwar rubble chronicled in Keith Richards’s 2010 memoir. Older by three years, William, and the shy and scrawny Jim, were largely self-taught, gleaning countercultural content from public libraries and scarce TV channels. Their mother likened them to Niles and Frasier Crane.

Developing a hive mind in their teens, the Reids dramatically fought through their 20s. Although Liam and Noel Gallagher are more famous for sibling rivalry, in the 80s, the Reids served as a prelude for Oasis in the 90s. Signed by Alan McGee of Creation, after he witnessed a fight, Jim quips about validating destructive behavior.

William’s hurt feelings over Jim never jamming with him is one touching, vulnerable note.

Success, alcohol, and drugs eventually tore apart the Reids’ bond. A bleak altercation during a US tour in 1998 led to a decade-long hiatus. For several years, they didn’t speak at all, with the Atlantic acting as a buffer. Slowly, they made peace, embraced sobriety, and reunited in the late 00s. Scarlett Johansson even performed with them at Coachella. Their latest album, Glasgow Eyes, was released this year.

This memoir, co-written with experienced music journalist Ben Thompson, offers often contradictory reminiscences in different fonts for each brother’s account. Despite being an insider’s history without extensive contextualization, Never Understood touches on everything fans of the band or the era might want—candor, trivia, and cringe-worthy cameos from idols like Iggy Pop and David Bowie.

The regret over choosing Blanco Y Negro, a Warner offshoot, over premier indie label Rough Trade underscores a key professional and personal misstep. Despite both deals being brokered by Geoff Travis, the band wasn’t a priority for Blanco Y Negro. Ambitious and disdainful of indie underachievement, The Jesus and Mary Chain aimed for pop with “strychnine and a cocktail umbrella,” according to William.

The sibling dynamics are both painful and hilarious, and surprisingly moving. William’s hurt feelings over Jim’s refusal to jam together highlight one touching, vulnerable aspect of their relationship.

Never Understood is predominantly an underdog story of two misfits who avoided dead-end factory jobs to become an influential band. It’s a relief to see them survive addiction and rancor, emerging not just alive but still retaining a vicious sense of humor and the conviction that their artistic path was justified.

Never Understood: The Jesus and Mary Chain by William and Jim Reid is published by White Rabbit (£25).

Source: Guardian