Kickin’ it Reid-style. Photo by Laurie Scavo.
The band’s reunion tour isn’t making as many headlines as that of the Police or Pixies, and the ticket grosses will amount to just a drop in the bucket compared to those of Genesis or the Smashing Pumpkins, but that’s to be expected. While Jesus and Mary Chain was an underground force that left a lasting legacy that is still heard today, they’ve never been a commercial success – even given the high profile exposure some of their songs have enjoyed recently.
The Gothic was about half-full – the show was moved there last week from the Fillmore Auditorium because of lagging ticket sales – but the sound was in tact from the very first songs. “Head On” came early in the set, and while the Reid brothers and their band looked quietly subdued, the music was fiercely alive.
An authentic Reid ‘fro. Photo by Laurie Scavo.
“Sidewalking” was a low-end feast, and “Happy When It Rains” was a brighter jaunt into the melodic, with singer Jim Reid playing around with the song’s multiple octaves. “Just Like Honey” was, of course, an emotional high point. Old punkers throughout the tightly packed pit mouthed along to the song, completely awash in both nostalgia and the kind of guitar fuzz that can only come from this band’s instruments.
“Some Candy Talking” was another brilliant moment, what with its percussion switch-ups and its simple, trademark William Reid guitar solo. “Snake Driver” has always been the band’s most underrated track, and their take on the song on Sunday night was delightfully note-for-note and on-point.
In fact, the Jesus and Mary Chain didn’t stray from their recorded works much at the Gothic – a fact that is both impressive and bizarre, given that it’s been 13 years since they really made an amazing rock record. It was a straightforward, no-nonsense rock show. No talking, a couple “thank yous” from Jim, and no stories or apparent enjoyment on either of the brothers’ parts.
But it was still glorious and exactly what a Jesus and Mary Chain show should be in the year 2007.
- Ricardo Baca