There was a lot at stake when I bought my ticket for the first Jesus and Mary Chain show in almost ten years; more than any normal fan should have to think about (but that’s why you’re the reader, and why I’m cursed as the writer). The most overwhelming was that one of my favorite bands decided to forgive my young age. I could finally see them perform on a stage, albeit well after their prime. Imagine hearing that John and George faked their deaths and were announcing a Beatles re-union. It would probably be enough to make the world actually take “Come Together” seriously, but most rational fans would question how stellar and honest the performance could be so late in the game. This is the equivalent of my fervor for a band that was, arguably, as revolutionary and challenging to pop music. It was also equal to my hunch of weariness.

JAMC’s Psycho Candy brought a new, over-the-top noise never really heard in the rock genre. The whole record still glistens with enough unique feedback and distortion to rival anything its influencers continue to put out, and it works miracles in making unwanted neighbors disappear. But buried deep in the grooves are enough pop hooks and melodic vocals to justify all the radio singles it produced. Even Mtv caught on.

Wisely, the band never emulated it again, and all their later albums attempted original approaches: turning the gain knob back to 0 (Dark Lands), using synthesizers (Automatic), and nearly abandoning the rock genre altogether (Stoned & Dethroned). From the 80’s through most of the 90’s, The Jesus and Mary Chain evolved without ever really changing. New singles kept coming out, their lyrics as cryptic as ever, and their image as a lewd and dangerous rock and roll band lived on for six official albums and a slew of rarity collections.

"Lewd and dangerous…lewd and dangerous…"

The words echoed through my head like I was coming out of a flashback montage as I took my first steps into the Glass House in Pomona, California. I was remembering images on TV of William and Jim Reid in black leather and sunglasses lurking somewhere in the bright stage lights, smashing guitars against amps, and making that sweet, screaming feedback that could draw blood from the ears it hit.

When the band took the stage, they immediately launched into a version of “Never Understand” that almost set the tone for the rest of the show. William Reid, looking twice his age and about three times his original weight, played with less feedback than on the record, but Jim’s sensuous croon sounded as fresh as it did in the 80’s. I wasn’t completely blown away, but by the time they worked their way up to more dance-y tunes like “Head On” and “Sidewalking” I realized I didn’t want to be. The notes were hitting right, and I was getting further absorbed. I stopped thinking about what I expected. Oddly enough the crowd started swaying more to the beat with me.

Suddenly a moment occurred that put all of us to the test, and probably would have drove away hordes if it happened at Coachella. The slow groove of “Cracking Up” reached the first verse when Jim began singing something unintelligible and out of key. The music cut. “Well, we fucked that one up,” Jim said looking back and forth from us to his brother. “I don’t even sing this one, this is his fuckin’ tune.” The crowd erupted in laughter and deafening applause. “We’ll try it again.”

We cheered because what we started to suspect only minutes before turned out to be true. The Jesus and Mary Chain weren’t trying to impress us—oh, no. This was even better! We were actually spending alone time with a band that already changed our lives in more ways than one. Never have I seen a band play so dedicated and free of pretensions to an already impressed audience. No schlock. No further manipulation. It was the kind of personal experience a fan rarely feels without headphones and a copy of the liner notes on a late night. And not to say the band played a mellow set, because just when we were getting settled in they closed with some of their filthiest distortion in songs like “Teenage Lust” and the excellent, banned single “Reverence.”

When a great bunch of musicians play a re-union show, there are two acceptable options. They either make you see God (like Iggy and the Stooges) or politely invite you under the covers. Throughout their career the Jesus and Mary Chain have done both, but for a lucky group of fans in Los Angeles County, we had our intimate moment and are ready for sloppy seconds.

Paul Losada