The Jesus and Mary Chain are an example to working class would-be artists but what chance have youngsters got against clueless gatekeepers, says Euan McColm

When I first saw The Jesus and Mary Chain on TV, it felt as if I’d imagined them into existence.

A 15 year old in a vodka-and-sadness-soaked Spam Valley bungalow in the Glasgow suburbs, I’d already found some kind of solace in music, building a collection full of John Peel-approved discs of the day.

But though I dearly loved – and still do – The Smiths, The Cocteau Twins, and The Fall, none of the emerging bands fully spoke to teenage me. None of them echoed either my rapidly developing obsession with girls or my silent howls of adolescent frustration.

And then I saw The Mary Chain on BBC 2’s Whistle Test and the missing piece of the puzzle was in place. Dressed head to toe in black leather, they were sexy, like Hamburg-era Beatles gone very bad. Their songs were either hymns to love or fantasies of escape. And their screeching, fizzing, feedback sound not only seemed to be an expression of the pile up of hormones and frustration inside my head, it annoyed the f*** out of my parents. This was the least they deserved.

So far as I was concerned in 1985, playing the records of The Jesus and Mary Chain loudly in my bedroom was not only an act of defiance, but revenge.

When I discovered they’d grown up in East Kilbride, a town whose shopping centre I’d been dragged through regularly for the preceding decade, my mind was blown. These exotic, dangerous-looking, rock gods had probably eaten burgers in the same Wimpy in The Plaza that I’d visit whenever my Gran had finished in Marks and Sparks. Wow.

A new autobiography – “Never Understood” – written by the brothers who formed the band, Jim and William Reid (with the assistance of Ben Thompson), confirms to me that The Mary Chain understood me. They might not have known me, but the frequently touching and often hilarious stories they tell of forming a band that would burst onto the scene amid tabloid stories of brawls at gigs and pseudo-scholarly music press analysis of their many influences, will be familiar to anyone who ever felt out of place and dreamed of a world beyond drab housing estates and college-or-apprenticeship options.

Singer Jim and guitarist William had a happier home life than me, but the teenagers they describe are as familiar to me as I am to my therapist.

I knew plenty about The Mary Chain before I read the brothers’ own account. Through mutual friends, I knew that Jim was painfully shy and William sometimes protectively cocky (a pal in another group – by then making far bigger waves than The Mary Chain – approached William backstage at a gig in London in 1993 and said “I really like your band”. The tangle haired guitarist looked at my mate blankly, then grabbed him in a bear hug… “You f***ing LOVE my band, wee man!”).

But the gold in The Jesus and Mary Chain’s autobiography is not the chronicle of events. What makes “Never Understood” such a great book – one that I’m sure would move and entertain anyone who ever hoped to transcend their mundane existence, whether they’d even heard of the band or not – is the warmth and openness with which two men now in their 60s (and making great new music after getting the band back together) talk about working class family life.

William is hilarious on foul-mouthed matriarchs – “As I became an adult and met people from different backgrounds, I would ask them ‘Does your mother call you a c***?’, ‘No’, ‘What about your granny?’, ‘No’, ‘Okay, fair enough’.” – and Jim speaks fondly of returning to East Kilbride from London after a first flush of success and taking his proud-but-damaged-by-redundancy dad out for a pint. So much for being the man who launched a thousand riots.

The brothers Reid also reveal themselves as possessors of sharp business minds. The Mary Chain might have looked from the outside as if they were chaotic, but the brothers had a serious plan to make serious money. They wanted to be massive pop stars. And that is a noble ambition, indeed.

But on finishing the book – which is published by Orion’s excellent White Rabbit imprint – I couldn’t help wondering how working class kids, today, might realise their artistic dreams.

Jim and William Reid had the benefits of social housing and the dole. They might not have been able to live in luxury but, between their late teens and early 20s, they had breathing space in which to explore art and music and draw-up a blueprint for a band that would influence countless others that followed.

Now, the arts are – by and large – for middle class kids, those whose families can support them while they follow their dreams.

Sure, there’s some public funding for young artists available but the ongoing crisis in Creative Scotland – bailed out, yet again by the Scottish Government – shows that we need something new, something that focuses on artists rather than existing to protect the bloated salaries of clueless gatekeepers who hand out grants to their often talentless chums.

If Jim and William Reid, along with bassist Douglas Hart and drummer Bobby Gillespie, had not made The Jesus and Mary Chain’s classic debut album “Psychocandy”, the guitar music we listen to today would be different. That’s how important and influential this band is.

Something else that shines through “Never Understood” is that, for all their early interviews where they claimed to be the greatest band on earth or dismissed (secretly adored) rival acts as worthless, the Reids have no sense of entitlement. From day one, they put in the graft. The perfect band doesn’t just appear out of nowhere, you know?

Without the support of benefits or grants from Creative Scotland, how does a kid from humble origins follow the path illuminated by Jim and William Reid? And who is going to save a 15 year old like I was?