When you work in music, the wake-up call comes when you’re forced to give up your romantic notions about the nobility of the artistic process.
Art is a nasty business, just as nasty as highway construction, venture capital or any other pursuit that involves trading products or services for money.
I’m reminded of this by Alan McGee’s attack on My Bloody Valentine in a new Guardian article about the revival of shoegaze. Read it here.
Alan started Creation Records, the label that released MBV’s Loveless album. Here’s his quote from the article: “Bloody nonsense. My Bloody Valentine were my comedy band. Ride were different - they were a rock band, really, a fantastic rock band - but My Bloody Valentine were a joke, my way of seeing how far I could push hype.”
Alan has good reason to dislike MBV’s Kevin Shields. The band spent an enormous amount of time and money making Loveless, so much that they pushed Creation’s finances to the brink of label collapse. After the album failed to recoup its costs, Creation let the band move to Island Records. The press were appalled but, once Kevin had Chris Blackwell’s money, he returned to the studio and proceeded not to put out an album for the next fifteen years. If Axl was smarter, he’d point fingers at Kevin whenever anyone starts asking questions about when he’s going to release Chinese Democracy.
Maybe Alan’s just trying to amuse himself; his talents as a provocateur rival his abilities as one of the world’s great record men. But calling My Bloody Valentine a “joke” sounds like you’re calling Loveless a joke and questioning the judgment of anyone who fell for your scam in the first place.
My Bloody Valentine’s 1992 show at the Masquerade was one of the most epic I’ve ever seen, one that people in Atlanta talk about as much as the old folks go on about the Sex Pistols at the Great Southeast Music Hall or New Order’s first show at the 688. I’d even compare it to the first Jesus & Mary Chain show at the Channel in Boston; My Bloody Valentine may have been less confrontational during their set but the long-term impact was just as intense.
Loveless is a wonder. “Only Shallow” never fails to stop a room cold whenever it’s on a party tape. The album still acts like a secret signifier in your record collection; a copy of Loveless marks you as someone who knows where they keep the really good stuff.
And, make no mistake, Ride were an outstanding rock band. I saw for myself at the Cotton Club on the Going Blank Again tour. They showed up for work on time and cooperated with the local record company people. “Vapour Trail” and “Leave Them All Behind” are both classic songs that deserved a chance to be hits in America. But, at his best, Mark Gardener was a less charismatic version of The Charlatans’ Tim Burgess, plus everything had gone terribly wrong by the time Ride recorded their lifeless cover of The Creation’s “How Does It Feel to Feel” on their third album.
Here’s the problem: both Loveless and the 1992 My Bloody Valentine tour exist independently from the issue of what a jerk Kevin Shields might be. Once you put yourself behind the music, your own experiences can color how you hear the bands you’ve worked with.
I know this very well from my own experience. I’ve recently begun to make peace with one of my own nightmare projects from the early 90s. That record still has its flaws but so many people have testified to its virtues lately that I’ve started to separate the actual music from the experience of making it.
So, Alan: Ride was an outstanding band with two awesome albums that deserved a much better fate. But Loveless is lightning in a bottle. My Bloody Valentine changed lives, whether or not the individual band members deserved that privilege.
Sometimes I wish I knew a lot less about how the music gets made, but it’s the price you pay for working in the sausage factory. Attack Kevin all you want, but leave the music alone.
Here, watch some “Only Shallow.” It makes me forget all the bad parts:
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