A shadow of their former selves ... James
For at least one weekend in 1985, Manchester combo James were my favourite band of all time. Three of us hitchhiked hundreds of miles to see them at a festival on a mud flat outside Colchester. I'd borrowed a tent that turned out to be a giant tea bag, and remember crouching inside the tent with an umbrella up shielding from the rain. But none of this mattered: when Tim Booth and co bounded on stage and piled into Hymn From A Village, the sun came out and the world was wonderful again.
I still have Hymn From A Village on the original 7" on Factory Records, despite its value being enough to pay the gas bill for a month. In fact, I still have all their records, rarities, even bootlegs and the fanzine I made about them, although I have mercifully dispensed with the garish blue James hooded top I wore daily during 1991. In short, I was and probably still am a superfan. So why am I profoundly disturbed by the news that they're coming back?
Probably because even by their 2001 demise there was a sense that James (indie past, songs about rebellion, unwanted but not entirely unjustified press tag as "vegan carrot-chomping Buddhists") had a shred more dignity than other groups. I said as much when I reviewed one of their last ever gigs before Tim Booth dropped the band (who limped on, briefly) to make solo albums or become a fantastic actor or whatever it is he's been doing since. "A uniquely spirited rock band that never knew disgrace," I frothed. Oh dear - how was I to know then that within six years they'd be reappearing on the nostalgia circuit?
I suppose we shouldn't begrudge the old boys making a last buck - organic carrots are not cheap, after all. Perhaps a more pertinent question is what their comeback says about us, after a string of other Manchester hitmakers have also returned (a barely compus mentis Happy Mondays, a karaoke Inspiral Carpets - mercifully not an acrimony-riven Stone Roses).
Perhaps it's because those were carefree, more innocent days (no Iraq, no 9/11, no global warming, loved up vibes everywhere and no Jade Goody) and we want them back. But isn't there something even more depressing about having to rewind 15 or so years to when a certain generation of Britons were moderately happy?
James are not the only band from that era to reform this week. Crowded House are back, as are the Jesus and Mary Chain, despite brothers William and Jim Reid whacking each other onstage in their last gigs and not talking to each other since (which should at least make the reunion eventful.) The Sugarcubes played live recently (for anyone that can remember, they were Bjork's old band).
The most pointless reformation of all has to be Rage Against The Machine, an unmourned shouty, hamfistedly "political" LA rabble of the early 90s whose credibility never recovered from a music paper spoofing them as raging against washing machines and fax machines. What now? Rage Against The Zimmerframe?
Actually, these bands are all to young to reform. There's something a bit mythical seeing reunited bands from the 60s and 70s: dinosaurs walk the earth! But bands from only a few years back lack that gravitas, partly because they're barely changed and there's none of the macabre value of being able to exclaim "Oh my God, it's so and so from the New York Dolls, who was once so cool, and now he's bald!"
Ominously, few of the 90s comebacks have gone swimmingly because of the above and also because the bands were never legendary or famous enough in the first place, typified when the terrific House Of Love came back with another brilliant album and nobody listened. I fear the projected new James album will meet the same fate.
On the other hand, I know full well that if I put on their greatest hits this minute I too will be gripped by a wave of nostalgia and sudden desire to see them. Larry Gott (genius guitarist, who left long before they split) is intriguingly back in the line-up. I want to hear Sit Down sung by thousands and see Tim Booth suspended over Manchester Arena again singing Top Of the World. But admittedly, I'm partially intrigued by the possibility of the following conversation.
Band to audience: "And we'd particularly like to thank Tim Booth, our esteemed vocalist, for putting on hold his extremely lucrative and influential solo and acting career to sing with us again."
Booth to band: "What extremely lucrative solo career?"
Band to Booth (in unison): "EXACTLY!"
