The first Mary Chain album in 19 years kicks off in fine fettle: Amputation grumbles along on a William Reid riff that’s half biker rock, half pure 60s pop, before his brother Jim’s opening line sets out the challenge facing the pair: “Try to win your interest back / But you ain’t having none of that.” When they follow it with War on Peace, a splendid ballad that overcomes its debt to the Velvet Underground’s Ocean through sheer stateliness, then all seems set fair. But there are problems. First, half of these 14 songs have been recorded before, by one or other Reid-related project. Second, the references to the past are sometimes just a bit heavy-handed (“I hate my brother and he hates me / That’s the way it’s supposed to be,” from Facing Up to the Facts, cribs directly from Kill Surf City, but for using “brother” instead of “baby”). Third, there’s an awful lot of it – 53 minutes is just too much. Even after the magnesium flare of Psychocandy, the Mary Chain had their greatest effect in brevity; the more you get of them, the less forceful they feel. It’s a lot better than it might have been, but not quite as great as one might have hoped.
