Prepare to meet thy maker

I’ve met some enthusiastic talkers in my time – Amy Winehouse, Liam Gallagher, Mani, Peter Hook etc. – but nobody who could out ear-bend Jon McClure.
“I’m a mouthy cunt, aren’t I?” the Reverend And The Makers mainman agrees as we settle down for a natter in his native Sheffield, where, fact fans, he shares a rock ‘n’ roll abode with t’Monkeys’ Alex Turner. As for that spot of self-analysis, yeah, “mouthy cunt” is bang on.
“At least when I open me gob something worthwhile comes out,” McClure resumes. “Johnny Borrell bangs on about being one of the best lyricists of his generation, but the stuff he writes is fucking Jack & Jill nursery rhymes – ‘What a drag it is/The shape I’m in/Well I go out somewhere/Then I come home again.’ I’d have got a belt off the teacher if I’d come up with that in nursery school.”
McClure also has some harsh words for Thom Yorke and his fellow son of Sheffield, Joe Elliott.
“Thom Yorke makes being in a band sound like a year-long tour of duty in Afghanistan,” he spits venomously. “It’s not terrible, it’s an absolute pleasure. The reason he hates doing interviews is that there’s no cash payment at the end of them. The reason I’m in this game is to get my opinions across.
“As for Joe Elliott, I’m sure he’s very happy living in his Dublin millionaire’s mansion, but how about showing a bit of love for his home city? There’s an old bloke who’s about to be evicted from the building where we rehearse and Def Leppard cut their first demo ‘cause they want to turn it into posh flats. How about sorting him out with a few quid, Joe?”
Over to you, Mr. Elliott. While sadly unable to accompany Radiohead on their upcoming Afghan tour, McClure is hoping to spend time this month in a Central African war zone.
“I’m meant to be going to the Democratic Republic of Congo with Damon Albarn, Arcade Fire and Martha Wainwright to do a music project, but it’s looking a bit dodgy ‘cause the violence between the Hutus and Tutsis has flared up again, and there’s been another Ebola outbreak.
“Do you remember, ‘Um Bongo, Um Bongo, they drink it in the Congo’? The most racist ad of all time, which seems to suggest that the cure for brutal dictators, genocide, ethnic warfare and disease is a nice fruity beverage. I’m going to take some with me, video the locals’ total non-recognition of the product and then have the bastards done under the Trade Descriptions Act.”
If Reverend And The Makers have yet to appear on your radar, here’s the potted history. Having studied History & Politics – get him! – at the University of Sheffield, McClure put together an outfit called Judan Suki whose ranks for a brief period included Alex Turner and Matt Helders. Following their implosion Jon traded briefly as 1984 – the Monkeys’ classic “Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984” is a reference to the band – before coming up with his present moniker.
“It was great back then ‘cos you had people playing for music’s sake rather than thinking, ‘Let’s get a big, fat juicy deal,’” he reflects. “For a while everybody was copying the Arctic Monkeys, but now that the goldrush has ended it’s gotten pretty diverse again.”
McClure’s closeness to Alex Turner – “He’s a fuckin’ top bloke who hasn’t let fame go to his head one bit” – has lead to some bizarre music industry rumours.
“Apparently I was writing all their songs for ‘em, which is bullshit and detrimental to Alex who, unlike Johnny Borrell, really is one of the best lyricists of his fucking generation.”
Jon’s no slouch in the lyrical department himself, with Reverend And The Makers’ The State Of Things album blessed with such clever wordplay as, “He saw her in a chemist buying oral contraception/It can’t be for hubby ‘cos he can’t get an erection,” and “Mams and prams/Twelve week scans/Wish you weren’t a story of the also-rans.”
“I shit songs every single day,” their author says sweetly. “Our album’s only been out four months, but I’ve already written the follow-up, which is going to mash people’s heads ‘cause it’s completely fucking different.”
I don’t doubt it for a moment.