Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
A guy that gets the nickname Coach, at some point in his life, must have been a strategist, an athlete, but not a good enough one to make it with sheer will, determination and acute hand-eye coordination. He had to have been someone who had a grasp on the game, but was better off instructing others how it was supposed to be played, rather than being able to go out there, put on a clinic and demonstrate how the x's and the o's could come alive and made to dance. The same must have been for Jon McClure, when the man from Sheffield, England, was dubbed Reverend. Such a nickname - or something more than a nickname, when it sticks the way that this one has, as it's been taken as the lead in his band Reverend and the Makers - leads you to believe that there's some sick, sick truth to everything that spills out of his mouth. You think that you're going to be saved by listening to and heeding his advice. He could have the key to the primrose path, to a hidden treasure.
The songs that are heard in this session are written from the perspective of someone who's seen it all, who has witnessed the very simple reduction of optimism and spirit that comes from the way that people either let themselves down, the way they let others down, or just when the cruel ass world gets too mean on them and they've got no choice but to bend and bow. The Reverend sings about people who coulda been contenders, whose only goal was to be the heavyweight champion of the world, just so they could score all of that money and all of those babes that obviously come right along with being known as the most vicious fighter on the planet.
The people in Reverend and the Makers songs NEED someone to step in and give them some guidance on how best they're going to get along with a life that doesn't seem to want to do them one goddamned favor. Reverend sings, "Caught up in the rat race, feeling like a no one," and it feels like a tavern-goer's lament, the status of someone who's going to find the times getting tougher before they cut any breaks, if they ever do.