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I can still remember the night I first heard the Jesus and Mary Chain – in the dank recesses of a Melbourne bar, kissing a boy that I thought to be the coolest thing since the revival of the horizontal stripe.

I, quite naively at seventeen years of age, had never heard the East Kilbridite drawl of Jim Reid and the caustic feedback of William Reid’s guitar whining along to the desperate drumming of Bobby Gillespie. The moment was akin to that scene in Garden State where Zach Braff hears The Shins for the first time, except with less comic timing and more inappropriate groping. It changed my life.

Flash forward seven years and I am standing in a three-quarter full Enmore Theatre – horizontal stripes and inexperienced punk boys a distant memory – waiting for the recently reformed, not-quite-original lineup of JAMC to grace us with their presence.

Their set at V Festival had been less than inspiring. An afternoon slot, diminished crowd and a sound system that resembled my Dad’s transistor radio just didn’t do them justice. For a band as famous for subjecting their audience to noisy ten-minute feedback sessions and trashing their instruments, as their songs, it was a let down to say the least.

However, as Jim Reid stands, head hung, dripping in amber and blue lighting and launches into the first strains of Taste of Cindy, memories of V fade faster than Corey Delaney’s fame. JAMC are oft dropped as an influence by bands – from the likes of My Bloody Valentine, BRMC and Oasis just to name a few. Listening to them tonight it is more evident then ever how much their sound has trickled down through the generations. Even watching Jim perform conjures up images of Liam Gallagher doing his best job at parading a rock star.

The set list is a treat. They ramble through Sidewalking to the appreciation of a relatively sedated crowd (the exception being an annoying Scottish fella in front of me, who most definitely had a lil – œsomethin somethin’ prior to the show and is jumping around like he’s at the Good Vibrations after-party).

They pull out Blues From a Gun, Happy When It Rains and a delicious Some Candy Talking, that has the crowd grinning from ear to ear. As I stand caught up in the moment, I can’t help but wish that the band in front of me were twenty years younger and at risk of breaking into a fight or inflicting some serious abuse on their instruments. But we all know this won’t be the case tonight. I don’t have the right to be disappointed as JAMC evolved long ago into something entirely different to the beast it was upon conception – but the thought lingers for the rest of the set.

The banter between the guys is short and dry. As they stumble on the intro to Rock n Roll Amputation, Reid coughs, “Sorry, we’re amateurs.” And later as they mumble together on stage he raises an eyebrow and lets out a, “We’re an upbeat bunch aren’t we?” Bless their Scottish souls.

After exactly 50 minutes and a spine-tingling Just Like Honey, Reid announces their last song (not bad for a band whose earliest sets were merely 10 minutes long) and gives a sly smile as the band steps into a Syd Barret cover. Cheeky buggers.

We are – of course – treated to an encore of Darklands (although I was hoping for April Skies) and a rolling Stooges-esque Reverence. The show is finished perfectly. And then they are gone. They came. They saw. They did it their way. And left us all wanting more and knowing full well we would never have them again.