There’s something about nearly forgotten songs that sparks a little joy, isn’t there? The ones that never quite made it to classic status but had their moment - perhaps a brief stint on the radio, a chart position that looked promising before fizzling out, or a life in the depths of someone’s tear stained teenage memories. These songs become time capsules, reminders of a particular moment that, without them, might just slip away entirely.
Which brings me to Turn On to Jesus by City Boy. Or, as it later became, 5705.
City Boy were one of those bands that never quite got the household name treatment but had enough of a run to make a dent in the music weeklies, even if only briefly. Originally formed in Birmingham in the early 70s, they were neither glam nor punk. And certainly not prog. They occupied a derelict postcode with near neighbours Be-Bop Deluxe; both knew their way around a song but never quite nailed their colours to a particular mast.
And then there was Turn On to Jesus.
From what I can make out the song started as a tongue-in-cheek take on the whole religious revival movement that was on the rise at the time: tent preachers, televangelists, the whole “come into the light” schtick. The song had the melody and structure of a hit, but the suits at Phonogram - perhaps wisely - suggested they tweak it a bit.(Some bands listen to their record companies, some don't.) A song about Jesus might have raised a few eyebrows, and not necessarily in the way that sells records.
So, the band went back to the drawing board and, basically, rewrote it. The result? 5705. Same tune, different words; suddenly a song about salvation became a song about waiting by the phone for a girl to call. Less controversy, more teenage heartbreak. And it worked. 5705 became City Boy’s biggest hit, reaching number 8 in the UK in 1978.
Would Turn On to Jesus have been the bigger song? Not that I think it would have been a massive hit, but in a weird way, its quirkiness might have given it a different kind of longevity. Maybe it would’ve become one of those cult oddities that people dig up years later, like some lost classic. Instead, 5705 did its thing, had its moment, and now lives on in those YouTube comments where people like Colin from Portsmouth say, “I haven’t heard this in years!”
I took a walk by the river earlier; it was a lovely afternoon (it still is at the time of writing this). On my travels I met a couple of (disillusioned) Canadians who had spotted my maple leaf pin on my lapel (the one you see above - taken a couple of weeks ago when the weather wasn't quite so clement). They asked if I had citizenship, I said no - but I always side with the bullied, not the bully: Canada, Ukraine, Mexico, Panama, Greenland et al (I've never owned so many pins). All three of us bemoaned Trump and couldn't believe how in the space of less than 100 days he's fucked up the world. They looked tired - I said they'll never be the 51st state. "Over my dead body" one of them said as we parted ways. "Solidarity!" I shouted back. Trump is a cunt, that's for sure, but I can't dwell on matters 5,000+ miles away right now. I have stuff going on much nearer to home that needs my undivided attention (see below).
Anyway, as Alyson often reminds herself whenever she gets bogged down in the weeds "This is a music blog, so where's the music?" Are We There Yet started life as a music blog but often strays from the straight and narrow, but today, and in true Alyson style, I'll remind anyone who's not aware that Doctor Feelgood released their seminal debut album, Down by the Jetty, fifty years ago - January 1975 to be precise. It changed the world; in a good way, unlike Trump. This is Roxette...
Doctor Feelgood - Roxette (1975)
As some of you may know I went into hospital last Friday for a procedure connected with my recent surgery. For various reasons it didn't happen but has been rescheduled for this Wednesday (I'm being admitted tomorrow). I'll see you back here in a few days, hopefully.
Every now and again an album comes along that you just can't stop playing; an album so bloody infectious you can't understand why the whole planet isn't currently grooving to it. One such album is Here Comes the Good Part by Gyasi (pronounced Jah-See). I've been playing it on constant rotation since it first came into my orbit about a week or so ago. And in that time both Brother Steve and Brother Mondo from the Power Trio WhatsApp group have, I know, been clutching it close to their bosoms too.
Gyasi looks (and sounds) like a real life rock & roll photofit. Imagine David Bowie, Mick Ronson, and Marc Bolan compressed into one - the very embodiment of a larger than life guitar wielding glam super hero. You don't believe me? Have a look (and listen) to this:
Gyasi - Baby Blue (2025)
And when you dig deeper into the rest of this extraordinary album, it's clear that this is so much more than a pastiche; this guy really means it. Yes, he may be paying homage to 1972 and a sound (some might say a movement) that lit up the world like a thousand Roman Candles, but in so doing he's made a record that (more than) stands on its own two feet.
Baby Blue might well be a no nonsense T Rex guitar, bass and drums workout but there's light and shade on this record too. He's not afraid to throw in a bit of sax or, as you can hear on this the album's closing track, he can swathe himself in melancholia too.
Gyasi - A Grand Finale (2025)
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Think you might like it too? What have you got to lose? The full album (a tad over 35 minutes) is here. Come join the (glam) revolution!
Normal is defined as the usual, typical, or expected state or condition. Normality, normalcy if you will, is the state (and or condition) I've been striving to achieve from the moment my one on one cardiac nurse woke me from my anaesthetic fuelled slumber back in December. Whether I was indeed normal before my surgery is obviously debatable, but by and large in the three months since my old heart valve was replaced with a shiny new heart valve I've been trying to softly softly catchee monkey the only way I know how. And that is just literally one day at a time and, most importantly, listening to my body. Even when I came out of hospital I only have to look at the photos of myself with any of my early visitors to see that I looked like a ghost. A silent ghost: the Influenza Type A I contracted in hospital all but took away my voice during my first two or three weeks of liberation. So, gradually I've been driving again, getting my voice back again, getting my appetite back again (I lost over 10 kilos in hospital) and having the odd beer again (after 70 days dry it was a relief to discover I hadn't taken against the stuff).
And walking again. My health app on my phone would indicate that in December I'd fallen off a cliff (which I kind of did) and it wasn't till mid-January that my weary body showed any signs of physical movement (hospital corridors aren't as long as you think). A major milestone was achieved only last week when I climbed (my) Everest and a couple of weeks before that I pulled in my first gig for nigh on three months - Chuck Prophet (who I know has been dealing with his own personal demons recently - he's currently in remission from Stage 4 Lymphoma). Chuck and his new band The Cumbian Shoes were nothing short of sensational at Nottingham's Metronome last month.
I guess, after normal, that's my next milestone: wouldn't it be great to feel sensational? Until then I'll stick with my usual response when people ask me how my recuperation's going: "Getting there," I tell them; quite ironic when you consider the masthead at the top of the page.
Martin. And I thought Khayem was keeping things on the lowdown
Please welcome Martin, our final #BlogCon25 interviewee. Martin has been blogging since Methuselah was in short trousers. In The Swede's recent Q&A I referred to him as the Father of the House; in that case, and he probably won't thank me for it, that must make Martin the Grandfather! His New Amusements blog has been a regular feature on my sidebar for as long as I can remember. I know he goes thru phases where he appears on the verge of ragging it all in but then comes back stronger than ever. Long may it continue (as Martin aludes to in the Q&A, we've lost too many great blogs over the years). Right, time for his interrogation to start...
* New Amusements - can you give me five Top Tunes (singles or album tracks) from this century?
Blimey, straight in with a hard one. These aren't the Top 5, that would take an age to work out. But these are all okay, and all 21st Century releases:
- The WAEVE - Something Pretty
- Cathal Smyth - Are the Children Happy?
- Chris Wood - None the Wiser
- Radiohead - Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
- Martin Rossiter - Three Points on a Compass
Martin Rossiter - Three Points on a Compass (2012)
* Ditto Old Amusements - five bangers from before the millennium?
I thought about trying to surprise readers of the blog, but, really, what's the point? So I've reverted to type with five of the usual suspects, but maybe lesser known tracks:
- The Smiths - Wonderful Woman
- The Wedding Present - Catwoman
- REM - Wolves, Lower
- Gene - Supermarket Bombscare
- The Jam - Life From a Window
* Who/what got you into blogging?
I think I was just bored. I started in February 2005, a very transitional time for me and a period in which I felt a bit lost, looking for something but not knowing what. I deliberately eschewed Blogger and Wordpress for a long time - I had some free webspace and thought I could do it all myself. And I did: the HTML, the RSS feeds, I even wrote my own Javascript-based commenting system. Eventually I realised that the DIY approach made it very hard to attract any readers, which is how I ended up migrating to Blogger. Most if not all of the blogs that inspired me in the early days are defunct now: Chromewaves was an excellent music blog, as were Too Much Apple Pie and Ghost of Electricity. And of course there was Rol's debut, Sunset Over Slawit. The list of blogs I followed that have now retired is almost as long as the list of active blogs I still follow, and that makes me sad.
- Supplementary question - you recently took a blogging sabbatical with a difference; no live blog posts but a series of pre-written blogs that went out in their place. What was the thinking behind that and did it achieve what you set out to achieve?
The intention was to free up time to do other stuff, particularly creative writing. My standard excuse for not writing another, better novel is that I am time-poor. Whatever, I regret to report it didn't work. Sure, I had more free time, but life expanded to swamp it.
- Supplementary question to a supplementary question - do you think you'll still be blogging in five years?
I doubt it. If I am, I'll probably have driven all my remaining readers away by then. If a blogger posts and nobody reads it, are they still a blogger? (A question for the ages - JM.)
* It's a baking hot day, your car's just been towed, the trains are on strike and the last bus has just gone. You've got yer thumb out by the side of the road and, by chance, two cars pull up at the same time. One's a limo with Noel Gallagher (being chauffeured) in the back - the air con hits you full in the face as he winds down the window and shouts "Get in." But the car behind has got Damon Albarn at the wheel. It's a 1972 Morris Marina belonging to his dad. Damon's got a bit of a sweat on but shouts "Hop in, it's not too bad in here if we keep all the windows open." In the words of the Cars, who's gonna drive you home?
The easiest question on the list. I'll jump in with Damon. This is partly because I think he is probably slightly less of a tool than Noel, but mostly because my oldest friend and blog commenter The Man Of Cheese used to have a Marina, so going for a spin in one of those would bring back some happy memories from the late 80s.
* Is there a film, or a scene from a film, or even a line from a film, that lives/resonates with you?
So many. One I've been thinking a lot about lately, and have blogged about in the past, is the opening scene from American Beauty. This is problematic, of course, because Kevin Spacey has been cancelled, so there's the thorny issue of separating the art from artist. (It's actually easier than you think - JM.) But this scene resonates because of Lester Burnham's experience, and his soliloquy about losing something, feeling sedated hits the spot. Another scene, without any culture wars complications, is the scene from the Coen brothers' Inside Llewyn Davis, in which the titular hero talks about being tired.
* How do you file your books - alphabetically by author? Or title? Colour of spine? Size?
When I had time and space, it was alphabetical by author, and then chronological by publication date. Now it's wherever there's space, in rough thematic clumps. It irks me but it's a compromise, so what can I do?
* The time machine question (with a twist). You can go anywhere in time forwards or backwards no question asked. Where and when are you going? The twist to this question is that the owners of the time machine are feeling very benevolent: they're prepared to give you a cheque for £50,000 when you get back for your trouble. Just one slight hitch. If you take the cheque your memories of your visit will be permanently erased. You'll have no recollection of your journey whatsoever, not even in dream flashbacks. You're still gonna take the money, right?
No, I don't think I am, John, not if the alternative is to travel in time and not be able to remember it. (Is the right answer! - JM.) Sure, it's a lot of money but it's not crazy money. I'd rather go somewhere, some time, else, and be able to remember. As to where and when, well. I've always had an interest in ancient Rome but I think that is probably too far back and that I wouldn't cope well, without the comforts of modern life. I think I'd probably opt for mid-60s, SE England, get myself a scooter and a parka, and live Quadrophenia for real. Plus I could go and visit my parents when they were young, see my older siblings as kids, and acquaint myself with a world and people that I don't recall.
* Wots yer favourite skyscraper?
The temptation is to say something obvious like the Chrysler Building - it has the Art Deco thing going on, after all. Although if I was going with New York I'd probably say the very ordinary Rockefeller Center, because you can go up to the roof and see all the other, more beautiful skyscrapers from it. Closer to home, I do quite like 20 Fenchurch Street, aka The Walkie Talkie, because the Skygarden at the top is marvellous. All in all though, I'd probably go for the Montparnasse Tower in Paris. It's a big black monolith that makes me think of 2001, and offers fantastic views over the city, plus I have a great memory from the mid-90s of shooting up to the helipad on the roof in what was then Europe's fastest lift.
* Can you juggle?
Three balls, yes, all day long. Four balls, not very well. Clubs, barely at all. The demands of life?
