Turn on to Jesus? Hell No!

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!” 

City Boy - Turn on to Jesus (1978)

Guitarists off the leash (#1*)

On the back of my guitar solo piece a couple of weeks ago I was really interested in some of the comments that were posted in response; not least by old friend of this blog, Artog. Artog comes, and Artog goes; but when he does put his head above the parapet, usually once every five years or so (I suspect he's part of the witness protection program), I always take note. He said he loves it when guitarists do fucked up things. I told him I did too. For instance, Bob 'Derwood' Andrews' from Generation X leaves his calling card all over their first (and best) album. But he was doing it long before on this, the definitive version of No No No (not the cleaner album version or even the John Peel session) - it appeared on the flip side of Ready Steady Go released in February '78. Fast forward to 3:04 and hear Derwood as he tries to keep it together, then listing at the end before finally, and inevitably, slipping anchor. Marvellous stuff, I think you'll agree.

Generation X - No No No (1978)

...

* Don't hold your breath for #2 - me and long running series don't mix very well. I leave that kind of behaviour to the ineffable Rol.

DEVOtional

Five months in and I feel we're really finding our feet at Thursday Vinyl (formerly Monday Vinyl). Ben and everyone at The Carousel have made us feel really welcome. So far we've listened to some phenomenal albums by Depeche Mode, Steely Dan, Elvis Costello and the Lightning Seeds. And at the end of the month this illustrious quartet will be joined by none other than the utterly unique Devo. That's right, flowerpot time! Never has a yellow boilersuit looked so fucking cool. Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!

Devo - (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction (1978)

Renouncing strength...

I've noticed that one or two of my fellow bloggers are still posting their Monday Long Songs; I can't remember the last time I chipped in, so will make amends today. I recently discovered some tasty outtakes from the Stones' Some Girls album and was immediately taken with an 11+ minute version of Miss You. So, it being Monday...

Rolling Stones - Miss You (1978)

Fast Cars

Julian & Kerry

Who wants to live forever? Cryogenics, anyone? Nah, me neither. This kind of appeals tho' - my friends Julian and Kerry have been immortalised via the medium of Scalextric. You heard right; slot car racing is a big thing at The Dragon pub in Nottingham. So much so, not only can you take part but you can be in the crowd; as in be in the crowd. Pretty cool, huh?

Buzzcocks - Fast Cars (1978)

Antisocial Distancing

I don't really know how best to describe life at the moment; to say 'it's a bit shit' doesn't quite cut it. Being holed up for the best part of 23 hours a day is tortuous at times, but, it's better than the alternative. This somewhat crude image shows in rather bleak terms the worst case scenario if you play fast and loose with your personal space. And, of course, other people's. Wooah! Back off!

Who would have thought that just a handful of weeks ago a simple walk to the shop is now every bit as nerve-racking as traversing a Falklands minefield. What price that tin of beans?
So, be careful out there. One minute you're cock of the north, the next you're in an ICU ward plugged in to a Dyson ventilator. Honestly, you couldn't make it up.  

Buzzcocks - Walking Distance (1978)

Whatever normal is

Memo

To: All Users

From: John Medd

Date: 28 December 2019

Time was against me in the run up to Christmas, that and the fact that Are We There Yet? has been experiencing some technical glitches of late; long story short, I've been struggling to: a. post new content, and b. reply to any comments left in the last week or so. Also, it would appear that some of you have been ringing my doorbell and, despite the lights being on, nobody has been coming to the front door. What can I say? I've not been ignoring you. Honestly - cross my heart and hope to die.

So, my Number One tech guy (and son) is coming over today not just to wish me a Happy Birthday, but also to take a look under the website's hood and see what the fuck's going on.

Anyway, the above preamble is really only my cack-handed way of thanking all those kind souls who took the 2019 bus to Medd Town, trudged up Medd Hill - rain or shine - and came to say hello. I  really appreciate it, and hope you all had a FAB Christmas. And I wish each and everyone of you an equally FAB New Year. Hope springs eternal.

Normal service will be resumed ASAP, I promise. Whatever normal is.

The Normal - Warm Leatherette (1978)

How Many?

It's a Japanese import, don't you know

One Sunday afternoon a few years ago while I was living far, far away, the next door neighbours came round for a drink. Their little girl, Autumn, who was probably seven or eight at the time, loved music. And maths. Counting was her thing. She asked me how many CDs I'd got. 'I don't know,' I replied. 'Shall we find out?'

With mum and dad's consent I set her to work straight away. Holed up in my music room with just a glass of juice and a pen and paper she set about the task in hand.

Two hours later she emerged. I still have her scribbled notes and workings out somewhere. She'd played a blinder. She also couldn't believe how many CDs could be kept in one room*. I could. It's probably why I'll never be a rich man.

Buying albums like this didn't help. I only wanted the single, but couldn't find it anywhere. So I ended up buying the album: the Japanese import. I don't think I ate that week.

Sniff 'n' the Tears - Driver's Seat (1978)

* c.3,500

Joan Collins Fan Club

I've said here, on more than one occasion (and quite recently, too), that when it's quiet, I like to post nothing more taxing than, say, a library picture of Helen Mirren, or a random girl from Amsterdam riding her bike. A modern day Test Card if you will.

The idea came originally from a fellow blogger - whose name I forget, sorry - who, during a fallow period, said that rather than cancel the milk and papers he was just going to put up a photograph of Joan Collins in her 'snorkelling gear'.

Well, as you can see, here is said photograph of Joan Collins in her, ahem, snorkelling gear. It dates from the 1950s, so that would put her somewhere in her mid-twenties. Collins was already something of a Hollywood starlet around this time having played a number of sultry roles in a number of so-so movies. She had yet to put her name to the two projects I particularly remember her for. Namely, that episode of Star Trek:

Star Trek - The City on the Edge of Nowhere (1967)

And this, my favourite movie of 1978 in the category 'Best Trashy Film Adaptation of Equally Trashy Novel Written by Sister of the Leading Lady'.

The Stud (1978)

Fly

All Medd Cons

Paul Weller was in town this week. For some reason I didn't fancy it; I'm kicking myself now.

I wonder if he played anything off All Mod Cons? You're probably aware that this year marks its ruby anniversary. Christ, where did the last 40 years go? (I can remember clearly the day I bought my copy) - the worrying thing being that 40 years prior the Second World War hadn't yet broken out. Stop the world I want to get off.

Anyway, you can keep Down in the Tube Station at Midnight and 'A' Bomb in Wardour Street - if I'd been at the Arena on Tuesday night I'd have asked him, politely, to "play that silly little poem you wrote when you didn't know any better." The words are naff, obviously, but it has a certain charm nonetheless. Chances are he'd have probably pretended not to hear me, but I think Fly would make any Weller Top 10 (there he goes with the lists again), don't you?

The Jam - Fly (1978)

2 December 1978

This is my diary entry for Saturday 2 December 1978.

"Riggsby's birthday today. Not just any old birthday. He's 18! We've got tickets to see Generation X - they're playing West Runton Pavilion tonight. My day started at 7 o'clock with thumb out waiting for a lift to North Walsham (where Riggsby now lives). Only had to wait by the side of the A52 for twenty minutes. Sat up in cab with mostly brilliant, but ever so slightly right wing, lorry driver who was quizzing me about why I would want to go and see a bunch of pooftahs perform in a dancehall a million miles from anywhere. I just kept telling him to listen to their first album and he'd work it out for himself. He bought me breakfast in a greasy spoon where the ten second rule was invented. Stroke of luck he was dropping his load off at Smedley's so was able to throw me out right outside Riggsby's mum and dad's house. Mrs. Rigg is a top mum. She talks to me and Riggsby about stuff my mum has no concept of: Susan Rigg has heard of punk. And the new wave. My mum is still getting over the loss of Glenn Miller. Before the gig she makes us all dinner (that's tea, really) and we all sit round the kitchen table and talk about current affairs, Tommy Cooper and the new ring road in Kings Lynn. We all drink wine. And then we talk about Billy Idol and all the brilliant songs he's written. We go to Riggsby's bedroom to listen to Ready Steady Go one last time before Mr. Rigg drives us to the venue in his beat up old Land Rover. Arrive at West Runton Pavilion and we can hear the band sound-checking but all the doors are locked and there's not a soul in sight. We disappear to The Beehive and blag ourselves a pint of cider each which tops up the wine from dinner nicely. Back to the venue where they open the doors and we race to take up residency at the front of the stage. Generation X come on at half nine - the crowd are going barmy and the pint pots are flying. Billy Idol sneers throughout. We keep shouting to Tony James to play Wild Youth but he tells us repeatedly they don't play that anymore. But they do play Your Generation, Kiss Me Deadly and a clutch of new songs including a real tub thumper called Night of the Cadillacs. And, of course, Ready Steady Go. Riggsby's dad picks us up at eleven - in the car park with steam rising off us we look like a pair of racehorses after a hard race. Gig score: 10/10." 

Where are they now?

West Runton Pavilion: demolished in 1986. Now a car park
Riggsby: living in San Diego, CA
Billy Idol: turned into a racier version of Cliff Richard and fell off a few motorcycles