The Bay City Rollers on a Saturday Night

Just two years before I began to rummage through the racks of Sam the Record Man’s downtown store for LPs by Queen, The Who, Supertramp, and Genesis, I experienced the typical teenage girl’s obligatory musical crush. It was the era of David Cassidy and his brother Shaun, Leif Garrett, Bobby Sherman, and Donny Osmond, but none of these American artists cause my heart to flutter. That honour went to the Bay City Rollers, and though the term boy bands hadn’t been invented in 1975, but could certainly have applied to them. The Tartan terrors emerged from Scotland and success in the UK to quickly become a global phenomenon selling millions of records to largely young female fans. It was a time of innocent, heartfelt adoration, and much like the early Beatles and Elvis before them, and Duran Duran, New Kids on the Block, N’Sync, and One Direction afterwards, everyone had a favourite Roller and behind the hype, the songs were pure pop fun with catchy melodies and simple lyrics. My favourite Roller was Alan Longmuir, chiselled and very much a man next to his more boyish band mates. I’m still drawn to the rugged rather than to the cute and cuddly, and it’s interesting to note that my twelve year-old-self expressed similar tastes.

My love for the Rollers lasted until 1977, when a combination of growing up and evolving tastes led me away from them. By that time, their star had also faded and they broke up soon after. What followed for me was a period of exciting musical discovery, mostly towards prog rock and what is now considered classic rock. I am ashamed to admit all these years later that I threw away all my BCR LPs in a gesture of youthful desire to appear cool. It is something I regret deeply, because the band was an integral part of my youth and denying them a place in my vinyl collection seems absurd to my confident 50 year-old self.

Last Saturday, I jumped into a car and drove an hour and a half north to meet 6 girlfriends for a concert by Les McKeown’s Bay City Rollers at CasinoRama. He was their lead singer, and the only original member taking the music on the road with a back-up band. Unlike their appearance at the CNE in August 1976, I could actually hear him this time and appreciated his enduring vocal abilities. His banter was light-hearted and nostalgic, and the optimistic cheer from someone who endured sexual abuse at the hands of his manager and robbery from his record label to then climb out of the abyss of alcohol and drug abuse and depression was commendable and left me in awe of his courage. When the concert was over and he thanked us for the support, I felt such joy in knowing that his story, unlike so many other similar ones, had a happy ending.

After the show, we lined up to meet him, patiently waiting for over an hour for the line to move forward. I wanted to shake his hand and wish him well for being a survivor and for taking us on such a sweet journey back in time. When we came face to face, I told him he was every bit as handsome as I remembered from his appearance at Nathan Phillips Square in Toronto in 1976, when they were honoured with an award from the city and met 55, 000 screaming fans at the outdoor reception. He smiled, called me a “wee fibber” in that charming Scottish accent, and then kissed my cheek. At that moment, 37 years after my crush began, everything faded from my senses and I was 13 again. It was the loveliest thing.

Here I am having a laugh with Les McKeown. What a lovely, charming man. (Thank you to Lisa MacDonald of LiveMusicHead for taking this photo)