Dart-Throw Dreams: The Bay City Rollers’ Forgotten Spark – A song about youthful exuberance and the thrill of new beginnings, “Alright” hums with the restless hope of a band on the cusp.
Let’s rewind to that shimmering summer of 1971, when the world was still shaking off the ‘60s and a bunch of tartan-clad lads from Edinburgh were just starting to make noise. Bay City Rollers dropped “Alright” as the B-side to their debut single “Keep on Dancing”, released on June 18 via Bell Records. The A-side, a peppy cover of The Gentrys’ tune, climbed to number 9 on the UK Singles Chart, a respectable kickoff that lingered for 10 weeks and hinted at the teen-idol frenzy to come. “Alright” didn’t get its own chart glory—it was a hidden gem, tucked behind the dance-floor bait—but it’s a piece of the Rollers’ origin story, a snapshot of a band finding its feet before the madness of “Rollermania” took hold. For those of us who remember, it’s a whisper from a simpler time, when music was a jukebox coin away and the future felt wide open.
The story of “Alright” ties right into how the Bay City Rollers came to be. Back then, they were still the Saxons, a scrappy outfit led by brothers Alan Longmuir on bass and Derek Longmuir on drums, with singer Nobby Clark out front. They’d been gigging around Edinburgh since the mid-’60s, covering Motown and R&B in dim-lit halls. But by ‘71, manager Tam Paton saw bigger things—something American, something bold. Legend has it Derek tossed a dart at a U.S. map, aiming for a name with punch. First shot hit Arkansas (no dice), but the second landed near Bay City, Michigan, and the Bay City Rollers were born. “Alright”, written by Clark and the band, was recorded in that raw, early phase—before Les McKeown, before the tartan tidal wave—with producer Jonathan King steering the ship. It’s got that unpolished charm, a little rough around the edges, like a demo tape you’d find in a shoebox under the bed.
What’s it all about? “Alright” is a burst of teenage optimism, a quick two-minute jolt of “everything’s gonna be fine.” The lyrics—“Alright, alright, everything’s gonna be alright”—are simple, almost a mantra, sung with a grin you can hear through the speakers. It’s not deep, and it doesn’t need to be; it’s the sound of kids shaking off the gray of school halls and council flats, dreaming of something bigger. For us older folks, it’s a Polaroid of that fleeting moment when the world felt conquerable—before bills, before heartbreak, when a guitar riff and a good mate were enough. You can almost see the platform boots tapping, the fringe swaying, the flicker of a black-and-white telly showing Top of the Pops for the first time.
This wasn’t the Rollers’ big break—that’d come later with “Remember (Sha-La-La-La)” and the McKeown era—but “Alright” has its own quiet legacy. It’s a relic of their pre-fame hustle, back when they were still a local act with big hearts and bigger hair. The lineup shifted soon after—Clark left in ‘73, replaced by McKeown, and the “classic five” took off—but this track’s a nod to the roots. For trivia buffs, it’s worth noting the B-side rarely got airplay; DJs flipped for “Keep on Dancing”, leaving “Alright” as a treat for vinyl collectors and diehards. Today, it’s a footnote in a discography that sold 120 million records, but spin it now, and you’re back in ‘71—summer stretching out, the radio crackling, and a band from Edinburgh daring to dream they could be the next big thing. For us who’ve weathered the years, it’s a gentle nudge: sometimes, alright was all we needed to believe in.