Teenaged me felt like I came from nowhere. Turns out, I came from everywhere instead.

Do you remember where you were at 2:50am on Sunday the 2nd of June 1991? I do! I was in my bedroom, scribbling in my diary, as was so often the case for me in 1991. Here’s what I wrote:

‘Good morning international bright young things! It’s ten to three this not-v.-bright’n’sunny morn and I’m here to tell you of my wondrous findings from my latest venture into the world that is rock’n’roll!!! Which is a rather long-winded way of saying that there is yet another song that is out at this very moment that dazzles one with its brilliance. It’s called “International Bright Young Thing” and it’s by a group called Jesus Jones. I’m going to get their album “Doubt” as “IYBT” appears on it as well as several other rather good songs that I’ve heard.’

But what’s not exactly clear from this jauntily exclamation-mark strewn diary entry is: What was the appeal of this song that compelled me to such an early morning outburst? The answer lies in the fact that by the age of 16, in 1991, my family had moved country four times during my lifetime – from my birthplace in London to Canada, then to Perth in Western Australia, then Singapore, and finally back to Perth when I was 14, which is where I was when I scribbled this excitable paragraph in the ludicrous hours of a Sunday morning. All of which left me with a sense of not really having an identifiable place where I came from or belonged, even if I couldn’t quite have put this feeling into words at such a young age. After all, moving country every three or four years was all I’d ever known

Enter Jesus Jones, and this ineffably bouncy and exuberant track. With its hyperactive early-90s beat, and Mike Edwards’ layered vocals throwing the tune in surprising directions with each line, it exudes a sense of endless unsettled movement. This is intensified by the video, which begins with a view of a spinning globe, displaying every country I’d ever lived in within the first few seconds, and continues with the members of the band catapulting from continent to continent, leaping from cities to deserts to sprawling forests and football stadiums, while they perform the song.

And then there’s this line: “I hear you yelling it to me, spelling it out to me / When I thought I came from nowhere, I came from everywhere instead.”

All of which meant that this was a song unlike pretty much any other I’d heard, in that sounded like it could have been written for someone like me. I may not have quite able to think of myself as a ‘bright young thing’, but my international upbringing definitely set me apart from the other kids at school. Here, finally, was a song that specifically included someone like me as its target audience and redefined how I could think about the fragmented, unsettled life I’d led so far.

And so, following the early morning revelation I’d so enthusiastically recorded in my diary, began a period of approximately nine months in which Jesus Jones were my favourite band in the world. I was stumbling my way towards properly discovering the UK indie scene, which would eventually become the source of most of my musical obsessions for the next decade or more. With their inventive mix of rock guitars alongside the most up to date pop and dance sounds, Jesus Jones were my bridge into that arena. The fusion of guitars and technology seemed unfathomably ultra-modern and exciting at the time, and Jesus Jones were undoubtedly pioneers of the genre.

As promised in my diary entry I did go on to buy “Doubt” and this was my verdict: ‘unspeakably brill‘. For my 16 year old self, peering round the musical landscape of the early 90s and trying to discover where I belonged, Jesus Jones provided an exciting space to dwell in. But more importantly for me, this particular song made me feel a little less alone and weird in my country-hopping upbringing.

I would be continually distracted by new and shiny music for several years to come, and would have new additions to my list of all-time favourite bands almost every year for a good chunk of the 90s. I remained a Jesus Jones fan through this era and into that of the 1993 follow up “Perverse” (which was also, to use the lingo of my 16 year old self, brill). But by the time I made it to London in 1996 I’m afraid I had relegated them to the annals of my music fan history, and was far too diverted by other shiny delights to pay much attention to them. Which is a shame, because they released the stunning album “Already” in 1997, and I wish I’d made it out to one of their gigs that year.

It would, in fact, take me until 2021 to fully delve back into Jesus Jones fandom, seeing them live for the first time at a fantastic gig at the 100 Club that year, and welcoming them back into my musical life. Better late than never, certainly. I saw them for a second time in September 2022 at the 229, but unfortunately I haven’t managed to see them again since then. I came down with Covid on the day I’d booked to see them a third time, just before Christmas 2023, and Adverse Life Events have got in the way whenever I’ve contemplated attending one of their shows since then.

The excellent news is that 2026 is turning into an eventful year for the band. They have a new album “Twilight” due in September, from which the uncharacteristically mellow and sweetly melodic single “Shot In The Chevy” has just been released. Even more excitingly for the ghost of my 16 year old self that still dwells within me, there’s also a 35th anniversary tour for “Doubt” coming our way. So if all goes to plan, I will finally see the band for a third time on this tour, and can’t wait to hear their classic second album live in full. Because it will be, of course, unspeakably brill.