Show Me The Child by Trolley: A Forgotten Gem That Still Hits Home
You know that feeling when you stumble across an old album and it just grabs you? Like, out of nowhere, this thing from decades ago punches through time and reminds you why music matters? That’s what happened to me with Show Me The Child, Trolley’s 1979 pop-rock masterpiece. Released on Laurie Records and produced by the dynamic duo Gene & Eliott, this record feels like a warm hug wrapped in gritty guitar riffs.
First off, let’s talk about “Don’t Stop The Music.” Man, oh man—this track is pure energy bottled up in four minutes of raw rock goodness. It kicks off with this driving beat that makes your feet tap before you even realize it. The vocals are unpolished but real, like they’re singing straight to your soul instead of trying to impress some critic. There’s something so earnest about how the lyrics beg for life to keep moving forward, to not let the moment fade. I swear, every time I hear the chorus—"don’t stop the music, don’t stop the flow"—it’s like someone lit a fire under me. You can tell these guys weren’t chasing trends; they were chasing truth. And honestly? That’s rare as hell.
Then there’s the title track, “Show Me The Child.” This one hits different. It starts slow, almost hesitant, like it doesn’t wanna give too much away at first. But then BAM—the melody swells, and suddenly you’re knee-deep in emotion. The lyrics feel personal, maybe even a little painful, like they’re wrestling with questions bigger than themselves. Who is this child? What do they represent? Is it hope? Innocence? Or something lost along the way? Whatever it is, it sticks with you long after the song ends. It’s haunting, but in a good way—you know what I mean?
The whole vibe of the album screams late ‘70s Americana, but without any of that pretentiousness that sometimes creeps into rock records from back then. It’s got heart. Like, actual beating heart. You can hear it thumping through every note, every imperfect harmony. Sure, production-wise, it ain’t perfect—but who cares? Perfection would’ve ruined it anyway.
Here’s the kicker though: listening to this now, in 2023, it kinda blows my mind how timeless it feels. Like, yeah, it came out over forty years ago, but damn if it doesn’t still resonate. Maybe because we’re all still searching for answers, still asking ourselves those big questions. Or maybe because sometimes simple, heartfelt music cuts deeper than anything shiny and new.
Anyway, here’s the random thought I’ll leave you with: isn’t it wild how albums like this get buried in history? Like, where did Trolley go? Did they break up? Change their name? Open a taco stand somewhere? Someone should find out—and thank them for giving us this little slice of magic.
