He might not have been a household name, but his look was unforgettable. You might not recognise Jesse Rae’s face, and you’d probably not be able to name his hit songs, but you’d remember his appearance. A kilt, a plaid over his shoulder, carrying a claymore, and wearing a helmet plumed with a feather. A historic Highland warrior, alive and well in 21^st^ century Scotland.
That’s how he arrived at the studio, walking into the building and up to the reception desk in his full finery. He knew how to make and entrance. I was involved with a local TV programme on a Glasgow cable channel, it wasn’t a huge show, but Jesse was up for making an appearance as a musical guest and had taken the afternoon off work at his family farm in the Scottish Borders. There might not have been much of a budget for a wardrobe department, bur he more than compensated for it.
He’d spoken to a colleague on the phone and had agreed to do a playback performance in the studio. They didn’t like to call it ‘miming’, but that’s basically what it was. A recording of the music would play, he’d sing along to it. No band, no musicians in the studio, just Jesse. A corner of the studio had been lit appropriately, accessorised with a disco ball and a stage big enough for one man and his claymore.
But the song? He had something special up the sleeve of his ghillie shirt. Not a novelty song about Scotland, not an old piece from ancient days, but an anthem. And not a national anthem either, a genuine funk anthem, a dancefloor anthem. Who knew the farmer boy from the Borders had been the writer of an international hit for a New York band in the ’80s?
Inside Out was a top three hit in the UK for the band Odyssey, and a massive hit on the USA’s Billboard Black Singles Chart. And that’s what Jesse performed that afternoon, an authentic piece of sophisticated black New York urban funk, in full Scottish Highlands/Borders regalia.
You never know what’s inside a person, or how and where it will come out.
An hour or so later I was driving home. I pulled up at the traffic lights and a battered vintage Land Rover pulled up in the lane beside me. Not the kind of Land Rover that the rich and powerful might drive, but the kind that a farm worked might use to drive across the fields to take bales of hay to the sheep. The kind of vehicle that was built for a life of agriculture rather than life in the fast lane. I’ve always liked Land Rovers, especially old ones. They’re built to last, to cope with the unexpected and to thrive in difficult environments. So while I waited for the traffic lights to change, I took a closer look.
At the wheel was Jesse Rae, he was still wearing his Highland warrior’s helmet. The feather plume still flying proudly.
Like I said, you never know what’s inside.
John Kilbride lives in central Scotland and worked as a broadcast journalist before moving on to do more varied things, including more writing.
He’s contributed both words and photographs to several books about the Scottish music scene, and has a biography of American rock band the Grateful Dead published by Sonicbond Publishing.
John is a member of the National Union of Journalists
The Golden Road: The Recorded History of Grateful Dead
© 2026 John Kilbride