Not so long ago I wrote that it was a positive disgrace and blot on the historical record that the only live album by the Faces—one of the most exciting live bands of their time—was 1974’s thoroughly lackluster Coast to Coast: Overture and Beginners, which was released only to fulfill a contractual obligation and didn’t even feature big-hearted bassist/vocalist Ronnie Lane, who’d split the group in a pique over the fact that the Faces had become little more than burgeoning solo star Rod Stewart’s backing band. It’s a terrible album, long out of print, but it has a fine cover. If you buy albums for their covers, I heartily recommend you find yourself a copy.
Well the historical record has been corrected, and then some. On September 6, 2024 Rhino Records, obvious subscribers to the belief that half measures avail us nothing, released Faces at the BBC: Complete BBC Concert and Session Recordings, an eight-CD/Blu-ray box set that weighs 84 pounds and comes complete with a “lavish” 48-page booklet and for all I know (I don’t own an actual copy) an authentic Rod the Mod urine sample (clearly inebriated!) and a novelty fish wall plaque that turns its head, opens its mouth and sings the chorus to “Stay with Me.” Evidently it took time and effort to track down these recordings, some of which had been thought lost. When I lose something it stays lost. Just ask my David Bowie Aladdin Sane t-shirt. I bet the sleuths at Rhino Records could find it in a heartbeat.
Thanks largely to famed DJ John Peel, the Faces recorded extensively for the BBC—evidently the “Beeb” felt the band was too frivolous and alcohol-friendly for airplay. The complete BBC sessions features eighty-five songs, which is far more songs than the band ever recorded during their short (1970–73) tenure on this planet. True, many of the songs were from Stewart’s solo albums, on which most of the other members of the Faces played. And some don’t appear on any of the albums recorded during the period in question.
Still, that’s a dump truck’s worth of songs, and it constitutes the album’s only problem—repetition, repetition, repetition, to quote the great Mark E. Smith. That “complete” is both a boast and a curse of sorts, for the simple reason that the Faces played favorites—many of the same songs pop up again and again. And again. I’ll say it once and I won’t say it again: completists may be applauding the label’s thoroughness, but I wish the go-all-the-way folks at Rhino Records had seen fit to release (perhaps in conjunction with the box set) a more humble product that featured just one version of the many songs the Faces saw fit to play multiple times.
Instead, and I’ll try to be quick about this, we get six versions of “You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It),” five versions of “Miss Judy’s Farm,” four versions of “Maybe I’m Amazed,” “Stay with Me,” “Had Me a Real Good Time,” and “Three Button Hand Me Down,” and three versions of “Devotion,” “Wicked Messenger,” “Love in Vain,” “It’s All Over Now,” and “I Know I’m Losing You.” As well as two versions of plenty of other songs. Every time I turn around I’m running into “You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It),” and while that may not be irksome to the sorts of people who enjoy “expanded” albums that include multiple alternative takes of the same song, it’s a problem for me. It’s like sugar cubes in my tea. I’ll take one, thank you very much. I should add that I don’t drink tea. It’s coffee for people burdened by manners.
Still, Faces at the BBC: Complete BBC Concert and Session Recordings is a gift, and an unexpected and unhoped for gift at that, and while a nod may be as good as a wink to a blind horse (I wouldn’t know, I’ve never met one) when the blind horse is a gift horse it stinks of ingratitude to look that gift horse in the mouth and reject it because it has too many teeth.
Because the box set, repetition notwithstanding, is the Rosetta Stone, the Mayan Codex, and the Holy Grail wrapped in the shroud of Turin. It’s career-spanning in the case of the Faces, including as it does many (if not, sadly, all) of the choicest cuts from all four of their studio albums. And the same goes for the four solo records Stewart had recorded up until that point. And it includes some real odds and sods, including some songs you’ll only find on the retrospective 2004 box set Five Guys Walk into a Bar… Others you won’t find anywhere. Including a few Yuletide numbers, one a medley featuring an impromptu “choir” made up of the Faces, their roadies, John Peel, T. Rex’s Marc Bolan, and for all I know D.B. Cooper, although now that I check the date D.B. hadn’t even parachuted into immortality yet.
What’s more, it puts the lie to the pernicious slander that the Faces were a drunken shambles of a live band, who put the pint over precision and got by largely on charm and volume. The first thing you hear is an announcer (who may or may not be John Peel) introducing the band as “excessively rowdy” (wonderful, that), but aside from the excitable stage patter what I hear is a band that is loose only in the best of ways.
I’m sure a professional musician could point out any number of mistakes, but professional musicians are a hateful breed and a fifth column who’ve been trying to destroy rock ’n’ roll since Ike Turner—whose “Too Much Woman (for a Hen-Pecked Man)” gets the Faces treatment here, twice—helped cook up “Rocket 88.” We had a saying when I was a fed and actually possessed a top secret security clearance: “Close enough for government work.” That the Faces lived by a more exacting standard should frighten you.
The box set’s eight discs encompasses thirteen radio broadcasts and concerts in all. One of the concerts (from February 13, 1973) was “not originally broadcast,” although I’m not sure why. Perhaps they played nude and you can actually hear the nudity, although I’ve listened to the concert carefully multiple times and I swear I hear clothing. I’m sure the comprehensive 48-page booklet provides an explanation. The number of broadcasts certainly explains the repetition, although I’m still perplexed by the band’s fondness for “You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It.” They saw fit to play it at almost half their gigs, and it’s not even their song. It’s a Little Richard ditty, so it’s not like they were collecting royalties or anything.
But it’s a great cover, Rod nails it every time, and it’s only one of many covers on the album, which (to name just a few) include one P. McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed,” J. Lennon’s “Jealous Guy,” Muddy Waters’ “I Feel So Good,” the Rolling Stones’ adaptation of Robert Johnson’s “Love in Vain” (along with bits and pieces of “Country Honk” and “Street Fighting Man),” C. Berry’s “Memphis, Tennessee,” Free’s “The Stealer” (surprising choice, that), R. Zimmerman’s “Wicked Messenger,” C. Fantastic’s “Country Comfort,” J. Hendrix’s “Angel” and I could go on. Stewart, Lane and Wood were all relatively prolific songwriters, but Stewart—who began his career as an interpreter and remains one still—in particular was always on the lookout for an original he could put his sandpiper stamp on. And the band acquits itself well on all of the above, although personally speaking I’ve always been bored stiff by the molasses-slow “Love in Vain” and wish someone would bury it in a very deep hole.
I’ve always preferred the Faces in excessively rowdy mode, and they don’t disappoint. I’ve mentioned “Stay with Me” and “Miss Judy’s Farm” and “Had Me a Real Good Time” and “Three Button Hand Me Down,” but my fave is “Too Bad,” which joins a host of others, including the immortal “(I Know) I’m Losing You,” one of which versions Rod introduces by saying, “It’s the last one, ladies and gentleman. I’m sorry but the pubs are closing, and we want to get there.”
Others include the early “Around the Plynth” (which on one version they buddy up with “Country Honk” and “Gasoline Alley”), the prodigal son return knockabout “Bad ‘n’ Ruin,” the underdog anthem “Cut Across Shorty,” the feral “Borstal Boys,” the hard-rocking “Silicone Grown,” the battering ram that is “Shake, Shudder, Shiver,” the lighter “Cindy Incidentally,” their roughed-up take on “Wicked Messenger,” S. Cooke’s “Twistin’ the Night Away,” and there may be one or two I’m missing. Like “My Fault,” perhaps the only song on which the Faces sound like they’re struggling to keep things together, although they don’t exactly nail “Jealous Guy” either. Sadly, the version of “Maggie May” (the only one included) that closes the box set is a bit ragged as well.
The slow ones I have less to say about, although the Faces acquit themselves nicely on all of them. I’ve never been a huge fan of “Flying” (quite the opposite, actually) or their take on Hendrix’s “Angel,” but there they are. Ditto “Jealous Guy” and the not-oft-heard “Devotion” from the Faces’ debut, although there’s no denying Stewart delivers bravura performances on all three versions. And when Lane joins in on vocals, it’s heavenly. “Maybe I’m Amazed” is an interesting number—Lane sings the first verse and then Stewart takes over, with Lane coming in later with Stewart on harmonies. It’s quite nice, although part of me wishes Lane had sung the whole thing. “Country Comfort” is a winner both times out. As for the others, I’m a fan of the Turner cover, if not of the Faces original “If I’m on the Late Side.” The soul and blues covers are all peachy.
A few random complaints. Ronnie Lane only handles lead vocals on one song, “Last Orders, Please.” This a shame and a pity because Lane was one of the most soulful vocalists out there. To hear him is to love him. A version of the touching “Debris” would have been welcome, as would have takes on “You’re So Rude” (one of the Faces’ funnier numbers) and “Flags and Banners.” And where are the very moving “Glad and Sorry” (which featured the vocals of Lane, Ronnie Wood, and Ian McLagan) and “Ooh La La,” which was sung by Wood and is one of the band’s trademark numbers? And on the Stewart front, the great “Handbags and Gladrags” is conspicuous by its absence. As is “You Wear It Well,” which would have been an obvious choice. And the same goes for the roguish “Lost Paraguayos.”
All are classics, and would have been welcome amongst the scads of repeats and the two instrumentals, “Pineapple and the Monkey” and “Oh Lord I’m Browned Off,” which are nice to have around but not at the expense of what the Brits would call “their betters.” As for that “Every Picture Tells a Story” on the set list, don’t get your hopes up. You won’t hear the song, just the boys singing the ending. Talk about being browned off.
I won’t be listening again to the set’s few throwaways (let’s call them larks), which include a very short a capella sing-along of “Underneath the Arches” by Flanagan and Allen, a 1930s/1940s British singing and comedy duo, and the similarly short toss-away “Give Me the Moonlight, Give Me the Girl,” which was popularized by musical hall singer Fred Barnes (and later Frankie Vaughn) way back when the Faces were just kiddies. Nor will I be listening to the Christmas music, which was recorded during John Peel’s Christmas Carol Concert, which was broadcast on December 26, 1970. The Brits call the day after Christmas Boxing Day, which makes it sound like a festive holiday in which people go around trying to knock one another out.
I said I’d say it only once but I lied. What the folks at Rhino Records need to do is release an edited version of this completist’s Frankenstein for people like me, one that includes the very best version of every song the band saw fit to record multiple times and dispenses with the Yuletide frivolity and the throwaways and the one or two subpar numbers and (in my perfect world) “Angel” and “Flying” and their maudlin ilk.
Faces at the BBC: Complete BBC Concert and Session Recordings is a boon and a joy and cause for fireworks and cigars all around. Everyone should run out and buy the thing. But it’s also an expensive eight-course meal with multiple courses of the same meat dishes, which is a bit much for this picky eater. But maybe you’re a bigger glutton than I am. Enjoy!
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
