I don’t ordinarily play advertising shill, because I’ve nothing to sell or want to sell, and have never sold anything in this life but gasoline, at the gas station job I got fired from when my friends more or less poured me from the car one drunken Labor Day noon. My boss took one look at me and said, “Shitfaced and fired may just be your destiny.”
Besides, selling music is what record company people are paid to do. My job is to blow raspberries at what they’re selling. But not always. Take Rhino Records’ new and comprehensive anthology of the works of my favorite band the Faces. I’m only too happy to play Willy Loman for Rhino on this one, because despite its hefty price tag ($129.99) it’s worth it. Now only does it include their four studio albums on vinyl and outtakes from those sessions, most of which I’ve never heard, it includes a fifth LP of singles and miscellanea that never made it onto their studio LPs, including four songs I’ve never heard in my Faces-obsessed life. In short, if you love The Faces as much as I do, this album is as much of a necessity as air, lager, and, well, lager. There are unheard songs on this completist’s compilation so good you’ll simultaneously praise Jesus and curse God for letting Rod Stewart turn himself into a clown and self-parody.
The two unheard outtakes from their debut, 1970’s First Step, are raucous blues. “Behind the Sun” features lots of great organ by Ian McLagan and guitar by Ron Wood, and Stewart burns, while “Mona—The Blues” is a funky instrumental that demonstrates that The Faces, who had a reputation for playing it on the loose and shambolic side, could play it formidably tight. Meanwhile, the outtake “Whole Lotta Woman” from 1971’s Long Player, with its hilarious pre-song chatter, demonstrates just where the band got its reputation for playing it fast and loose.
The instrumental “Sham-Mozzal,” another outtake from the Long Player sessions, turns out to be a funky instrumental take on the great “Had Me a Real Good Time, “ while “Too Much Woman—For a Henpecked Man” is from a live show at the Fillmore, and on it Wood and McLagan conspire to produce the perfect backing for Stewart’s crowing. Finally, “Love in Vain,” recorded live from another (or maybe the same) Fillmore show, showcases Stewart’s vocal chops and Wood’s formidable slide guitar skills. I’ve never been a fan of the song, but I prefer this version to the Stones’ take, because Wood, a future Stone himself, acquits himself so masterfully on the guitar.
In addition to a few rehearsal takes of songs that made the LP, the extras on 1973’s Ooh La La include a live take of “Jealous Guy” from the Reading Festival. Wood’s guitar is feral, McLagan plays some great piano, but I’ve never liked the song and this raw take doesn’t sway my opinion.
The fifth LP features “Pool Hall Richard,” which has found its way onto several previous anthologies. A high-octane boogie and rock’n’roller in the great Chuck Berry tradition, it features Wood at his meanest while Stewart rasps the lyrics with glee. The band’s soulful take of The Temptations’ “I Wish It Would Rain” is welcome news to me; recorded live from who knows when or where, McLagan nails the mood on piano while Stewart makes you feel the hurt. I have no idea who’s playing the horns, but they provide the perfect complement to Wood’s wild and wooly guitar wank, which culminates in a horn-accompanied solo that likely incinerated the eyebrows of the lucky bastards in the front rows.
The funky instrumental “Rear Wheel Skid” has been previously anthologized, but if you haven’t heard it you’ll be reborn; the same goes for “Oh Lord I’m Browned Off,” a never-anthologized instrumental on which McLagan plays a cool repetitive riff while Wood kicks ass. Meanwhile, “Skewiff (Mend the Fuse)” is another great instrumental; the funky drumming of Kenny Jones and Wood’s steel guitar, combined with McLagan’s organ, make this one irresistible. “As Long as You Tell Him,” a B-side from 1974, features the band in ballad mode, and was released as a single; I love it when Stewart sings, “I’ve overcome worse problems than you,” but the song itself doesn’t move me; it reminds me a bit too much of what Rod the Mod would become.
The long-stemmed “You Can Make Me Dance, Sing or Anything (Even Take the Dog for a Walk, Mend a Fuse, Fold Away the Ironing Board, or Any Other Domestic Shortcomings)” may boast the longest title of all time, and was released as a single in 1974, but I’ve never liked it because it’s a precursor to the Stewart who would go solo and is a pop song through and through. All those wonderful rough edges have been sanded off, the drums have an ominous pre-disco beat, and the band sounds like they’re attempting to reproduce the sound of the day, rather than going their own inimitable way.
Meanwhile, the bewilderingly wonderful “Dishevelment Blues,” a song off a free flexi-disc included in copies of the New Music Express, is a lark, with Stewart (I think it’s Stewart) singing in an unidentifiable voice, McLagan vamping away on organ, and Wood playing remarkable squiggles on the guitar. The drums crash, Stewart moans and shouts and laughs maniacally, and the band cries out and chatters throughout, and in general a mood of merry drunkenness prevails. It’s the perfect song to end a Faces anthology, because it captures their errant spirit; they could play ‘em tight when they wanted, but they were just as happy knocking ‘em out, pints away and mayhem personified.
This (the eighth best-of Faces compilation) promises to be the ultimate Faces set, that is until somebody thinks to create a compilation that also includes the band’s sub-par 1974 live LP Coast to Coast: Overture and Beginners, which was recorded after the great Ronnie Laine left the band. There are also a few other songs out there (e.g., a take on “Silicone Grown” called “Silicone Groan” off the NME flexi-disc), and I dream of the day when I’ll have all of my Faces’ songs in the same place. They were only—fuck the Stones—the greatest live act of their day, and the band that gave us so many great, great songs, both sad and ecstatic. They possessed a warmth, and a sense of camaraderie, that the Rolling Stones lacked—the psychic distance between band and fans was halved, at least, and that’s why so many people, me included, continue to love them. They had soul and a sense of humor and they felt like mates. Mick Jagger never felt like a mate. You wanted to have a laugh with them, and they obliged, and I can’t think of any higher compliment to pay a rock band.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
