Stay With Me: The Rise and Fall of the Faces A

Stay With Me: The Rise and Fall of the Faces

the Small Faces album, Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake. Yeah. Yeah, then we we were really into that album, but he suddenly found out there was an announcement that Steve Marriott was leaving the band. >> The Small Faces helped write the soundtrack for the ’60s, all the way from mod to drug-induced psychedelia. They experimented with it all, were ripped off by successive managers, but survived everything except each other.

 The room is cold,  the air thick with stale cigarette smoke, and the sharp tang of spilled cheap beer. It is early 1969. In the middle of a rehearsal space in  London, three men stand in absolute silence, staring at an empty microphone stand. Steve Marriott, the pint-sized powerhouse, the voice that had carried the Small Faces into the upper reaches of the charts with Itchycoo Park, has walked out.

 He did not file a legal notice. He simply stepped off a stage  in the middle of a concert, muttered that he could not take it anymore, and left  to form Humble Pie. >> When Steve left, we we were kind of lost, so we found ourselves you know, in limbo, so >> For Ronnie Lane, Kenney Jones, and Ian McLagan,  the world has just stopped turning.

 They are musicians without a leader, a rhythm section without a melody, a band that history is already preparing to forget. In the late 1960s, the British music industry is a meat grinder. Bands do not gracefully pause. They disintegrate under the pressure of endless touring, bad management, and creative exhaustion.

The Small Faces had been kings of the mod scene with their sharp Italian suits, their driving rhythm and blues, and their fiercely loyal following. But by 1969,  the mod fashion is dead, the money from their record label is mysteriously missing,  and their singer is gone. The remaining trio are facing professional oblivion.

 They are in debt, they are contractually bound to deliver music they can no longer make, and the musical landscape is shifting toward heavier, darker sounds. The sunny optimism of the ’60s is curdling. Yet, just a few miles away, another disaster is unfolding that will inadvertently throw them a lifeline. The Jeff Beck Group, one of Britain’s most formidable blues rock powerhouses, is tearing itself apart on an American tour.

The guitarist,  a wire-thin musician named Ronnie Wood, and a towering singer with a nose like a hawk and hair like a startled crow named Rod Stewart, are reaching their breaking point with their temperamental leader. They are tired of the  arguments, tired of the erratic behavior, and hungry for something stable.

They want to play rock and roll without the backstage warfare. When Ronnie Wood walks into the rehearsal room to jam with the three abandoned Small Faces, the physical contrast is almost comical. The original trio are famously short,  a characteristic that gave the band its name. Wood and Stewart are tall, gangling, and entirely different in temperament.

But the moment Wood plugs in his guitar and hits a heavy  distorted chord, something changes in the room. The polite,  precise mod pop of the past vanishes, replaced by a loose, greasy, undeniably powerful groove. There is an immediate, intoxicating friction between the tight discipline of Jones and McLagan and the wild, sliding style of Wood.

 They need a singer to complete the puzzle, and  Wood knows exactly who to call. >> I didn’t know them from Adam, but I I said, “This is a criminal shame. We can’t have the Small Faces splitting up.” So, I did some research, got Ronnie Lane’s number, rang him up, and I said, “Hello.” And he went, “Hello, Face. How are you, mate?” And I went, “I’m all right.

 Um this is Ronnie, blah blah blah.” He said, “Yeah, I’m Ronnie, too.” Uh and I said, “Well, what are you guys going to do?” And he said, “I don’t know. Would you help us?” I said, “Sure. Come on. Let’s get going.” He said, “Well, come over and meet us in um Bermondsey. Ian Stewart has given us the Rolling Stones uh rehearsal studio.

So, we could all get together in there.” So, we all got together, played with our backs to each other, me, Mac, Kenney, and Ronnie. And no no Rod, no Steve Marriott, just instrumentally. And so, we all played The Meters, and we all played Booker T. and the M.G.’s, and it was fantastic music that we were getting together.

 And And Ronnie said, “Who’s going to sing?” And we said, “Well, we’ll get to that later.” >> The stage is set for an alliance born of mutual desperation, but the seeds of their eventual destruction are already being planted before a single note is recorded. By the autumn of 1969, the new lineup is complete. Rod Stewart  enters the frame, bringing with him a voice that sounds as though it has been scrubbed with sandpaper and rinsed in bourbon.

The band signs a new contract with Warner Brothers Records, but they immediately hit a brick wall built by their own past. The record executives, terrified of losing the brand recognition of an established hit-making machine, insist on keeping the old name. When their debut album, First Step, is released in March of 1970, the American pressings still bear the name The Small Faces.

It is a source of intense frustration for the band, who feel like they are being forced  to wear a dead man’s clothes. The music on First Step reflects this  identity crisis. It is a dark, tentative record recorded in a haze of alcohol and uncertainty. The track Around the Plinth showcases Wood’s searing slide guitar work, while Lane’s songwriting brings a rustic, melancholic beauty to songs like Stone.

 But the album fails to ignite the charts, making only a modest commercial impact and leaving the musicians wondering if they have made a terrible mistake. They are no longer the immaculately dressed mods of London. They are a sprawling, unkempt rock band trying to find their footing in a new decade that demands stadium-sized anthems.

>> There’s lots of different things we we put into songs, you know, about where we grew up and you know, when we when we used to play on bomb ruins and things. All those things. >> To survive, they take to the road, and it is on the stage that the true nature of the Faces begins to coalesce. They realize that if they cannot be perfect, they can at least be unforgettable.

They abandon the rehearsed choreography of their contemporaries and embrace total chaos. They perform with an easy, shambolic joy that feels like a direct invitation to the audience to join the party. They are the antithesis of the po-faced intellectual  progressive rock acts that are beginning to dominate the era.

They do not do 20-minute drum solos or concept tracks about ancient mythology. They play 3-minute rhythm and blues songs at breakneck speed, frequently dropping their plectrums and laughing through the verses. >> We have a laugh and joke on stage, and we like the audience to have a joke or two with us.

 So, it gets across that way, don’t it? >> Well, I fell in the audience on the last American tour. >> It seemed to go down well. >> My jacket >> Well, you always have a few before I go on. >> I think we’ve done well. We’ve got the man asked you, man. Answer seriously, will you? >> Okay, Ronnie. Don’t get up tight. >> Well, there ain’t many bad vibes in this band, you know, especially in front of the viewers.

>> All right. >> Yet, behind the smiling faces and the onstage banter, a financial time bomb is ticking. Unknown to the rest of the band, Rod Stewart has signed a separate parallel  solo contract with Mercury Records. It is an unusual arrangement, allowing Stewart to continue  developing his already established solo career while remaining a full member of the Faces.

For the moment, it seems like a harmless safety net, a way for the singer to blow off creative steam without  disrupting the collective. The band views it as a minor side project, a distraction that will keep their frontman happy while they focus  on the main event. They have no idea that this parallel path is about to accelerate at a terrifying velocity, turning their collaborative brotherhood into a battleground for the spotlight.

As 1971 dawns, the Faces are working at a furious pace. They release their second album, Long Player, in February,  which shows a band growing in confidence, blending studio tracks with live recordings that capture their sweaty, unpredictable energy. >> We recorded Big Bill Broonzy’s I Feel So Good and a live version of McCartney’s Maybe I’m Amazed.

I think Maybe I’m Amazed was on Paul McCartney’s first solo album after the demise of the Beatles. So, uh the Faces were really big fans of that song and um I remember being on an American tour and uh we we started to rehearse it on days off and that’s how it just we just hacked it into some semblance um to cut it live.

>> Tracks like Bad and Ruin become staples of their live sets, proving that the songwriting partnership between Wood and Stewart can deliver the goods. >>   >> The band is touring constantly, crisscrossing the Atlantic,  earning a reputation as one of the most explosive live acts in the world.

 They are building a communal empire brick by beer-soaked brick. Then, in May of 1971, Rod  Stewart releases his third solo album, Every Picture Tells a Story. The world of rock and roll shifts overnight.  The album is a masterpiece of acoustic-driven roots rock, but its success is powered by a track that was originally relegated to the B-side of a single, Maggie May.

 The song captures the public imagination like wildfire. By October, both the single and the album hit number one simultaneously in the United  Kingdom and the United States. Stewart is no longer just the singer in a popular rock band. He is a global phenomenon, a solo superstar whose face is plastered on the cover of every music magazine from London to Los Angeles.

This sudden explosion creates an immediate toxic imbalance within the Faces. The band had contributed heavily to the recording of Every Picture  Tells a Story. Playing as the uncredited backing musicians on many of the tracks out of friendship and professional courtesy. Now, they watch as the industry begins to rebrand them.

 Promoters begin billing their concerts not as the Faces, but as  Rod Stewart and the Faces. The press begins to treat the other four members as mere employees, a  backing group for a solo artist. The internal friction is palpable, a quiet resentment that simmers beneath the surface during every interview and photo shoot.

Despite this brewing  storm, or perhaps because of the intense creative pressure it creates, the band enters the studio to record their definitive statement. Released in November of 1971, A Nod Is as Good as a Wink to a Blind Horse is a triumph of rock and roll swagger. The album reaches number two in the UK and number six in the United States, driven by the massive success of the single Stay With Me.

>> Stay  with me. Stay with me. >> The track is a tour de force, featuring Wood’s roaring distorted guitar riff, Jones’ thunderous drumming, and a vocal performance from Stewart  that is pure, unadulterated attitude. They are at the absolute peak of their powers, wealthy, famous, and adored. But the foundation is cracking, and the man who built the band’s emotional core is beginning to look for the exit.

By 1972, the Faces have become a traveling circus.  To cope with the escalating pressure and the shifting dynamics, they lean into their reputation as the ultimate party band. They become notorious for their legendary rider, which demands gallons of alcohol for every show. They take the unprecedented step of installing a fully functioning bar on the stage during their concerts, complete with a hired barman named Keith, who mixes drinks for the musicians in the middle of songs.

 It is a brilliant piece of showmanship, a visual manifestation of their carefree, working-class ethos. >> What was it like playing together again >> It was It was heartwarming. It was humorous. It was so The Faces were always known because we were always drunk, and we played loosely. >> Yeah. >> And the other night we weren’t drunk at all, but we still had that looseness.

And I think people realized that’s what we love about them. >> But it also serves as a shield to hide the growing distance between the members. On stage, they are a united front of alcoholic merrymakers, but off stage, the logistics of the band are becoming absurd. Rod Stewart now travels separately from the rest of the group, flying in private jets while the others take commercial flights or limousines.

 He stays in different hotels,  surrounds himself with a different entourage, and increasingly views the band as a secondary  concern compared to his burgeoning solo career. The camaraderie that had sustained them through the lean years of 1969 is evaporating, replaced by a cold, corporate reality where four men are working to support the brand of one individual.

The man who suffers most in this environment is Ronnie Lane. As the principal architect of the band’s emotional depth, Lane views the music as a sacred communal act. His songs, like Debris and Richmond, are tender poetic counterweights to Stewart’s brash rock anthems. Lane watches with growing dismay as his compositions are pushed to the margins to  make room for tracks that fit the Rod Stewart solo formula.

He sees the band he loves losing its soul, trading its genuine working-class identity for the glitz and glamour of Hollywood luxury. >> The song Debris is very moving. I know a lot of Faces staunch Faces fans really love that song. And in a way, it’s a testament to our dearly um remembered, you know, God bless him, Ronnie Lane, you know, it was it was his heartfelt song melody and that song he wrote from the heart.

 And uh it’s very evident that I enjoyed playing this the guitar on that, you know, and uh >> The tension between Lane’s artistic idealism and Stewart’s  commercial ambition becomes an unbridgeable chasm. The breaking point arrives during the recording of their final studio album, Ooh La La, throughout the winter of 1972 and early 1973.

The sessions are a disaster, marked by missed rehearsals, creative arguments, and a total lack of cohesion. Stewart is frequently absent, leaving the rest of the band to track the  music without him. When the album is finally released in the spring of 1973, Stewart publicly criticizes the record  in interviews, famously describing it as a bloody mess.

It is a public humiliation for the men who had poured their sweat into the tracks, and it sets off a chain reaction that will permanently break the band’s spine. The public insult is the final insult that Ronnie Lane will  tolerate. In May of 1973, following the success of Ooh La La on the British charts, the bass player announces his resignation.

He does not throw a tantrum. He simply packs his bags and walks away from the fame, the money,  and the stadium tours. He retreats to a small farm in Wales to form a traveling musical circus called Slim Chance, playing  acoustic music in tents for small village crowds. His departure is a fatal blow to the band’s internal equilibrium.

Without Lane to act as the artistic conscience of the group, the Faces lose their balance, becoming entirely tilted toward the desires of their singer. The band scrambles to replace him, recruiting Tetsu Yamauchi, the former bass player for the rock band Free. Yamauchi is a superb musician, competent and reliable, but he is a hired hand, not a brother.

The organic chemistry that had defined their early years is gone, replaced by a professional efficiency that feels hollow to the remaining original members. They spend the next 2 years on the road, playing massive venues, making immense amounts of money, but the creative spark is dead.

 They are going through the motions,  performing their hits like a jukebox, while Stewart’s attention is firmly fixed on his next solo move, which includes relocating to America to escape the British tax system. By 1975, the situation has become completely untenable. Ronnie Wood, sensing that the Faces are entering their death throes, begins looking for an escape route of his own.

When Mick Taylor abruptly quits the Rolling Stones in December of 1974, Wood receives a phone call from Mick Jagger. He is invited to join The Stones for their upcoming American tour in 1975.  It is an offer that no rock guitarist could refuse. Wood tries to juggle both commitments, joining The Rolling Stones on their 1975 American tour before returning  to The Faces for a final run of concerts later that year.

But the split loyalties only increase the exhaustion and resentment within the camp. The final curtain falls in December of 1975. Rod Stewart holds a press conference to announce his official departure from the group, effectively terminating The Faces. The announcement surprises no one. It is merely the formal acknowledgment of a death that had occurred years  prior.

The band that had risen from the ashes of The Small Faces with so much hope and defiance dissolves into the history books. A 6-year experiment in beautiful chaos that ran out of fuel. The individual musicians walk away into the winter cold, heading toward new destinies that will see them alter the course of rock history in entirely separate directions, leaving behind a legacy that would inspire generations of musicians to pick up guitars, pour a drink,  and play with their hearts on their sleeves.

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