FOUR SMALL FACES
KENNEY JONES: Ronnie was playing a Gretsch guitar, and he was
playing rhythm, a bit of lead. Very early in the band he said
to me "I don't want to play lead guitar." He was very
quick to notice he had limitations on it, and he would prefer
to play bass. So I said "alright, let's go up to the shop
where I bought my drum kit, called the J60s in the East End."
And we went up there, it was a Saturday morning, and this guy
was in there, real cocky little guy, and it was like instantly
"I know you -- I've known you all my life" sort of feeling.
RONNIE LANE: The Small Faces got together originally in 1964.
In London at the time, nobody wanted to play the bass. The bass
was not an attractive instrument, actually. I thought though,
I don't know why everyone's so shy of the bass -- it had to be
an ego trip, right? They had to be the lead guitarist or the singer,
no one wanted to be the bass guitarist. I had a guitar, had just
about learned to play it, but I knew if I had a bass, I'd always
be able to find work. I spoke to me father, who'd bought me this
guitar for a lot of money, I said there's a bass down the road,
it's not much money, and I said "...If I get this bass, I
can pay for my guitar, I know I can." So he said "well
alright son," and we went down to this shop to buy this Harmony
bass I'd seen for 40 pounds, and I went into the shop and this
guy came up and said: "Can I help you sir?" and I said
"I'd like to have a look at that Harmony bass over there."
He said "oh, that's the best bass in the shop!" I got
on well with this guy, and he had some great records of Stax and
Motown. It turned out to be Steve Marriott. So I said why don't
you take my guitar, and I'll take this bass and we'll start a
group. So he said okay! It's funny, that bass guitar -- making
the decision to play the bass, started the Small Faces.
KENNEY JONES: And Steve got a load of basses out for Ronnie to
try, and I got behind a drum kit, and we were playing right there
in the shop. Annoying everyone, basically. We invited him to our
gig in the evening, a pub in Bermondsey.
STEVE MARRIOTT: When Kenney met me he said he'd had a dream or
something, and he got in the van and I was sitting there as a
friend of Ronnie's, and he sort of backed off, and I said "What's
the matter" to him, and he said "You ain't gonna believe
this. I've never seen you before, but I had this dream and your
face was in it." It's weird, innit? He said he dreamed that
they were playing somewhere huge with me, and he said "You
were there!" And it was Ronnie and him and me. He couldn't
see anyone else. Strange -- that's something we've never been
able to explain. It sounds ridiculous but Kenney's too straight
to make up anything like that. And he told me about it straight
out on the way to their gig in Bermondsey. Small Faces were a
fated group!
KENNEY JONES: We got in the van, got there and set the equipment
up, and we got him up on stage on the piano, and he broke the
keys all off the piano, he got really carried away. The rest of
the band members looked at Ronnie and I in absolute disgust, like
"God, what've you done here -- we're gonna all get thrown
out." And sure enough, we lost the gig, he threw us all out.
We'd brought the house down, it was a great gig, but we'd broken
his piano. In the end the band all sort of went off, they didn't
like it, and there was the three of us. I had my drum kit, Ronnie
had his new bass and amplifier, and we're sitting outside on the
curb, everyone else had gone home. So me Ronnie and Steve looked
at each other and thought "Right! We'll form our own band."
And that was the start of the band. Steve took over the payments
on Ronnie's Gretsch guitar.
STEVE MARRIOTT: The Outcasts were Ronnie's group when I first
met him. We got paralytic [drunk] when Ronnie had me first
play with them. I don't know if it was nerves or what or friendship
or both.We got paralytic and went on stage. I can't remember much
of it, but I think I smashed the piano up or something -- Jerry
Lee Marriott impressions. I was banging the shit out of it, jumping
on top of it. They lost out on the residency gig that they had
at this pub in Bermondsey -- I know it was in Bermondsey. George
was the singer, but I can't remember much about him. He was there,
and he sang a bit and that was about it. He looked more like a
plumber or something. Ronnie and Kenney left the Outcasts, I think.
So we said, "let's form a band of our own." Either that
or they semi-left and semi-got booted because of the way that
pub gig turned out with them losing the residency. And Ronnie
lost his job about the same time at Selmer's because he was trying
to get me a free P.A. It was for The Moments, the band I was with.
So I'd go down there and he'd be testing P.A.s and going, like
"...free P.A. for Marriott," and they sacked him for
it.
I remember the next job he had was running errands for the War
Office or something like that, or the Home Office. So we were
sitting in the Giaconda looking at maps of Polaris submarine bases.
We opened the tube, and it had brown sauce all over it by the
time we'd rolled it back up again. I think Ronnie had to deliver
it somewhere -- it was on its way from "A" to "B".
And it just sort of got diverted -- we couldn't believe it. I'm
not sure we planned to meet there that day. He knew I used to
hang out there and I think he may have just popped in, 'cos he
was just around the corner, to see if I was there. I'd hang out
there because it was like Tin Pan Alley. If people wanted demos
made, they'd say "Can anybody play drums?" and someone
would say "Yes, I can" and we'd put our hand up immediately
for anything. It was at least a few quid in your pocket. That's
why a lot of us used to hang out there. I'd do anything: drums,
vocals, harmonicas, backing vocals, guitar, bass, anything. I
don't really remember any of the things I worked on - most of
it was foul! There were some good writers around, and they, like,
favored me for singing their demos. They were, I think, publisher's
demos, not recordings as such.
Did Ronnie tell you of the job we had washing up at Lyon's Corner
House? I was only there a couple of days, four I think, and I
didn't drop anything, much less dishes. I got pissed off with
it and the staff there were mad. My hands went all brown and the
skin started falling off because of the bleach they used to wash
their shit up with. And I used to have to wash them and Ronnie'd
rack them and push them though a shower. It was a nightmare --
just a conveyor belt of eggs and bacon and shit. It's horrible.
I think we got 8 quid a week, and Ronnie stayed on to get his
full week's wages, but I pissed off. I couldn't handle it. There
used to be this mad Scotsman who used to go around with a knife
all the time when he was working in there. And this other mad
woman used to turn on all the gas taps and giggle. It was crazy!
And the Scotsman would pick up a carving knife and yell "I'll
fucking kill the bitch" and go after the one who turned on
the taps. It was fucking mad!
I found Jimmy Winston. He used to come to the J60 the same way
as Ronnie, but he was more of a regular. I think his parents were
tenants at the Ruskin Arms, I'm not sure; it was a great pub.
I went around the pub once and he was mucking about on guitar.
He was proficient on guitar, more so than me I think at the time.
His family were much more well-off than mine, so he had some decent
equipment. I didn't even have a guitar until I took over Ronnie's
payments. I played a little bit of piano at the time. He had an
organ too, you see, and a van -- which was the big thing. He used
to fight a lot. I remember he always got into fights, over chicks
probably, I have no idea, but he was always scuffling. Jimmy played
with me in The Moments.
Basically Small Faces formed for bar mitzvahs and weddings as
a generalism. Any chance to play -- not trying to make it. Just
to have a laugh. I think we might have done one wedding or something.
I thing we did one at Loughton -- we played at a chick's wedding,
and she jumped over the balcony. This was before we went North,
but it wasn't a gig. This was where we were living and they had
a party at the house, and we just had the equipment there so we
played. I was living there with Mick O'Sullivan and his friends
from acting school, and Ronnie'd sleep there sometimes, and when
Kenney'd come over we'd have a little play. Mick got a writing
credit on one of our songs, he was living with us later at Pimlico.
(I got) a Marshall -- either a 50-Watt or an 100-Watt -- the old
ones with the big cooker knobs on it, black and white. It was
massive for those days. We were loud, notoriously loud! If you
can't play, play loud!
I don't know where Terry the Egg came from, I suppose he must
have been an acquaintance of mine, not a friend, and he ended
up doing some roadie work for us and driving us about. We had
done about four gigs in London before we went North, including
the wedding and some working men's clubs. In Manchester we did
the Twisted Wheel, a r'n'b club -- that was the first gig on the
trip. I don't think they'd ever seen Mods before. There were a
few on the border, but not quite as into it as we were at the
time. We were all dressing Mod at the time -- it didn't have anything
to do with the money, it had everything to do with how you wore
what you had, you know. We were totally into it. During the gig,
some bastard lent our black van out for an hour, and came back
with a fucking load of leather coats in the back -- done a job
when we were playing. Me and Ronnie and Kenney all got a leather
coat out of it!
In Sheffield they kicked us out after the first couple of songs.
While we were playing all these old members shouted out. I remember
this one old girl. I said "I'd like to do a number by James
Brown" and this old woman -- to me she seemed old, she must
have been around forty -- started screaming. She loved it! She
was hip, so we kind of played to her, the only one in the audience
who know what we were doing. And the guy just slung us off after
about three numbers. Paid us off and told us to piss off. We also
played at the Esquire club, a trendy blues club. We played the
next night at the Mojo -- the biggest club we'd played -- 'cos
they put us up for the night. It was a great club, it really was.
A very appreciative crowd. Very much a Mod club. I think we only
did the one gig there until we had a hit record, then it was all
over. It wasn't very long after, just a matter of months, that
we hit. We were their band -- it was like they discovered
us, so they went crazy when we went back. They used to go fucking
berserk whenever we played there -- we used to play two sets a
night for a couple of nights. It was a special place for us, because
of the crowd and because they did give us a break when no one
else was willing to do so.
RONNIE LANE: We had a guy called Terry the Egg, he was our agent,
and he got us a residency at the Cavern Club in Leicester Square
-- which wasn't the Cavern Club in Liverpool, though it was obviously
taken from that -- it was beneath a church, I think it was. Anyway,
we played there for three or four weeks, and even though we was
kinda busking, we got very popular, you know! We pulled in more
of a crowd each week, and in the end a guy called Don Arden turned
up, and he signed us up as a manager. We was all kind of excited,
you know, 'cause he'd had Gene Vincent. He'd had him. He
had us, as well, but we didn't know that then. He got us a contract,
and put us in a studio and we made our first record, "Whatcha
Gonna Do About It?," which Ian Samwell penned. Don Arden
introduced us to Ian Samwell as well; he was a good guy, Ian Samwell.
Then that was it.
STEVE MARRIOTT: We played the first Cavern Club gig that weekend
after we got back to London, or the next weekend. I think we went
down there and blagged the guy for the gig -- went and chatted
to see if we could play there once. The manager, an Irishman,
kept saying "Can you do two more" and we'd have to repeat.
We only knew about five numbers. He saw the crowd reaction and
said we'd be playing there the following week as well, and then
the following week. We had about five gigs, a little residency
going -- I think it was on Saturdays -- before we were sort of
snatched out of there. During that time we got a lot of notoriety
amongst club managers and organizations. I think it was our energy,
we had a lot of energy -- a lot of push -- and a little bit of
flair, which was missing on the scene. I think that's what it
was. We were little Mods, and by that time devout. Arm-flingers,
feedback players. And I think it had a lot of charisma just to
look at. The size of us, and the kind of music we were doing coming
out of these little people.
We had that place packed every time after the first time we played
there. Kit Lambert came down to see one gig and got a lot of flak
from The Who because he was going to take us on at one point.
And then Maurice King, and then last of all -- I think they all
came down at different times -- and last of all was Don Arden.
He was the one who actually got ahold of us. A chick from Arden's
office spotted us, his secretary. She just happened to be around.
I'd seen her before at the Starlight Club that Maurice King used
to own off of Oxford Street. And that chick had seen me down there,
too. We had done some rehearsals down there. Like Maurice King
was interested in me at the time, so I asked him if we could use
his place to rehearse. Kenney's playing at that time wasn't too
clever at all. Up until that time, I was used to sort of playing
with older people. Small Faces were all sort of the same age,
and the other bands I'd been in were sort of older, more experienced
musicians. He was OK but I didn't realize that it was the material
that he was playing. He set his drums up, and we were just farting
around and he just went berserk! For about a half hour he made
Ronnie and me just kill ourselves laughing! And we were giving
him the encouragement "go on, my son!" And he really
opened up. It was like a different drummer -- he just got better
and better and better. As he is today, one of the best drummers
around. It really was an eye-opener, and there was no looking
back. Every song we did swung like Hanratty. I don't know what
it was, it was like a revelation. It was to Ronnie and me, I'm
sure, because we just couldn't believe it!
KENNEY JONES: When I first started playing drums, I remember
never learning anything. When we formed the Small Faces, I wasn't
surpressed. As soon as I got behind a kit, it all came out. I
was given absolute freedom of expression. Nobody told me ever,
not once, what to play. And it was almost as if I knew what was
going to come next, sheer natural telepathy....
STEVE MARRIOTT: So Don Arden's secretary asked for my number,
where I was staying in Loughton. I don't think we were on the
phone, 'cos I remember going to call boxes to make calls. They
got hold of my mother. I'd make a call to my mother once a week
to be sure she didn't worry about me too much -- living on my
own was still frightening to her, I think. So she said this office
has been trying to get ahold of you, Don Arden, whoever he is.
I knew about him, had seen his name on blues posters, because
he used to bring over Jimmy Reed and John Lee Hooker, people like
that. So I was very impressed with that. Told Ronnie about it,
called them, and they came down to see us at the Cavern Club --
Pat Meehan came down.
And Ronnie and I had just taken a terrible beating. We were a
bit exhausted and it was freezing, and we got off the bus, and
there was this van following us with six or seven chaps who must
have been about twenty or something, which was old to us then.
They were like skinheads, and we were Mods. So they jumped out
of this van and beat the shit out of us. They beat the shit out
of me with a bottle -- we found out later what caused it, but
at the time we had no idea. They did Ronnie with this bit of wood
that had a nail in it, so he had a hole in his forehead, and I've
still got this scar on my forehead from the bottle which I used
to use as a parting -- I got into using it as a parting for my
hair when I had bangs on the front. We were covered in blood,
really badly beaten -- kicked to bits, heads bleeding. We found
out later that a couple of boys from Loughton had gone down to
Tottenham and smashed up a few cafes and stuff, so this was a
return visit. We were just bystanders. I was floored, on the ground,
and Ronnie's got this hole in his head, and we've got blood spouting
everywhere and in the shock of it we couldn't stop laughing about
it to each other. We were blowing bubbles with the blood, and
laughing. We went to the Woodford Hospital, and we were still
laughing from the shock. This nurse came out, and I'll never forget
the line, said: "Be quiet! This is a hospital" which
hurt us that much more because we couldn't stop laughing again.
So they wouldn't do anything. They threw us out saying it was
a maternity hospital anyway and we didn't have any right to be
in there! And the next day we had an audition when we were playing
the Cavern Club for Don Arden. It was fucking hilarious! Every
time Ronnie hit a high note singing, his fucking stitches would
open up and the blood would be running down. My face looked like
a gargoyle, two black eyes, very fat lips, stitched up head. They
liked us, apparently! I think this was the last time we played
the Cavern, although there could have been one more.
KEN SHARP: What do you remember about the film Dateline Diamonds?
It was great seeing the band with Jimmy Winston. (Small Faces
appear in the 1965 film performing "I Got Mine" with
Jimmy Winston on guitar.)
KENNEY JONES: Well, I haven't seen it, actually. I'll never forget
doing the film because it was the launch of the great group wagon
-- the van, you know. A transit van. They launched it in that
film, they kept it under wraps, under a sheet. We saw it and said
we want one, so we went straight home and bought one. It was a
bandwagon, you know, where you put all the gear in, the amps,
the drums, and you all get in and go to the gig and have a laugh.
RONNIE LANE: Our original organist, Jimmy Winston, wasn't working
out. He couldn't play -- I mean, none of us could play, but we
was keen. Jimmy Winston couldn't play, and on top of it he had
an ego as if he could play the piano, so he had to go! We chucked
him out of the Small Faces. Very exciting times, the Sixties,
there'll never be another time like it, I'm sure.
STEVE MARRIOTT: We had to sack him (Jimmy Winston), really. We
told Jimmy the same day that we met with Mac, or Don Arden did.
I don't think I did. I know he came to the radio show at the Lyceum
where we had to mime in front of a live audience. I can't remember
the name of the show but it was an evening show. And he came down
there and was asking why and he got very upset about it. You'd
think Don Arden would have told him. And I said, "Sorry mate,
but it's just not working out between us all, and we've got a
new kid and everything." I tried to be as honest about it
as possible. The guy on the train who talked with Mac didn't know
that there was a vacancy in the group. He said to Mac "You
should join the Small Faces," he said jokingly "'cos
you look like one." That was the story and the next day he
got a call from Don Arden on the Monday to come to the office.
Don met him first for a bit, and then we met him later on in the
afternoon, shook hands, kitted him out with some gear, got his
barnet [cockney rhyming slang for 'hair'] cut. Might have
gotten cut the next day when we had that show, got him a Telecaster.
Got the clothes down in Carnaby Street, it was still good down
in Carnaby Street then. I think it was over the weekend that we
stayed in the hotel to keep out of Jimmy's way, 'cos we knew then
that we were looking for somebody to replace him. It had got a
bit much. We weren't even speaking, so it was silly to continue.
He got very moody. He actually used to call himself James Moody
before he started using the name Winston. But James Moody gives
you a picture of the guy: collar up, coat on, shades. We were
too busy being lunatics to take things as seriously as he was.
RONNIE LANE: Ian McLagan we saw in a magazine, and I said he
looks like one of us. And we asked our manager Don Arden to call
(McLagan), and sure enough, he wasn't really doing anything so
he started to play with the Small Faces.
IAN MCLAGAN: Don Arden called me. I'd seen the Small Faces on
Ready Steady Go! I thought they were great. My dad called
me down because Ready Steady Go! came on about 5:30-6pm,
and I was upstairs getting ready to go out and he says "Here
Ian, come 'ere and check this band out -- this bloke looks just
like you." And within about 4-5 months, I was in the band.
There was a photograph of Boz which they used -- he was a handsome
guy, and he was singing bad jazz at that time, and there was a
photograph of him in a review of the Boz People that raved about
me, and they thought it was me because my name was under the picture.
So, when the Small Faces were looking to get rid of Jimmy Winston,
so they thought, "Oh, let's check this bloke out -- he's
good lookin' and he plays great Hammond." They wanted the
Hammond in the band, you know, and Jimmy Winston really couldn't
play. They got me into the office, they were checking me out,
one at a time around the door, and I didn't know which band it
was for, or if it was for a session or what. [Arden] had the Animals,
the Nashville Teens, the Clayton Squares, the Small Faces, I thought:
"...ain't gonna be the Animals 'cause Dave Rowberry just
joined, don't know about the Clayton Squares, Nashville Teens
got a piano player, ain't gonna be the Small Faces. And it was!
So later that day I joined the band. Steve and Ronnie Lane just
picked me up and hugged me, and we just laughed 'cause we were
all the same size.
KEN SHARP: So you hit it off pretty quickly?
IAN MCLAGAN: Yeah, immediately. I can't explain to you ... it's
like being picked up, pulled out of your life.... I'd always dreamed
that some day I'd become famous.
KEN SHARP: It's like it was fated -- everyone loved each other
and it was like a gang -- usually people are friendly or whatever,
but a band's like a business arrangement.
IAN MCLAGAN: Yeah, it's been disappointing ever since -- I mean,
the Faces were like that too, we were very close, at least while
Ronnie Lane was still in the band. The only band I know that with
no regard for the audience, I mean, like fuck them if they don't
like it, we're here to have fun...never rehearsing. We used to
have the expression: "fuck the gig ... here's a pub let's
have a drink, then two drinks later it was all downhill, and we'd
go home. It's horrible, really, but...."
KEN SHARP: Your first gig with Small Faces was with Radio Luxembourg
and you had to mime?
IAN MCLAGAN: "Ready Steady Radio," and I had to mime
the guitar part to "I Got Mine" (Ed. note: the song
originally featured Jimmy Winston on guitar with Steve), and Jimmy
Winston showed up. It was kinda sad ... he was fine with me, but
I think he's still bitching about it (getting fired). I think
he should fuckin' get a life....
KEN SHARP: What's the story about you getting paid more than
the rest of the band?
IAN MCLAGAN: Don Arden said to me: "How much are you earning
at the moment?" and I was getting five pound a week. We weren't
actually...I mean the Boz People.... My dad was earning a good
wage for the time at 20 pound a week -- I think doctors were making
about 50 pound a week -- my dad was a works manager at an auto
shop, and he made 20 pound a week. A good wage, a fair wage...so
when Arden asked me I lied through my teeth and told 'im: "Twenty
pound a week" with a straight face. So he said "ya start
at thirty." Now if I'd said thirty he wouldn't have believed
me, he'd have given me twenty or fifteen. He thought he was a
gangster, he used to be a singer, but he liked to believe he was
an American gangster -- like James Cagney. But before, on stage,
he used to do impressions, and he used to do James Cagney. So
when he'd go into his little spiel he'd become a James Cagney
kind of thing, but he believed it. James Cagney was acting, you
know, but he'd believe it...so he said: "...ya start at thirty,
and you're on probation for a month, and if everything goes alright,
ya get an even split with the band." So a couple of months
went by, and at this point I'm living with Ronnie and Steve (see:
Party Central), and eventually I said to Ronnie like, "well...not
going to happen, right?" And he said: "what choo talking
about?" So I said I'm on probation right? And Ronnie say,
"aaahhh, that's bullshit! Fuckin' probation! Let's go up
to Don's office...." So we go in, Ronnie points at me, and
says: "Here Don, he's on the same money as us, alright!?
He's in the band." And from that point onwards I got 20 pound
a week 'cause that's what they were earning. And I never said
anything either, never said anything until the Faces days when
I broke it to Ronnie, and he laughed!
KEN SHARP: So you were getting paid 20 pounds a week? Did you
have like expense accounts like at clothing stores?
IAN MCLAGAN: Yeah, we had expense accounts. We had to, we were
doing television shows every week -- you couldn't wear the same
clothes. We were doing like two shows a night sometimes, and a
television show; you couldn't go on in the same clothes. That
wasn't where our money went -- that's what someone suggested.
That's bullshit! We were earning millions! We've estimated --
our accountants have estimated -- that we've lost somewhere in
the amount of 12-15 million pounds! When I saw it was lost, it
was stolen from us, so I mean, you buy twenty shirts -- that ain't
gonna do it....
