In his new book Turn Around Bright Eyes, Rob Sheffield devotes a chapter to talking about Rod Stewart, a guy so uncool that he's cool merely by being uncool. No, really: the guy is so unpretentious that he's basicially a class unto himself. I remember Rod in the Eighties, mangling the Tom Waits song "Midnight Train," though to be honest I don't really know that Waits sung it any better (something about his "bad on purpose" gruff vocalizations never really appealed to me). Even then, Rod was something of a joke. Now he's coasting on the strength of his classics cover albums, proving that little old ladies like to throw their panties at the stage too.
But there's another side to Rod, the one that's on display in this song from the Faces (previously known as "the Small Faces," because everyone in the band was absurdly short. Imagine Frodo and the gang picking up instruments and you get the idea). You've heard this one, for sure, even if you've never heard any of the other songs I've written about thus far (I admit, my musical tastes can be pretty damn eclectic). It's a ballsy, hell-for-leather rocker from around the same time period as his first solo stuff ("Maggie May" and "Every Picture Tells a Story"), in that post-Beatles, pre-punk era that was both a godsend and an albatross around the neck of so many acts who were left over from the Sixties. Glam was happening, and David Bowie was dressing up like a spider from Mars to shock the parents and appeal to the teens. Mainstream, hetero rock stars started wearing make-up and high heels to appeal to the young folks. And Miley Cyrus wasn't even a glimmer in the eye of her daddy yet.
The early Seventies are justifiably regarded as an abysmal time for rock music, but that's not to say that there wasn't good stuff out there. I know when I first got into punk rock from later in that decade, it was easy to say that the years 1970-1975 were just awful, but a lot of good artists and music emerged from that era. It was the high point of Al Green, who was putting out soul records of unparalleled brilliance. The Kinks were re-imagining themselves as country gentlemen, the BeeGees (yes, the BeeGees) were laying the template for disco with great dance songs, and the Beatles post-break-up were having an interesting war of words via their solo records that would make E! News blush.
Rod Stewart, in this era, was a bit of a journeyman, coming to the Faces around the turn of the decade and injecting them (ha-ha!) with new life. Previously, the Small Faces had been a good but not great group, also-rans in terms of historical importance far behind the Beatles, the Stones, the Who, and others. You can hear the ballyhooed "debt to American blues artists" in Stewart's rough singing style, his voice crying out from pain and from the distinct lack of water to ease his larnyx. Truth be told, I haven't heard much of Rod's Faces work besides this song and "Oh La La" (off the Rushmore soundtrack), but it's hard to reconcile the walking punchline that he became with the guy who's singing here or on his early solo stuff. Sheffield opines that Stewart didn't give a lick about "artistry" and "importance," he was just looking to have a good time. And I bet no one had a better time than Rod Stewart from 1970 to...well, pretty much today as well. Not to be crass, but no one will ever shoot Rod Stewart because they misread Catcher In the Rye and thought Rod was a phoney. Of course he's a phoney, but he's having a hell of a time while he's doing it. You can't be angry at him for that.
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