Today’s song is another I associate with fall because I picked
up a CD collection of The Faces’ output (Good
Boys . . . When They’re Asleep, released in 1999) in September, 2010,
before this “vinyl fever” took over. Most of the songs on there I was hearing
for the first time. Not sure why I suddenly was struck by interest, except that
there were some CD remasters of early Rod Stewart albums that drew me in. As I’ve
said, I’m a fan of Rod in the period 1971-72, and earlier, and that means I
should know his stint as lead vocals for The Faces.
Rod became pretty insufferable by the mid-Seventies, so much
so that it might color how one looks back on his presence in The Faces and his
early solo work. But I’ll stand by Every
Picture Tells a Story (1971) forever, and I like the way The Faces play
together. None of the songs are great songs, from a composition standpoint, but
there’s a distinctive sound there—Ian McLagen’s keyboards especially, mixing
with Ronnie Wood’s riffs—he always has a nice prickly sound that occasionally
licks sweet. And Rod is just one of those unmistakable vocalists. If it’s not
clear from most of my comments, I’ll just come out and say it: lots of times it
is the singer, not the song. It’s vocalists that get me into the music I listen
to, with the exceptions of instrumental jazz and classical. In fact, hip-hop
and opera have something in common that keeps me from being a fan of either: I
can’t sing ’em or mimic ’em. Almost any rock or folk vocalist can be imitated,
for personal purposes.
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| Rod 'n' Ron |
And today’s song, the title track of The Faces’ 1973 album
(their last one), was written by Ronnie Lane and Ronnie Wood and is sung by
Wood, not Mod Rod or Lane. That makes it a rara
avis in Faces Land. It’s one of my favorite Faces songs—so there, Rod. It’s
that strumming and fingering from Wood, mostly. And, though it isn’t a great
vocal in terms of singing, it is a great vocal in terms of how it feels. Wood’s
rasp isn’t quite like Stewart’s, but it sounds authentic, a shrug of a singer
holding forth about his old grandpa. It’s a cute song too, with the old man
trying to tell the young’un to beware of women’s ways: “They’ll trap you, then
they’ll use you / Before you even know.” The boy laughs at his warnings—“I
thought he was a bitter man.”
And, sure, Gramps probably is a bit bitter, but, on the
other hand, it seems he’s hung out at the Can Can and backstage with the girls.
He’s put in some time, but still finds himself singing the old refrain, “I wish
that I knew what I know now / When I was younger . . . When I was stronger.” That
may be laughable, but, picking up the song not long after turning 50, I could
easily enough grasp his point. “Love is blind and you soon will find / You’re
just a boy again.” That’s something a young man, who finds women to be the
means to his sense of his own manhood, might not see so clearly. Even if rueful
about what he suffered for a woman’s sake, he might reflect “I was a fool.” It
takes age, I suppose, to see that what it’s really about is trying to assert
age over youth only to find, in the end, that age is no excuse, and no aid. An
aged man is twice a child? Yeah. Being a boy again is about being enthusiastic
and maybe even unguarded. It’s about bravado. And a feeling that the world, no
matter how old and jaded we might be, is still fresh with promise. No wonders
Gramps is shaking his head.
Poor young grandson /
There’s nothing I can say / You’ll have to learn just like me / And that’s the
hardest way. The kind of lesson that any young man worth his salt would
discount, of course. How could I ever become a bitter old fart like you? And,
anyway, what is it I’m bound to learn but . . . the costs, the consolations,
the que sera sera of la femme. Ooh la la, indeed.
And grand-dad does give a helpful hint in the “battle of the
sexes”:
For love is blind and
you’re far too kind / Don’t ever let it show
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