DB's Song of the Day (day 259): "OOH LA LA" (1973) The Faces

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.

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

DB's Song of the Day (day 10):"REASON TO BELIEVE" (1971) Rod Stewart

Two in a row from 1971—I must be in a rut. But, let’s face it, that was the era when I first discovered a lot of music for the first time, and I still think records made in that era (pre-1976) are some of the best rock records ever. What they mean by “classic rock.” It’s all “post-Beatles” in the sense of their enduring influence on how recordings should sound.

And today’s song, in honor of Rod Stewart’s 69th birthday, is from one of the first rock LPs I ever got. This song was supposed to be the hit from his LP, Every Picture Tells a Story, but it got surpassed by its “B” side: “Maggie May,” which went on to top the charts in both the U.S. and the UK, and became one of Mod Rod’s signature songs. The LP topped the charts in both countries as well, and I bought it when I’d heard four tracks from it on the radio and liked each one. So rather than buy the “double-A-side” 45, I bought the album.  And I still have great love for it. Even recently got a new vinyl copy pressed by Mobile Fidelity.

I was not a Rod Stewart fan and never became one. Only recently have I gotten into his work with the Faces and his LPs previous to Picture. But this LP was special. Stewart found the perfect strings as settings for his warm, raspy voice—mandolin, violin, slide, and bright Brit acoustic strums. 

“Reason to Believe” was written by Tim Hardin and recorded in 1965; many others have recorded it and still more performed it. But this version by Rod owns it, in my estimation, from the stately opening piano to the Wurlitzer-style organ sustained in the background.  And that little “oh” late in the song kills me every time, right before the fiddle comes in again and they take it on home.

I remember liking the song when it debuted on the Top 40 charts, and resenting a little that “Maggie May” took away its steam. Certainly one of the great double-sided singles of the day (post Beatles, I mean). This song, which dates from a little before “Black Dog” in my listening history, was much more my speed than the latter. The song is bittersweet. The singer has every reason not to believe in the woman he’s addressing, but knows he’d find a reason if he lets himself. She’s got that kind of influence over him.

I like Rod’s version because he doesn’t sound bitter about it; he’s very open about the fact that he’s willing to be a patsy, if necessary, if only because “someone like you makes it hard to live without somebody else.” At 12, I had no idea what that would be like, but I let the song convince me that there was a reason to believe I would at some point, that such reasons do exist.

At the time—8th grade—I was losing my faith in the teachings of the Church, and it seems to me that, in a certain mood, I listened to the song as if it were about finding “a reason to believe—knowing that you lied / Straight-faced, while I cried.” In other words, the song carried more than its overt meaning for me, and, though I wasn’t always able to manifest such a mature “no hard feelings” outlook, I liked the idea of the song summing up my feeling about childish things, like faith. Which is why I say “bittersweet”—the bitterness of moving on and looking back is subsumed for a moment in the glance that sees that’s just how it was.  It’s about finding a way “to leave the past behind.” Something 8th graders graduating from Catholic school might need. And that “someone like you” who might make me “give everything about myself”? Let’s just say I wanted to believe in her, even while dreading such a thing might happen.

Happy birthday, Rod.  Every picture tells a story, don’t it?

Ron Wood, Rod Stewart, Ronnie Lane