Those lyrics weren’t written by a heartsick bloke waiting for his lover to come home. They were composed by an artist recalling his boyhood days in a working-class London neighborhood, waiting for his tireless dad to return from his Sunday morning trudge to the local junk market.
You were sorting through the odds and ends,
You was looking for a bargain.
Ronnie Lane, the artist once described by Mojo writer Wayne Pernu as “the East End urchin with the pastoral vision,” wrote those lyrics for a song called “Debris” (the Brits pronounce it DEB-ree). The Debris was a term used by the locals to describe a makeshift market thrown together on the bleak streets of a city still bearing very visible scars of the WWII Blitz.
To a child it must have seemed a far-away, almost magical place, chock-a-block with the kinds of utilitarian items that imaginative kids transform into playthings…the types of twisted, tarnished bric-a-brac treasures that tykes like me once stored in old King Edward cigar boxes.
I went there and back,
Just to see how far it was.
And you, you tried to tell me,
But I had to learn for myself.
Now, in case you were absent from school the day your history teacher presented the chapter on Pioneers of 1960s Mod Culture, allow me to tell you more about the sensitive fellow who penned those poignant words. Ronnie Lane was a singer, songwriter and bass player for The Small Faces, an early British mod-rock/R&B unit composed of singer Steve Marriott, drummer Kenney Jones, and keyboardist Ian McLagan. The group’s name derived from the fact that all the boys were under 5’5”. A face was ’60s London slang for a particularly stylish mod rocker. Put it all together and you’ve got four Small Faces.
Ronnie was not only the band’s co-founder, he was its heart and soul. And it wasn’t just because he wrote or co-wrote all of the group’s original material. No, there was something else. He had a kind of sweet-sad weathered countenance: a spotty, sun-starved face, and bad teeth typical of all the Queen’s subjects who relied upon Britain’s publicly-funded National Health system. Or maybe the physical shortcomings stemmed from years of post-war food shortages and rationing.
And compared to his mod mates, Ronnie’s hair always looked like the girl next door had cut it as practice for her cosmetology exam. In short, he looked POOR. And to me, that meant he had soul.
Years later, when I had access to music magazines and male rock-fanatic friends, I learned that my assessment of him was correct. He was not only poor, he had a home life wracked by illness. Ronnie’s dad Stan was a truck driver who worked long days and even longer nights, tending to the health of his wife Elsie and son Stanley, Jr., both of whom suffered from multiple sclerosis.
Throughout his life, Ronnie referred to his persevering, jovial dad as a saint. When Lane and Marriott began conceptualizing The Small Faces’ seminal concept LP “Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake,” in late 1967, it came as no surprise that the central character — Happiness Stan, who ventures off to find the missing half of the moon — would reflect the image of Ronnie’s dad.
But “Debris” is the rocker’s true paean to the parent who once told him that if he learned to play an instrument he’d always have friends. It turned out the boy would never have a closer one than Happiness Stan himself.
Oh, you was my hero!
Now you are my good friend.
I’ve been there and back,
And I know how far it is.
“Debris” was featured on the 1971 album “A Nod is as Good as a Wink….to a Blind Horse.” By this point, the band had morphed from Small Faces to Faces, following the departure of Steve Marriott and the addition of frontman Rod Stewart and guitarist Ronnie Wood.
After the release of The Faces’ fourth album, “Ooh La La,” in 1973, Ronnie Lane quit the group, transitioning from sharp-dressed electric rocker to gypsy-garbed backroads troubadour. He formed a folky country-blues band called Slim Chance (the name itself reflected Ronnie’s sharp sense of irony), and launched a carnival-like tour called “The Passing Show,” complete with circus tents, barkers and an occasional ringmaster. By 1976, Ronnie, like his mother and brother before him, had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but continued to record and tour with such artists as Eric Clapton and Pete Townshend.
Ronnie spent the final 13 years of his life in America, settling first in Texas and later Colorado. Wheelchair-bound, he remained as active as possible, playing, writing and recording through 1992. By this point, Jimmy Page, Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood were funding his medical care. He succumbed to pneumonia during late stages of MS in 1997, at age 51.
Ronnie’s “Debris” was always a mainstay on my Music for Mood-Spinners mix-tapes (parts 1, 2, etc.), and later on my iTunes playlist of the same name. (And I’m not kidding. I DO have such a playlist, and I fire it up every time I crave some luscious, rainy-day soul-stirring.) “Debris” is the most tender, beautifully arranged song in the entire Small Faces/Faces catalog. When I eventually learned that Ronnie Lane penned this song as an ode to his father, it took on even deeper significance. All of that old black-and-white newsreel footage of bleak post-war Europe flooded my head as I listened to Ronnie sing about waiting at the top of the stairs for his dad to return, second-hand goods in tow, to the family that so desperately needed him.
But I left you on the Debris.
Now, we both know you got no money.
And I wonder what you would have done
Without me hanging around.
Sleep well, Ronnie Lane. There is a special place in my heart for people like you who so movingly honor the ones who enriched their lives.
Here’s the original “Debris” track,” from The Faces’ “A Nod is as Good as a Wink.”
And here’s Ronnie performing the song live with his band Slim Chance. The clip includes a performance of “Ooh La La,” another gem he wrote during his Faces days.
© Dana Spiardi, April 1, 2015
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The charismatic musician began his recording career in 1965 with the Small Faces, a tight rock/R&B band comprised of singer Steve Marriott, bassist Ronnie Lane and drummer Kenney Jones – all of whom were of small stature. (“A Face” was a mid-’60s London slang term for a particularly stylish mod rocker.) The band morphed into Faces in 1969 when Rod Stewart replaced Marriott as frontman and Ronnie Wood joined on as guitarist. They were a crew of good-time, beer-drinking mates. The title of a Faces best-of CD, “Good Boys…When They’re Asleep,” pretty much summed it up. Said Rod in his memoir, “We were the first band to have a bar on stage, with a waiter serving us.”
Following the breakup of Faces in 1975, Mac became a much sought-after sideman, touring and recording with artists like The Rolling Stones, Chuck Berry, Bob Dylan, Keith Richards’ New Barbarians, Jackson Browne, Joe Cocker, Melissa Etheridge, Bonnie Raitt, The Black Crowes, Thin Lizzy, Warren Zevon, and Bruce Springsteen. In 1977, this Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee launched his own group, The Bump Band. A long-time resident of Austin, he adored the U.S.A. and loved to play gigs from state to state. At the time of his death he was planning a tour to support his latest LP “United States.”
I was thrilled to meet Mac face-to-face in June 2013 following his intimate gig at The Tin Angel in Philadelphia (I even got a kiss – ooh la la!). He played lots of great tunes, including many original compositions and songs from his Faces days. He ended the show with my favorite, “You’re So Rude,” a number he co-wrote with the late Ronnie Lane. In between songs he told lots of funny stories about his life in rock-n-roll, including the tale of his first encounter with his fellow “small faces” in 1965: “They were in an office, and as I came ’round the door, Steve Marriott laughed and picked me up. Then, all three picked me up on their shoulders. I’d found my brothers, that’s the truth of it.” You can read more about his life and times in his 2000 memoir All the Rage: A Riotous Romp Through Rock & Roll History. He was quite the raconteur.
Rest in peace, magic Mac. You’re one of the special musicians who rocked my world from the time I was a tween. I love you and will miss you greatly.
Here’s the beautiful tear-jerker “Never Say Never,” that Mac wrote in memory of his wife Kim Kerrigan, who died in a car accident in 2006. (Factoid: Kim was the ex-wife of former Who drummer Keith Moon.)
I included this song on every mix tape I made for my friends back in the day. Here’s the scenario: a bloke takes his girl back to the house for a make-out session, when suddenly his parents arrive home unexpectedly. “What’s that noise? Why’d they come back so soon? Straighten your dress, you’re really looking a mess. I’ll wet my socks, pretend we just got caught in the rain. Oh, you’re so rude!” The original version of the tune was included on the Faces’ 1971 LP “A Nod Is As Good as a Wink…To a Blind Horse.” Mac performs this one with The Bump Band.
© Dana Spiardi, May 12, 2015
Photo in banner © Jim Chapin, 2012
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One day in 1975, t-shirt designer and aspiring rock manager Bernard Rhodes spotted the orange-haired Lydon walking down London’s once-fashionable King’s Road, wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt that he had altered by ripping holes through the eyes of the band members and writing the words “I Hate” above the group’s name. It was a statement on the world of bloated, overly-produced arena bands that had taken all of the originality and spontaneity out of rock-n-roll. The next thing you know, self-styled impresario Malcolm McLaren is asking John Lydon to front a punk rock band called The Sex Pistols. And suddenly a scrawny boy from a North London ghetto becomes Johnny Rotten, a name coined by fellow Pistol Steve Jones, who, upon seeing Lydon’s decayed teeth, exclaimed “You’re rotten, you are.”
As leader of what was arguably the most unruly, controversial, and short-lived punk band in history, he co-wrote two of rock’s most acerbic songs: “Anarchy in the U.K.” and “God Save the Queen” (God save the queen / the fascist regime / God save the Queen / she ain’t no human being.)
His sneering voice and damn-the-audience attitude made him the perfect frontman for a band considered so disruptive on stage that many of their gigs ended up being cancelled. His physical appearance was downright menacing, particularly his famous wide-eyed stare – a result of a long and difficult battle with spinal meningitis that kept him hospitalized for an entire year as a child. Regular extractions of spinal fluid produced headaches, nausea, hallucinations, and vision problems. In later years, Lydon said the ordeal was “the first step that put me on the road to Rotten.”
From his three years as a Pistol through his 35-year stint as frontman for Public Image Ltd, he’s enjoyed a long reign as one of rock’s most outspoken figures – quick to criticize governments, the wealthy, the record industry, fellow musicians, the rock press, and conformists of all stripes. He’s shocked TV viewers on several occasions, starting with his use of the word shit on a live British television talk show in 1976, and more recently by calling TV viewers f**king c**nts on a live broadcast of the British reality show I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here.
His distrust of the entertainment industry is admirable in an era when the bestowing of medals and lifetime achievement awards is little more than an excuse for celebrities to doll up and sit in velvet seats at lavish affairs. (I mean, if hotel-destroying sex-orgy kings like Led Zeppelin can hang out with Obama in the White House, is there no rebel integrity left?) Well, I’m happy to inform you that when the Sex Pistols were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, John Lydon and the band refused to attend the ceremony or acknowledge the induction.
Likewise, when Buckingham Palace offered to award John an MBE (Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) for his services to the British music industry, he turned that down, too. Imagine, being chosen for such an honor, after all the naughty things he said about Her Majesty! Once, as a panelist on a conspiracy-themed TV show episode that explored the topic of whether Princess Diana’s death was a conspiracy, he said, “If the Royal Family was going to assassinate someone, they would have gotten rid of me a long time ago.”
Yet, Johnny’s softened a bit — just a tiny bit – although he’d be loath to admit it. Some actually see him as a type of senior statesman – a reminder of an era that now seems tame compared to the past several decades of gangsta rap murders and crotch-grabbing/twerking gimmicks.
In fact, when his old nemesis Margaret Thatcher died in April of 2013, Mr. Lydon proclaimed that those celebrating the death of The Iron Lady were “loathsome.” “I’m not going to dance on her grave,” he said. “I was her enemy in life but I will not be her enemy in death.”
Why, the corporate-hating rocker even appeared in an advertising campaign for “Country Life,” a popular brand of butter, on British television. Hmm…shilling for a food company? Well, it’s butter after all — not Bentley.
So, that brings us to a 40-year-old question: was Johnny really rotten on Pink Floyd?
In 2005 he told a Sunday Times interviewer, “I never hated Pink Floyd. I was having a laugh. How could you hate Pink Floyd? That’s like saying, ‘Kill the fluffy bunnies.’ If you’re going to make me a monster, at least give me something really worth rebelling against. I’ve run into [Floyd member] David Gilmour several times over the years, and he thinks it’s hilarious. He’s a great bloke.” He even told The Guardian in 2010 that he actually loved “Dark Side of the Moon.” Oh, that Johnny…he’s full of surprises.
I nearly accomplished a bucket-list goal back in 2105 when I purchased a ticket to see John and Public Image Ltd. perform a November 12 gig in Pittsburgh. But my dog Jersey (named in honor of you-know-who) committed an act of masochism in true punk style when he ripped open his leg while running through the woods late in the afternoon. So, I spent the night at the emergency vet clinic with a sick dog instead of seeing mad dog Johnny in action.
Mr. Lydon, you can be a disgusting, arrogant, big-mouth sod, but that’s exactly why I love you. You came along at just the right time. Unfortunately, your music didn’t manage to drown out the mellow monotony of The Eagles, the horrible dreck called disco, or the soulless Kansas/Styx/Boston pablum that was quickly devouring our planet by 1976, but you and your fellow punks gave us a great reprieve from the antics of jet-setting cash cows…and reminded us that rock-and-roll should never take itself too seriously.
Heeere’s Johnny — singing “Anarchy in the U.K.” Featured in the clip are pre-Sid Vicious bassist Glen Matlock, guitarist Steve Jones, and drummer Paul Cook.
And here’s Mr. Rotten singing one of my favorite punk numbers with his band Public Image Ltd. (PiL), in 1978:
By Dana Spiardi, Jan 31, 2014
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Rod, the one-time king of the British Mods, looks fab, as usual. But I always loved Beck’s style, too — despite that shoe-polish black-cat hair that he was STILL sporting at age 70 when I saw him several months ago at the Palace Theater in Greensburg, PA.
The “Truth” LP turned 45 years old in 2013. At that time Rod told Billboard magazine that he had “a brainwave” of an idea for a tour that would unite the blokes from his early ’70s band Faces with those of the Jeff Beck group. (Current Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood played in both those bands, by the way.)
But, reality kicked in. Rod said, “Whether Jeff would want to do it, there’s two chances — slim and none…We were going to do a blues album, a modern sort of “Beck-Ola” (the group’s second LP) maybe, but we couldn’t agree on a great many things. I sent him a Christmas card, or e-mailed him a Christmas card, the year before last and never heard anything back.”
Not returning a Christmas greeting! So ungentlemanly, Jeff!
Beck has long been famous within the music world for his explosive temper. Rod summed it up this way: “When Jeff’s angry at you, he stays angry for a long time.”
Here’s a kind introduction from Rod. “I Ain’t Superstitious” was first recorded by Howlin’ Wolf in 1961.
Here’s the original Jeff Beck version from the “Truth” LP. “Rolling Stone” lists it at #86 on their list of the 100 greatest guitar songs of all time. The magazine said, “At every break, Beck’s aqueous wah-wah tone makes his instrument sound like it’s talking.” The song was used in the soundtrack of Martin Scorsese’s film “Casino.” You’ve just got to give this a listen.
© Dana Spiardi, Oct 28, 2015
]]>As any guy will tell you, it’s a liberating experience to take a whiz in the great outdoors. However, some do actually get busted for it, none more so than male rock stars who tend to be rather indiscreet when it comes to leaving their scent.
Although various members of the Rolling Stones were arrested numerous times for high-profile drug-related offenses, they began their criminal careers as lowly public pissers. On March 18, 1965, the boys were fined £5 each each for urinating on the wall of a London gas station after bassist Bill Wyman was refused the use of the public restroom (supposedly it was out of order). He and bandmates Mick Jagger and Brian Jones retaliated by anointing the garage wall. It was a brilliant, albeit inadvertent marketing move: they’d now found their niche — as the bad boys of rock. The anti-Beatles, so to speak.
Ah, but The Fab Four were no angels, either, especially John, who was once evicted from a recording studio for allegedly urinating into a recording console. This was during his riotous 18-month “lost weekend” period in L.A. in the mid-1970s, so anything would have been possible. Now, peeing into an expensive piece of audio equipment is forgivable, especially if you’re a Beatle, but blaming it on yer mates is just plain inexcusable! In a letter to record producer Phil Spector titled “A Matter of Pee,” John alleged it was his brothers in booze, Keith Moon and Harry Nilsson, who did the deed as the three were sharing studio space. “Should you not yet know, it was Harry and Keith who pissed on the console!” he wrote. “I can’t be expected to mind adult rock stars.” (In March 2014, this letter sold at auction for $88,000!) Who’d have thought John Lennon would end up being the piss police?
In February 1982, Black Sabbath hellboy Ozzy Osbourne took aim at the Alamo Cenotaph, a statue erected to honor the Texans who died during the 1836 independence battle with Mexico. How dare a Brit spray bat pee (or whatever he drank that day) on a revered American monument! At least he did it in style: he was supposedly wearing his girlfriend’s dress at the time. (Hey, Ozzy: is it easier to lift a skirt than yank down a zipper?) San Antonio banned The Oz from the city for 10 years, but later pardoned him when he donated $10,000 to the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, caretakers of the Alamo.
Moving on from Ozzy to Izzy, Guns N’ Roses guitarist Izzy Stradlin gave “cock pit” a whole new meaning when he unzipped and urinated in front of a plane full of passengers on a flight from Indianapolis to L.A. in 1989. Seems the restroom was occupied. What’s a famous rock star to do? Geffen Records publicist Bryn Bridenthal used the First Amendment to defend his client: “Relieving himself in the galley was just his way of expressing himself.” Izzy’s punishment? Writing a letter of apology to the USAir crew.
Izzy’s bandmate Slash would never make such a spectacle of himself. The guitar wiz prepares himself for accidents by choosing the appropriate moisture-absorbing clothing. In his self-titled memoir, he says he likes to wear leather pants, because “they’re a lot more forgiving when you urinate in them.”
Those Brits sure like soccer tournament trophy cups — so much so that some want to fill them with bodily fluids. That’s what English musician Pete Doherty once did when he and his band Babyshambles competed against a professional team, Queens Park Rangers, during a charity soccer event. Pete, a fan of QPR, said he was merely pulling a prank. Did the cup runneth over? Oh, banish the thought!
One of the the rock world’s most revered albums, The Who’s “Who’s Next,” features the four members of the British band zipping up after urinating on a stone monolith. Was it staged? Well, sort of. The band was driving through the English countryside scouting locations for a cover shot, when suddenly they spotted the perfect photo op. But photographer Ethan Russell takes some of the fun out of the scenario, saying, “Most of the members were unable to go, so rainwater was tipped from an empty film canister to achieve the desired effect.”
Finally, we come to pop pup Justin Bieber. He may lack the musical talent of the aforementioned celebrities, but when it comes to location, location, location, he scores points for finding a practical place of deposit: a yellow mop bucket! It seems that he and his pals were exiting through the rear of a restaurant kitchen in New York last year when he decided to leave a little something for an unsuspecting cleaning crew. The stunt was captured on tape by his silly sycophants, showing Bieber laughing all the while.
But permanent records of his urination don’t end there. Following a DUI arrest on January 23, 2014, Bieber was required to take a urine test, which was videotaped by an officer of the Miami Beach Police Department. The footage was made public (with Justin’s genitalia blacked out) after Judge William Altfield ruled that under Florida’s public records law, most evidence in a criminal case can be turned over to the media after it’s been given to the defense team. Who’s laughing now, rocker boy?
So, what’s the lesson to be learned here? Whether your bladder’s about to burst and you just can’t find a ceramic pot to piss in, or your inner rebel simply tells you to spray away, it’s best to be discreet.
Here’s the J. Geils Band, reminding men everywhere that no matter what goes on in the world, just fuggetaboutit and take a piss on the wall. The song is from their 1981 album “Freeze Frame.”
© Dana Spiardi, March 18, 2014
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