Let the Good Times Roll by Kenney Jones

Author:Kenney Jones [Jones, Kenney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER 8

FANCY A DRINK?

We were lost. The only people Ronnie, Mac and I could face speaking to were each other. We couldn’t bear contact with anyone else. No one could understand how we were feeling. Did Steve really mean it? Was this the end of the Small Faces?

As the weeks drifted by, it became clear that he did; and it was.

Humpty Dumpties. We had to put ourselves back together again. We achieved it through music. The Rolling Stones kindly offered an outlet: their equipment warehouse at 47 Bermondsey Street, a couple of minutes’ drive from Havering Street. A damp sound-proofed room provided our refuge. We could play there, talk there, hide there and, in time, emerge stronger from there.

At the start, we were only filling hours in the day. We didn’t want to say goodbye to each other, but we didn’t know what to do next. Coming together to jam, laugh and piss around, reminded us that music can heal, as well as tear apart.

Then Ronnie brought down a new pal, his neighbour Ronnie Wood, bass player with the Jeff Beck Group. Woody was also looking for a new beginning, a break from the bass in favour of playing lead. As soon as he walked in, I recognised him as the guy from Selmer’s. Now and again, the Selmer’s owners would invite bands to come in, to try out some amps which they were going to be given for free, as a marketing ploy. Woody had arrived with his band The Birds and there was a big fuss made over them. Ronnie Lane and I were so excited. Real-life musicians. Of course I’d heard of Ronnie Wood over the years since, but our paths hadn’t crossed again, until that day.

Woody was great. Exactly the fillip we required.

After a month or so of playing once or twice a week, Woody said he’d like to bring over a friend from the Jeff Beck Group. Like Woody, he was at a loose end. The band had a short US tour on the horizon, but other than that they had time on their hands and his mate was looking for a bit of fun.

Of course. No problem Woody. Bring him along. What’s his name?

Rod Stewart.

I didn’t know Rod, but I knew of him – initially as that skinny Mod on the stairs of Immediate Records, but mainly from his pre-Jeff Beck life in the blues band Steampacket, with Long John Baldry, Brian Auger and Julie Driscoll.

Rod was shy. He wasn’t pushing to be involved in what may or may not be the embryonic days of a new band. Rather, he was there to pre-empt the Double Diamond advertising slogan of a year later. ‘I’m only here for the beer.’ Or more accurately, the rum and Cokes. Rod would sit on the amps watching us play, until every now and again we’d take a break and all disappear up the road to the King’s Arms pub for a few drinks and a giggle. Then we’d head back to the warehouse to make more music, Rod continuing to act as our one-man audience.

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