Ronnie Lane: A Love Letter in 16 Songs

Charles pays tribute to an artist he loves

(Photo by Rik Walton, Licensed through Creative Commons Attribution)

This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of Ronnie Lane’s wonderful debut solo album, Anymore for Anymore. So it’s a good time to revisit the work of an artist who – on his own, or with his two great bands the Small Faces and Faces – made music that I have found deeply pleasurable since I first encountered it and which grows deeper for me with each listen and passing year. Lane’s music, informed as much by folk traditions as anything he grabbed from the rock ‘n’ rhythm that fueled the British Invasion, is a kind of sweet intoxicant whose amiability doesn’t hide the deep and restless feelings that became his primary theme. Whether the technicolor splash of Small Faces, the rowdy rock of Faces, or the rollicking traveling show of his solo work, Lane performed with a generous spirit and a deceptively layered approach to songcraft and arrangement. He left us far too soon, but it’s always a joy to revisit the treasures he left behind.

So here are 16 of my favorite Ronnie Lane songs. (Why 16? Why not?) The usual caveats: this isn’t a comprehensive overview of Lane’s career, nor does it include some of his most well-known songs. There are also a slew of great tracks that I left off, so let me know in the comments if you have favorites that I missed. (I bet I love them too.) And now, let me count some of the ways…

1.     “All Our Yesterdays” (Small Faces) (from Small Faces, 1967)

Opening with a literal introduction for its singer, this fragment of Mod pop is one of Lane’s rare vocal spotlights for the Small Faces. He showed off other modes in these years – the able cover of “Shake” that opened their first album, or the proto-psych lushness of “Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow” – but this bright bounce captures the spirit that both defined the moment and shaped Lane’s work beyond it. He’s slightly out of tune at times, but that’s no matter, as the pounding of Kenney Jones’ drums rumbles alongside Lane’s bass – a key element in both of his legendary bands – and the horn section toots with swinging-London aplomb. “We’ll do better,” he laughs to his mates as the song fades out. They would, together and separately, but there’s nothing wrong with where they started.

2.     “Stone” (The Faces) (from First Step, 1970)

Faces debut First Step earns its tentative title but Lane’s post-skiffle romp “Stone” is a highlight. The lyrics tell a reincarnation story that reveals his facility with natural imagery and folk flourishes like the repeated verse structure and strummy arrangement that drive this hootenanny riff. With Rod Stewart shouting (and even barking!) in the background, the playful clatter of banjo, harmonica, and handclaps skips and jumps behind Lane as he passes his story around. Presaging the campfire and tent-show vibes that Lane made central in his solo career, not to mention the spiritual yearning that sent him to the teachings of Meher Baba, “Stone” is a too-rare example of the era’s British rock stars wearing their spiritual explorations and folkie inclinations with a light touch.

3.     “Debris” (The Faces) (from A Nod is as Good as a Wink…, 1971)

A song about Lane’s father, “Debris” is one of the most affecting in the Faces’ catalog. The hazy echo of the arrangement suits Lane’s imagistic recollections of a weekend market and his boyhood home. Lane doesn’t look back in anger – “you were my hero” and “my best friend,” he tells his dad – but he wonders about the roads not taken that are symbolized by the “odds and ends” that he recalls his father leafing through one Sunday morning. It’s beautiful stuff, with Stewart providing supportive backing to Lane’s tear-choked lead. The song’s key element is Lane’s bass, which travels through the track (and around Wood’s piercing guitar) with a caring and knowing pulse. An ode to looking back without staying back.

4.     “You’re So Rude” (The Faces) (from A Nod is as Good as a Wink…, 1971)

The Faces’ reputation as good-natured scoundrels was well-earned both on and off the turntable. Stewart took the lead on most of their rakish tracks, but Lane gets his turn here with one of the funniest and funkiest examples of their horndog antics. A present-tense accounting of an assignation gone awry, “You’re So Rude” begins with the protagonist offering some awkward come-ons, continues through his attempt to get his lover comfortable in his parents’ house, and ends with his panicked attempts to literally and figuratively cover up. Half-speaking with a cadence that kinda sounds like Lou Reed in a jollier mood, Lane then shuts up and lets “You’re So Rude” end with an extended outro where Wood’s guitar, Stewart’s harmonica and that expert rhythm section groove for almost a minute. A happy ending, indeed.

5.     “Don’t You Cry for Me” (from Anymore for Anymore, 1974)

Lane’s solo debut Anymore for Anymore is striking not only for its quality but for its establishment of a distinct sound that built on Lane’s two-Faces era while heading in lovely new directions. Recording at his farm, and surrounded by a new crew of musicians, Lane reveals a depth of songwriting and musicianship that his work in previous bands had not illuminated. (In this regard, it’s not hard to hear George Harrison as a clear analogue, a similarity amplified by this track, which could easily pass for a Harrison deep cut with its floating melody and aching slide guitar.) “Don’t You Cry for Me” is a goodbye song that Lane delivers with a delicate sadness and fragile falsetto that recalls Nilsson at his most sincere. Like any great goodbye song, it mixes deep regret about how things have turned out with the understanding that it’s meant to be, a realization affirmed by the lonesome sax solo from Jimmy Jewell that takes the track home.

6.     “Roll On, Babe” (from Anymore for Anymore, 1974)

Lane’s easygoing originals blend so seamlessly into his selections from the folk songbag that it’s sometimes easy to forget which is which. Tackling “Roll On, Babe,” popularized by Derroll Adams, Lane surrounds himself in a cocoon of acoustic instruments, his voice nestling down in the middle as fiddle and guitar swirls around him. Adams’ song riffs on the classic trope of the train carrying someone away to somewhere that the singer either can’t or doesn’t want to travel towards. Lane eschews Adams’ furious banjo accompaniment in favor of a mournful shuffle, with his hushed voice bobbing between acoustic guitars as they pluck out an elegiac figure. It’s somehow both racing ahead and lagging behind, a fitting rhythmic ambivalence for a song that can’t decide whether traveling on is a good idea, if it’s even possible at all.  

7.     “Done This One Before” (single, 1974)

This aching ballad isn’t just a worthy B-side from a non-album single – it’s as good as Ronnie Lane ever got. Over a circling progression that Lane and his band play with the same resignation found in the lyric, Lane sings of a pattern that he just can’t break. He never sang better, or more vulnerably, with any hint of smile or twinkle replaced by an open-hearted soar. With plaintive harmonica from Graham Lyle racing ahead of the vocal, the best part of “Done This One Before” is the aching bridge, where Lane asks “Why must it be so?” and – heartbreakingly – “Why ask for the moon?” It’s a morning-after song that acknowledges the double edge of satisfaction, where a night’s pleasure comes bundled along with the next day’s yearning. The musicians surround him like a group of friends who’ve heard this one before, many times, but will always let him tell it.

8.     “How Come” (alternate version) (from Anymore for Anymore: Deluxe Edition, 1997)

“How Come,” the A-side to “Done This One Before,” became Lane’s biggest solo hit, reaching #11 in the U.K. That released version is a joy, but I find myself drawn to this sparer alternate version, collected later as part of the wonderful Lane reissue series. Backed by only guitar and harmonica, Lane amplifies the blues roots of “How Come” in this version, with its lyrics about superstition and the slippery finger-picking that recalls Mississippi John Hurt. It’s a hard-luck story from an unreliable narrator, and it’s even more effective when it’s delivered like a semi-secret as opposed to a full-band declaration. Either way, though, it’s a pleasure.

9.     “Anniversary” (from Slim Chance, 1975)

Lane’s second, album Slim Chance, is another loose and friendly collection that is very nearly as good as its predecessor. Highlight “Anniversary” opens with ringing guitars and another great Lane vocal, focused in the upper end of his range as he glides atop a propulsive rhythm. Best of all is the instrumental break in the middle, where the strings that stabbed through the verses swell outward into a melody that he would later revisit on “April Fool.” (The strings take over again at the end, pushing the band out the door with Cajun-style fills.) It’s an odd sort of anniversary song – “I’m gonna love you while I’m cheating” is a particularly interesting addition – but the protagonist’s central quandary of being unable to find the appropriate gift for his beloved is understandable. After all, as he admits, “you already got the gold, got the gold.” And, with Lane’s besotted vocal, you know that the real gold is in her heart rather than her ring finger.

10.  “Tin and Tambourine” (from Slim Chance, 1975)

One of the best qualities of Lane’s love songs – or any of his songs – is their approachability, both in terms of the gather-‘round instrumentation and the specificity of lyrical detail. None are more approachable than “Tin and Tambourine,” from its welcoming fade-in and mandolin-piano interplay to a lovely chorus that washes in and out of the chorus. I wish he didn’t use the ‘70s-core phrasing of “woman-child.” But the specifics of feeling her “turn[ing] me wild” and “shin[ing] for me” carry this devotional that expands and grows, as waves of sound carry Lane and his love further away onto the water and into the dream.

11.  “Harvest Home” (from One for the Road, 1976)

There isn’t much to this gentle instrumental from Lane’s third album: two melodic sections, joined by a turnaround, led by accordion and supported by guitars, with birds chirping in the background and a cracking fire seemingly just out of earshot. For nearly six minutes, with no vocals or significant musical shifts, Lane and his band wrap the listener in a sweet lullaby, or perhaps prayer, that is – despite or perhaps because of its simplicity – among the most affecting music he ever produced. As its title suggests, it glows with the magic-hour warmth of a long summer evening. Perhaps this is an overshare, but I think this is the music I’d like played as I depart this world for whatever comes next. And I hope there’s something as welcoming as Lane’s merry caravan waiting on the other side.

12.  “Annie” (Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane) (from Rough Mix, 1977)

I try not to be one of those guys, but I honestly can’t understand why Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane’s Rough Mix isn’t more widely considered a masterpiece. Released in 1977, this collaboration between two friends and contemporaries manages to spotlight each man’s gifts without lapsing into self-seriousness or (despite the title) feeling like a bunch of leftovers and rough drafts. Nothing against Pete’s contributions, but Lane – who had just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis – delivers all of the album’s knockouts. Another graceful, swaying love song, “Annie” is sung by Lane with a plaintive sweetness that amplifies the lyric’s meditation on growing old, or at least growing older. In telling his dear Annie to keep her chin up as winter comes, he’s quite obviously singing to himself as well. And to his audience. “Oh Annie, may God bless us all,” he implores, bringing anyone listening into a warm embrace that we’d be foolish to refuse.

13.  “April Fool” (Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane) (from Rough Mix, 1977)

Rough Mix makes room for the more playful Lane as well – he even straight-up rocks out on “Catmelody” – and the two sides merge on “April Fool.” Here, he sings from the perspective of a (perhaps former) lover who is talking to him, a clever shift in focus given the title’s autobiographical detail. (Lane was born on April 1 and thus an “April fool” in the truest sense.) Like “Annie,” it’s a song about growing older, but here this is framed as a new opportunity, with chiming guitar chords descending as Lane uses some of his most striking images – “There’s dust and cobwebs on your North Star” – to extend an unclear but still enticing invitation. Is this a song about settling for what’s possible (“I take my dreams to bed now where they belong”) or somehow finding the old spirit again? Probably both, and a good idea either way.

14.  “She’s Leaving” (from See Me, 1979)

“She’s Leaving” is the highlight of See Me, the final album released during Lane’s life. It’s another song exploring Lane’s central theme of freedom: seeking it, finding it, reckoning with it, et cetera. The title makes clear what is happening, and Lane – keeping it together over lush jingle-jangle pop – approaches his love’s departure with a generosity that is not surprising but still welcome. He even devotes the second verse to a series of old Irish blessings, wishing that the road rises to meet her and God holds her in the palm of his hand as she travels. Just in case you miss the sentiment, he repeats the whole verse a second time before the song ends, delivering these prayers with a sincerity that erases any idea of irony or spite underneath. I almost went with the demo version on the Odds ‘N’ Ends rarities collection, which brings Lane’s still-powerful voice to the forefront. But I loved this swirling, George Harrison-recalling track, a late example of Lane’s signature ability to find a home for his warbling tenor even in a maximalist instrumental mix.

15.  “Spiritual Babe” (from The U.S. Years, 1987-1992, 2019)

Lane moved to Austin in 1985, where he formed a community of musicians who loved him. He kept playing and recording, even as his health faltered, and he became something of a local legend during these years. One of his final studio recordings, the restless “Spiritual Babe” is enough of a career highlight to have become the centerpiece of his old bandmate Ian McLagan’s later tribute album. Lane’s voice has clearly changed, lending the song a desperation that’s further reflected by a jagged accordion. It’s hard not to hear Lane’s urgency as partly a response to declining health and increasing awareness of his vulnerability, especially as he repeats “Stay with me,” one of the song’s few lyrics, over and over again throughout the song. That line, once a horny come-on for the Faces, is now a plea for companionship that resonates even beyond the metatext of Lane’s personal circumstances. And the spiritual connection implied here isn’t just with a romantic partner. May God bless us all.

16.  “Ooh La La” (live, 1987) (from The U.S. Years, 1987-1992)

This was recorded before “Spiritual Babe” but I want to end with it anyway. Almost surely his most famous song (albeit in the version sung by co-writer Ron Wood back in the Faces days), “Ooh La La” is now a semi-standard thanks to soundtracks, commercials, and covers. The original is certainly wonderful, but this late performance from Lane reveals something else in the song. I don’t want to lapse into tired and even problematic narratives about tragic sickness and inspiring persistence. But I can’t deny something powerful about Lane’s reflection on aging coming from a man whose body and voice were growing weaker. (Lane’s declaration that “I wish that I knew what I know now when I was stronger” hits different, for sure.) The band doesn’t let it get too heavy though – Austin band The Tremors keeps things chugging forward, augmented by saxophone from stalwart Bobby Keys. This is as much a valediction or benediction as it is anything, from a rock ‘n’ roller who always seemed to be most interested with how we find ways to face things together, whether they’re bumps in the road or the end of the line. And maybe the best way is to go on, and go out, with a song.

Ronnie Lane died in 1997. He was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame along with the whole Small Faces and Faces crew in 2012. His records fell out of print for a while but have now been lovingly resurrected in both album reissues and a beautiful box set. His influence is clear on artists like his friend and fan Alejandro Escovedo, who played with him in his final Austin years and continues to celebrate him. I also hear him resonating in the folk-tradition remixes of contemporary artists like Bonny Light Horseman and Jake Xerxes Fussell, or in the rock ‘n’ roll party invoked by the collected projects of Memphis stalwart Greg Cartwright. Most of all, though, I hear his original recordings – most of which remain under-appreciated – glowing just as brightly as they ever have. Thanks, Ronnie. On with the show.

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