The Rhino box is a collection of all four of the Facesâ studio albums, plus a fifth disc of their non-album singles. (Live album Coast to Coast is not included.) The CD version also packs in several bonus tracks to accompany each of the albums, although the vinyl editionâwhich is what I got to listen toâdoes not. Each album is given a sumptuous and accurate reprinting of the album jacket (using the artwork from the American versions of the albums, not the British), right down to the risquĂ© poster collage from 1971âs A Nodâs as Good as a Wink⊠to a Blind Horse (complete with photos of pills and naked groupies) and the moveable face on the elaborate cover of 1973âs Ooh La La.
But even more notably, the vinyl versions of the four albums were mastered from the original analog tapes. Most of these types of classic-rock vinyl reissues are nowadays sourced from high-resolution digital files, which can be fineâand in some cases necessary, when the original magnetic tapes have deteriorated to the point of un-usability. See the recent Simon & Garfunkel vinyl reissues, which are digitally sourced: The analog tapes had been used so many times for countless represses of their incredibly successfully-selling catalog that theyâve basically fallen apart.
Faces obviously never sold as well as Simon & Garfunkelâor even Rod Stewartâs solo stuffâso the original tapes remain in excellent condition. The analog transfers are clean and exemplary, full of life and thump and clarity. (To use the vinyl nerdâs trigger word, the recordings have a great âfeel.â) Itâs likely that Rhino used the American copies of the masters, one generation removed, rather than the first-generation tapes that were used in England. This theory is supported by a couple snippets of studio ambience trimmed off the beginning of âStoneâ and the end of âAround the Plynth,â both of which appeared on the British pressing of Facesâ 1970 debut, First Step, but not on the American version.
Still, this is nitpicking, interesting only to the types of trainspotters who nerd out on matrix numbers and original vinyl pressings. Let it suffice to say that this is an all-analog mastering chain and, as such, it sounds positively terrific. Kenney Jonesâ drums are the real revelation here, full of power and punch. Itâs no wonder to see why the Who thought he was a fitting replacement for Keith Moon. Recently deceased keyboardist Ian McLagan also comes out in frontâheâs an amazing instrumentalist, tastefully fluent on the organ in particular, but also capable of some wonderfully percussive piano. And Ronnie Laneâs bass sounds like a bass should sound, growling and rangy and subliminal.
Whatâs plainly evident in stacking all four Faces albums up against each other is how the group got better at making them as they went along. Their first two tries, 1970âs First Step and 1971âs Long Player, are decent, but perhaps a bit too unfocused, with more emphasis on blues ânâ boogie than songcraft. A Nod Is as Good as a Wink is commonly thought of as their finest effort, but Ooh La La is the dark horse and maybe their best. Their last studio album, Ooh La La condenses all their strengths into short, tight, three-minute songs. It also concludes with perhaps the loveliest thing they ever recorded: the Ron Wood-sung title track, which, thanks to Rushmore, has superseded the lyrically dated âStay with Meâ to become Facesâ best-known song.
Whatâs also undeniable after listening to Facesâ catalog is how undervalued Ronnie Lane was, and is. Writing many of the songs and singing almost as much as Stewart did, Laneâs incredible contributions went far beyond his bass playing. His work was the largest casualty of Stewartâs concurrent superstar solo career, which overshadowed all of the Facesâ individual efforts, and Laneâs in particular. (In an eerie coincidence, he even sounds like George Harrison.) Delicate songs like âDebrisâ and âGlad and Sorryâ and rockers like âYouâre So Rudeâ show that Lane was the complete package, songwriting-wise.
Itâs true that Faces made, on the surface, fairly uncomplicated classic rock out of rote ingredients: guitar, drums, organ, and a raspy blue-eyed-soul singer whose voice is fundamentally familiar. But what kept surprising me is how the depth of these songs grew over a couple of weeks of intensive listening. Theyâre all pretty consistentâthere are no outright stinkers in Facesâ catalogâand when all five members were firing on full barrels, which was pretty often, theyâve got as much firepower as any British band from the era youâd care to mention. I think Stewart and his unmistakable voice became a liability for them, not just turning off potential fans who may have had negative associations with his solo career, but also undermining Facesâ collaborative nature and the bandâs slightly heavier sound. (Make no mistake: Faces could also turn a teary ballad as well as anyone, particularly the folky âSweet Lady Maryâ and the torch-lit âLove Lives Here.â)
Which is why itâs great news that Rhinoâs You Can Make Me Dance, Sing or Anything exists. Itâs not the first box-set overview of the Faces; they were subject to another worthy collection a few years ago (the rarity-laden, four-disc Five Guys Walk into a Bar). But the vinyl edition of this box set collects their albums, the actual artifacts that created their legacy, in a wholly authentic way that doesnât scrimp or cut corners. Either the idea of all-analog transfers onto 180-gram vinyl with accurate album-jacket reproductions gets you going, or it doesnât. You know who you are.