“So” asks the interviewer, “Rod Stewart plays to a sell out audience at the new Leeds Arena this week, what was the performance like?”
“I don’t know” replies I
“But you must have been there surely, why in the early days he copied so much of his styling from you didn’t he ?”
“He cut his hair like mine yes, and so did Ron Wood incidentally”
“Although your hair is no longer in evidence”
“Thank you for pointing that out”
“So did you not go to see him this week ?”
“Do I look like a man who would happily spend £72 on a ticket to see a has-been, have you heard nothing of my reputation gained by means of genetic inheritance, of being careful with my monthly stipend ?”
“Well yes, but you used to be such a big fan…”
“Are you paying for these coffees because if you are then I’ll have another, and a bun please…”
Its true, I did not go to the Rod Stewart gig not 7 miles from my home in the sparkling new arena which by means of paying my local taxes and agreeing to sell off the city’s publicly owned airport to fund a new arena, I actually part own these days, it may come as some surprise to those who knew me when we and the world were all much younger but seriously, £72 a ticket, and the wife would have wanted to come too, so £144, and the kids would have wanted to come too for I have indoctrinated them with his music these past 25 years of their lives, so £288 before we even get through the doors, I ask you, my first car only cost £12 more than that.
So on the day of the gig our local radio station had a Rod Stewart themed hour and at some point some roving radio reporter thrust a microphone in front of some woman in the city centre and asked if she was going tonight and this bint could hardly contain her excitement and babbled on about how she had been a fan for years and how she had a seat right down near the front and etc etc etc and then she finished with “I’ll be up dancing before he gets on stage, dancing on my seat I will, even us big lasses can dance on our seats you know…”
And I sat and I listened to our local radio station and I shook my head in pity at those people who, like me, would have paid £288 for two hours worth of music in a good seat down the front, only to find this big fat lass sat in front of you who, before he even comes on stage, is on her seat dancing and all you get to watch is her big fat arse in your face all night long – that would have been my seat, right behind her, I KNOW it would have been my seat.
No, you see, in the video above, THAT is how I remember The Faces, 1970, there’s me at Leeds Modern Grammar School, 14 years old, hair, loon pants, tie-dye lace-up t-shirts and everything, those were good years, that was good music, we had it all and we didn’t even know it and Mr Stewart and his chums produced some ace albums with Glyn Jones producing them, this was the music of my teenage years.
The fat arsed bints can keep Mr Stewart to themselves these days, I knew him when he was good…
…featuring dear old Ronnie Lane, he gave me a brown ale after one of their gigs at The Poly one night you know, then the security guard spotted that we weren’t part of the band and threw us out…