Sad news indeed. Ian 'Mac' McLagan, who initially found fame with the sixties group the Small Faces, has been suddenly taken from us after suffering a massive stroke.
McLagan's talent and contribution to rock music must never be underestimated. The small Faces swiftly became the top selling band of the mid-sixties due to a string of vibrant singles, including All or Nothing and Itchycoo Park. When the band's outstanding vocalist, Steve Marriott, left to form Humble Pie, Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood stepped in and a new band, The Faces, was born.
Rod Stewart's determination to forge a solo career to run alongside his role with the Faces inevitably brought about tensions, but these were temporarily put aside when McLagan, Ronnie Lane, Kenney Jones and Ron Wood all opted in to play on Stewart's albums. Stewart's big breakthrough as a solo artist was doubtlessly instigated by the classic Maggie May, put out from the album Every Picture Tells A Story as a double A-side with Reason To Believe. Here we must look at McLagan's unbelievable artistry to truly judge the success of these two songs.
Much has been made of the novelty value and inspirational deployment of a mandolin on Maggie May. Certainly it played a big part in setting the mood. But when we listen with care throughout the whole of the recording, it is Ian McLagan's magnificent organ playing which underpins the whole of the performance. One is reminded of the huge importance of Al Kooper's organ riff on Bob Dylan's Like A Rolling Stone, which Dylan immediately enthused about on hearing Kooper's off-the-cuff interjections after each line of the chorus. Such things can make or break a recording: McLagan's beautifully balanced and intuitive lines flow in, out and across the song like the brush strokes of an artist determined to do justice to his canvas. You can't teach somebody how to do that. You're just glad he's there for you on the day.
The role of the organ is even more prominent on Reason To Believe. It's a tough song to sing, full of seemingly false stops and tricky starts. McLagan saves the day and the song almost single-handedly; it is a masterclass from a master craftsman.
Ian McLagan's death came just as I had finished reading his excellent autobiography, All The Rage. What particularly impressed me as I was reading was the fact that here was a man who, along with many others, had contributed so much and yet had had to suffer so many bad calls from an industry well known for its business chicanery. Yet McLagan spoke with no bitterness about various agents, managers, fellow pros and sundry hangers-on who had tried and tested his fortitude. He could have been far more scathing, but he concentrates instead on telling of a life lived to the full on the cutting edge of rock and roll in its heyday, and that taking the rough with the smooth is maybe the way to go in a world that promises no favours to those who venture into it to roll their own throw of the dice.
Rock music has lost a gentleman and an artist. His family and friends have lost much more. Rest in peace, and thank you for the music.
