If you ask a casual fan about the Small Faces, they’ll probably start talking about Steve Marriott’s glass-shattering voice. And fair enough. Marriott was a powerhouse. But if you really want to understand why that band mattered—why they weren't just another R&B group in Chelsea boots—you have to look at the guy standing slightly to the left. Ronnie Lane. Or "Plonk," as everyone called him.
He wasn't just the bass player. Honestly, he was the soul of the thing.
Lane had this incredible, almost mystical ability to ground Marriott’s high-voltage energy. While Steve was the fire, Ronnie was the earth. He was the one who brought the "pastoral" vibe to the East End mods. Without him, we don’t get the whimsical, trippy brilliance of Ogdens' Nut Gone Flake. We don’t get the loping, lazy groove of "Itchycoo Park."
He was a songwriter who actually cared about the story, not just the scream.
Ronnie Lane and the Small Faces: The Songwriting Magic
People often get it twisted and think Steve Marriott wrote everything. Not true. In the early days, yeah, it was a lot of Marriott. But once they signed to Immediate Records in 1967, the balance shifted. Lane started bringing in these softer, more psychedelic textures. He was obsessed with nature, old-school music halls, and a sort of English folk sensibility that most mods wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
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Take "Green Circles." It’s Ronnie all over. It’s weird, it’s melodic, and it’s got that signature Ronnie Lane Small Faces charm. He wasn't trying to be a guitar hero on the bass. He played it like a lead instrument but kept it thumping. He used a pick on his hollow-bodied Harmony bass, creating a "round" sound that felt more like a heartbeat than a metronome.
He and Steve became a legendary writing duo, but they were opposites. Steve wanted to be the loudest guy in the room. Ronnie? Ronnie wanted to go fishing.
What Most People Get Wrong About His Departure
When the Small Faces split in 1969, most of the history books say it's because Marriott walked off stage during a bad gig and joined Humble Pie. That’s the "official" version. But the tension had been brewing for ages, and Lane was increasingly tired of the "pop star" machinery.
He hated the screaming girls. He hated that they couldn't hear the music.
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After the split, Lane, Ian McLagan, and Kenney Jones didn't just give up. They recruited Ronnie Wood and Rod Stewart. They became the Faces. But even then, Ronnie Lane was the anchor. Rod Stewart might have been the frontman, but he famously called Lane the "backbone" of the band.
The Tragedy and the Triumph of Slim Chance
By 1973, Lane was done with the big arenas. He felt like the Faces were becoming "Rod Stewart and the Faces," and that just wasn't his scene. So, what does a rock star do when he’s tired of the limelight?
He buys a farm on the Welsh border and starts a traveling circus. No, seriously.
He formed a band called Slim Chance. They were rag-tag. They had fiddles, accordions, and a vibe that felt like a Gypsy caravan. He launched "The Passing Show," a tour that involved a giant circus tent, clowns, and fire-eaters. It was a financial disaster. Like, a total wreck. But musically? It was pure Ronnie. It was honest.
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It was during this era that things took a dark turn.
While recording Rough Mix with Pete Townshend in 1977, Lane started slurring his words. He was tripping over things. People thought he was just drunk. He wasn't. He was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS), the same disease that had taken his mother.
The Final Years in Austin
Lane eventually moved to Austin, Texas. The heat helped his condition, and the local music scene treated him like the royalty he was. Even when he couldn't play the bass anymore, he’d still get on stage and sing. He had this "twinkle" in his eye that never really went away, even as his body failed him.
He died in 1997 in Colorado, but his influence is everywhere. You hear it in Paul Weller. You hear it in the Gallagher brothers. You hear it in any band that tries to mix grit with a bit of English soul.
What you should do next:
If you really want to "get" Ronnie Lane, stop listening to the Greatest Hits for a second. Go find a copy of Anymore for Anymore or the song "The Poacher." Listen to the way he uses space. It’s not about the notes he plays; it’s about the feeling he leaves behind. Then, go back and listen to the Ronnie Lane Small Faces tracks like "All Our Yesterdays." You’ll realize he wasn't just the guy in the background. He was the one holding the whole thing together.
Explore the 2019 box set Just for a Moment. It’s the most comprehensive look at his post-Faces work and proves that while Marriott had the voice, Lane had the vision.