All Or Nothing- the Mods musical- the story of the Small Faces.

All or Nothing- the Mods musical- the story of The Small Faces.

When the Mods met the Rockers on one unforgettable August Bank Holiday weekend during the mid 1960s, it was regarded as the ultimate collision of two fiercely antagonistic gangs with a score to settle and an argument to pick. It was 1964 and London was the fashion capital of the world where music, art and Flower Power came face to face, Harold Wilson, the Prime Minister insisted that the White Heat of Technology was the catalyst for radical change and a small bunch of working class lads from Manor Park in East London were doing their thing for the country.

All Or Nothing is the story of the cheeky, wise cracking and hilariously irreverent The Small Faces, the pop music 1960s sensation whose rise from the East End dockyards was gloriously enacted in one of the most gorgeously enjoyable and powerful stories cum musicals that restored your faith utterly in human nature, West End musicals of the highest quality and those behind the scenes people who made it all possible.

So here we had it then. There they were four freshly scrubbed gentlemen from a small corner of suburban Essex, bursting with commendable ambition and all hell bent on releasing so many adult feelings into the air and testosterone that at times it must have felt like the exuberance of  youth would always hold the band back at some stage. But this was a genuine rags to riches story with a dollop of exploitation thrown in for good measure.

This was the story of one Steve Marriott, a confident, cocky and arrogant man fuelled with plenty of get up and go whose motivations and desires are splendidly illustrated throughout the show. Marriott teams up with equally as effervescent Ronnie Lane, two fiercely forthright and blunt characters who strut their way in and out of clubs and local pubs with the impudent gift of the gab, earthy, humorous Cockney humour and a thick thread of big time bravado and swagger in their every day walk or talk.

Marriott suddenly discovers Lane in another struggling band and smartly persuades Lane to join him on one of the biggest and most exciting pop music adventures he'd ever become a part of. All or No Nothing is a sparkling 1960s social documentary with all the fixtures and fittings of that often turbulent, mind blowingly eventful decade. Marriott fervently believes that he is the best thing since sliced bread much to the annoyance of a prissy and domineering mother fiercely opposed to her son's pop music aspirations.

The scene featuring Marriott's mother pleading his son to accept an acting role alongside the great Sir Laurence Olivier was outstanding in the extreme. Marriott sneers and sniggers before launching into a passionate defence for the case. The son obviously knows better because he remains convinced that the sex, drugs and rock and roll existence led by his peers can only lead to a life of late night hell raising, girls on every street corner or stage door and the kind of drunken decadence that most of his mates could only fantasise about.

Steve Marriott is a classic example of the pop star who deludedly thinks that all he has do to achieve his objectives is to sling a guitar around his neck and prance around a concert stage with the most single minded conviction that can possibly be mustered. Marriott throws his body around with a ferocity and all conquering intensity that had to be seen to be believed. The Small Faces hits came flooding out of Marriott's cool guitar like a gushing waterfall, surging out of his mouth and then shaking the floorboards determinedly and dangerously.

Then there were the scheming and deceitful agents, beautifully portrayed with cigars in their mouths and double dealing mischief on their minds. When the lads try to conquer the Northern clubs the overwhelming scepticism paves the way for rejection. But far from daunted the Small Faces continue to knock on doors furiously pursuing more and more lucrative gigs before TV drags them forcefully off the floor. It was at this point that they were thrust headlong  into the studios of Top of the Pops with the ever popular Tony Blackburn. Juke Box Jury was next on the list with the ever dapper David Jacobs. Here was a moment of theatrical magic and hilarity in its purest form.

Now world domination came calling for the Small Faces. Marriott was seduced by the blues without ever really succeeding in their now fruitless efforts to hit the big time. But in yet another comic twist of fame, Marriott and the band would, remarkably, meet up with Sonny and Cher quite by chance. But America was not to be the right place and the right time for the Faces and soon they would be contemplating the twilight of their careers.

At the beginning of their career both Marriott, accompanied by Kenney Jones and Jimmy Winston on drums, harmonica and keyboard respectively, had struck out with their debut single 'Whatcha Gonna Do About It' full of pent up fury, energy and full on, raw aggression, challenging the Establishment with the boldest of pronouncements.  There followed 'Here Come the Nice', a rocky, bouncy number, a song with a meaningful story line and easy going narrative.

By now the money they thought they'd done so much to rightfully merit as theirs was now trickling out of their hands like the proverbial sieve. Royalties on their tracks had now gone missing and Marriott was simply incensed. There were behind the scenes ructions, red blooded arguments, smashed guitars, endless contractual disagreements and Marriott was beginning to lose patience with the people he thought he could trust.

Perhaps the most hotly anticipated moments of 'All or Nothing' came in the latter half of the show with the songs that would define them and immortalise them. 'Itchycoo Park' was a brilliant and deeply reflective piece of music that was delicately crafted and typified exactly where the band were going at the time.

Over the years 'Itchycoo Park' has been variously attributed to a number of suburban London parks but the likelihood is that Marriott and Laine were probably thinking of Valentines Park in Ilford, Essex. It may be that the accuracy of the song's derivation has now been lost in time. But there can be no doubting the song's underlying perky optimism and thought provoking lyrics were undoubtedly right for the time.

By now those in the Ambassador's packed theatre in London's West End were beginning to tap their fingers, clap their hands and bracing themselves for the show's finale. How could any theatre director producing a show about the Small Faces ever overlook one of the band's most timeless anthems, a song about the one day of the week when we all down tools for one day, put our feet up and think about nothing but roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and Family Favourites on the radio. Somehow the Small Faces and Family Favourites were synonymous with the 1960s so perhaps they were meant for each other.

'Lazy Sunday' was a pop masterpiece designed to make us feel that much better about ourselves than we may have been feeling anyway. It was a song about strolling along riverbanks, walking through sun dappled woodlands and then finishing off Sunday afternoon with an ice-cream and a chocolate flake. It was about taking your time, slowing down, gazing into some far off distant land where the waters rippled at sunset and vicars trundled down country lanes with a gentle whistle or two.

It was 'Lazy Sunday' that provided everybody in Britain with the most pleasant full stop to our busy week and then sailed off to a place where serenity always existed. Marriott and company, it could have been said were just idealistic dreamers when they wrote 'Lazy Sunday' but none could deny that this was the way it should be rather than the way it was. Of course we had more time on our hands on a Sunday afternoon because the shops were always closed, the roads and motorways were emptier and besides we could always rely on the sacred stillness of a Sunday.

And so it was the Small Faces slowly broke up, Marriott and Lane went in different directions and sadly it all went horribly wrong. Both Marriott and Lane died and the band from Manor Park in London's suburbia, never did find the right blend and chemistry again. All we were left with were those indelible memories of a boy who was once asked to appear alongside Olivier, greedy agents who had no real interest in the band at all and the music that could only be identified as the sound of the Small Faces.

In a rousing last half an hour or so 'All or Nothing' was belted with showboating gusto and redemptive power. It was one of those songs that, had it been played in a local pub at full volume may well have cracked ceilings or broken glasses. It was a blistering, blustering, feelgood song, urgent and repetitive at times perhaps but saying what it said on the tin.

By the end of this fabulous West End showbiz spectacle those who must have seen the Small Faces on more than one hundred occasions stood up cheering, whooping and demanding more. Of course there was a fleeting reference to the one and only Rod Stewart who in his early days did fancy his chances with the Faces. But then again what West End musical would have been complete without a mention of Rod Stewart? This was the kind of show that was just sprinkled with nostalgia and good times and before it closes in the West End on June 2 this may well be the time to snap up tickets. Oh for those Small Faces with big hearts. What a show!