ANKLES AND FACES

LONDON MUSIC BUSINESS IN THE 1960S.

“Tell us about the 60s," an interviewer asked me last week. "Tell us about when you managed the Yardbirds." But for some reason it was the Small Faces that jumped into mind.

It's true the Stones were the kings of rock'n'roll decadence, the Yardbirds the masters of metal blues and the Who the high priests of nihilist violence. But the Small Faces had the pulse of urban youth.

Short in stature but big in influence, they lived on amphetamines, gulping purple hearts by the handful and making music that was behest to no one. Watcha Gonna Do About  It, Sha-La-La-La Lee, Itchycoo Park - gems, each one of them.

They came across like no other group, cute in photographs but underlyingly tough. And yes, they really did have small faces.

Their manager was a thug -  Don Arden - London's top show business gangster. He negotiated by breaking limbs.

Eventually the Small Faces got fed up with him and let it be known on the grapevine that they were looking for someone new. Most managers stayed clear; one didn't. Robert Stigwood, who looked after Cream and the Bee Gees, made a play for them.

The next day he was visited by Arden and his henchman who started by smashing a glass ashtray into the wall beside his face, then hung him from the second-floor window by his ankles.

Lucky to survive, Stiggy decided to give up poaching other people's artists. So did most other managers. But one afternoon I got back from lunch to find the Small Faces sitting in my office.

"Simon, we'd like you to manage us," said Steve Marriott, the lead singer,

Two thoughts collided in my head. First - I'd quite like to. Second - I'd like to stay alive. Trying to balance the two, I picked up the phone and called Don Arden.

"I have your group in front of me," I told him. "Before I send them packing, I want to make a suggestion.... It seems they're determined to change managers, so why don't you and I do a deal - I'll be their manager and you take half the income. You won't have to do a thing but you'll still get 50% of the management commission."

Don seemed to like the idea. "Simon, you're a gent. If only other people could be so courteous. You'll have a tough job 'cos they're a bunch of wankers, but if you want to do it and you pay me half, it's a deal."

"Wait a minute," I said. "I haven't asked them yet. I don't know if they'll agree."

"Of course they'll agree," Don shouted. "If they don't, I'll break their bloody legs. Tell them I'm on my way over."

But the group had fled.

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