Small Faces - Here Comes the Nice box set (Charley/Snapper Classics)

In a word, wow!

Dedicated music lovers can only wish that every monumental historic group could receive a box set treatment as incredible as this astounding box. Its impact upon merely opening it—let alone playing it, reading its book, and pouring over the memorabilia and extras included!—is so great, that one is thunderstruck by Here Come‘s mere exhaustive, loving, art-pop presentation.

It’s easily the best-packaged box set I’ve even seen out of a hundred or so, surpassing favorites such as The Misfits 1996 box (in a mini coffin, with red velvet insides!), the 2005 Girl Group One Kiss Can Lead to Another (in a hat box!), or more standardly rendered long rectangle sets in 1997 and 1998 for The Zombies and Hank Williams, and slightly edging out 2011’s equally endless-in-its-surprises New Model Army box.

As thick as a museum file case in its heavy reel to reel box-like white frame, it’s an explosion of art pop flair and bounteous goodies that befits both the creative outpouring of the colorful Sgt. Pepper pop era and the great fun one already associated with the verve, élan, and pure joy in Small Faces’ powerhouse mod pop, London’s greatest white soul and rock band this side of their more West London pals, The Who.

Without trying to belabor the point, what else could an ardent, longtime fan make of this bonanza pouring forth like snakes catapulting from a can, including the 72-page hardcover book (with forward by Pete Townshend and introduction by the two surviving members, keyboardist Ian McLagan and drummer Kenney Jones) which includes nearly 100 photos somehow never seen before, exhaustive sleeve notes, an illustrated guide to every song, interviews, and testimonials from famous fans (Robert Plant, who copied Small Faces singer Steve Marriott‘s stunning white soul sound and delivery pretty severely, David Bowie, Paul Weller, Glen Matlock, etc.); plus another 64-page booklet with lyrics and more photos and doo-dads; a few cool posters; an original press kit for their 1968 third (and last) LP Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake; fine art prints; collector’s postcards; signed certificates, and, beyond the four CDs, vinyl reissues of four rare 7” singles (two of them French EPs) for those with turntables.

I mean, what else to make of such an outpouring for such a great, somewhat short-lived band but pure delight? What else could they give you? Jones and McLagan themselves jumping out of the box in order to have tea with you?

Now one thing that must be said, is that this box is not—repeat not—for newcomers. Here Come makes zero attempt to provide a career overview, since it blithely ignores May 1966’s self-titled first LP and seven classic rave-up singles the band began with, 1965-1967 when signed to first label Decca—nearly all of them smash U.K. hits including a #1. This box hones in instead on their 1967-1969 work for the newly formed independent Immediate label run by Rolling Stones manager Andrew Loog Oldham, but similarly declines to present 1967’s second, also eponymous LP or Ogdens’ in their original form or entirety; albeit there’s no real need, since both were excellently reissued with copious bonus tracks just last year.

Instead, supervised by both McLagan and Jones (a photo of them sitting together recently at a mixing desk, liking what they are hearing from 45-47 years ago, will itself inspire deep smiles), Here Come takes the fully committed into the studio with them, Marriott, and bassist and occasional second lead vocalist Ronnie Lane, hearing the original sessions with the band for two CDs of unreleased sketch tracks.

Here one can see them working up the songs in their conception. The band is doing just that: working on conceiving, and you can see the light bulbs going off in their heads. Unlike The Beatles’ Anthology, most of these selections are unfinished, grasping, hitting at new seams, but not yet arriving at the final versions. (Disc four’s onslaught of alternate versions is more like Anthology in that sense, and is an easier sled as a result, but less captivating.) The listener is a fly on the wall, watching the four Faces trying out their ideas, and gauging their working process, noting their recognizable steps to where they were ultimately, familiarly going.

It’s frankly fascinating, and the sound quality is greatly enhanced by the original sources uncovered after an exhaustive search (detailed in the reading material!). But again this is totally and singularly an advanced class, a special invitation for scholars only. Therefore, CD one is more the universal, completed pleasures of a remarkable rockin’ foursome at its peak, collecting as it does the band’s equally brilliant string of post-Decca singles (A & B), five more of them top 20 UK hits (and their lone U.S. hit, 1967 #16 “Itchycoo Park”). Such an array of styles, from Summer of Love pastiche pop, mod soul, dancehall, R&B, to the new acidic hard rock—all crooned in Marriott’s volcanic blues belting or Lane’s more nasally, normal guy intoning.

All told, this is a limited edition 3000 copies, expensive box that befits the band’s deserved recent induction into the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame, and an unbelievable physical artifact that is itself a classic piece of art commiserate with the music—it has to be at its steep price ($150 or so). Here’s hoping down the line a second, companion box appears, equally lavish, that presents the group’s completed released recordings start to finish for their fabulous four years—though if not, the curious could order three or four (cheaper) CDs of what’s missing here and just thrown those CDs in its case. For now, Here Come the Nice is a treasure trove for those who truly rate the greats. The real hall of fame is in your stereo/earbuds, not the halls of a building—but this feels like you’ve been given a pass to the vaults themselves. (Note this Box Set is available exclusively from Amazon.com.)