I'm a huge fan of prime Stewart, by which I mean his first four solo albums. A cocky, womanizing mod out to conquer the world, with a sensitive eye for detail and that famous, grainy voice as well as the intelligence and intuition to apply it and sound knowing, wily and vital, as soulful as his idol Sam Cooke. Not to mention, he put together this amazing band. Not the Faces, which were okay but somehow never excited me, but the band he built around Ron Wood, Martin Quittenton and Mick Waller for his solo albums. Like Cooke, what he was really after was fame, fortune and pussy - which he eventually got - and like Cooke, he sang his heart out on the way and for a while, it seemed he could do no wrong.
He was an underrated songwriter in those days, sometimes on his own, usually in musical collaboration with Wood or Quittenton but he also had a penchant for either choosing unlikely songs to cover or going after a classic and making it his own. Even when he covered Dylan he reinvented forgotten gems, and how many singers could have eked out meaning and class out of an Elton John song (cf. "Country Comfort")?. Here he covers an Eddie Cochran oldie though in his hands and mouth it sounds like a re-discovered folk song, a hairy dog story about a rich dude racing a poor guy for the right to marry the woman both men covet, who of course proceeds to help the poor guy cheat and win the race.
As usual, Rod sings the song with a merry cackle that invests the story with far more meaning than it rightfully deserves. It's as obvious as a sledgehammer who he's bet his shillings on but there's really no reason to search for any deeper meaning beyond his sly delivery edging the band towards an acoustic-rock majesty as he rides their groove as effortlessly as Cooke and Elvis did in their heyday.
Despite the presence of bass, acoustic guitars, mandolin and a fiddle, it is Mick Waller's drumkit that somehow winds up being the lead instrument, sort of like Keith Moon in the Who, except Waller's drumwork has a sense of space and timing that owes a lot more to California sessionman Hal Blaine. Here he sounds like he's keeping time with an internal clock no one else can hear but him, raw, tribal thumps booming out of his subconscious in the most unlikely moments. It's one of my favorite drum parts of all time and is the key ingredient in Stewart's magical stew.
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