The air in the room stills a little when the song drops. It’s a late, rainy Tuesday night, and the low, golden light of the vintage receiver casts long shadows. I’m not listening to a meticulously curated playlist on a modern device; I’m tuned to a deep-cut radio slot, the kind that feels less like broadcasting and more like an intimate, shared séance. Then the mandolin cuts through the hiss, bright as a newly minted penny, and the whole atmosphere shifts. This simple, three-minute tune, “How Come,” arrives like a cheerful vagrant—unannounced, slightly scruffy, and utterly captivating.
This 1973 single is more than just a catchy folk-rock confection; it is a seismic cultural marker. It represents the moment Ronnie Lane, the soulful core and bass player of the iconic Small Faces and The Faces, traded the rock star treadmill for a Welsh farm, a mobile recording studio, and a revolving collective of musicians he christened Slim Chance. Lane was not merely leaving a band; he was charting a new life, turning his back on the glamour and the grit of stadium rock for a quieter, more rambling existence. The subsequent output, beginning with this non-album single (it was later included on various compilations, and the track precedes his first proper solo album, Anymore for Anymore, which followed in 1974), would define his authentic, rootsy vision.
The decision to work with legendary producer Glyn Johns, a man whose engineering work defined the sound of The Small Faces and who had recently finished mixing the colossal Who’s Next, speaks volumes. Johns understood how to capture Lane’s unique blend of swagger and vulnerability. The result is an acoustic piece of music that sounds both immediate and timeless, recorded—in part—in the very mobile studio Lane had purchased from The Who. This is not studio polish; it’s a beautifully captured, honest sound, a moment of spontaneous warmth preserved on tape.
The Country Ramble: Arrangement and Architecture
From the jump, “How Come” is an exercise in deceptive simplicity. It starts with the driving acoustic strumming of Lane’s rhythm guitar, underpinning the quick, almost dizzying mandolin line played by Graham Lyle. The introduction is not a grand statement but a friendly wave, instantly establishing the easy-going, folk-inflected groove that defined Slim Chance. This texture is the absolute heart of the recording.
The rhythm section—featuring Bruce Rowland on drums and Chris Stewart on bass—is loose but locked in. Rowland’s drumming is delightfully understated, prioritizing feel and gentle shuffle over bombast. The bassline anchors the whole affair, a warm, pulsing foundation that keeps the celebratory pace without ever becoming intrusive. This band was built on fellowship and shared musical spirit, not virtuosity, and that genuine camaraderie is audible in every beat.
Lane’s voice, which had always held a compelling, reedy contrast to Rod Stewart’s bluesy roar in The Faces, takes center stage here. It is unvarnished and sincere, conveying a lighthearted lament. The lyrical inquiry, “How come you treat me like you do?” is delivered less as an accusation and more as a shrug of resignation, softened by the collective sing-along chorus. It’s the sound of a man accepting life’s little absurdities and deciding to enjoy the tune anyway.
The arrangement expands elegantly, never feeling cluttered despite the impressive roster of instruments. Crucially, the piano from Billy Livsey, or perhaps an accordion from Benny Gallagher, emerges in the middle eight and behind the chorus, adding a pub-singalong warmth, the bright timbre cutting through the strings. This use of traditionally folk or Celtic instruments—the mandolin, the faint sound of accordion—is what gives the track its distinctive, slightly exotic flavour, creating a sound that was resolutely English while gazing wistfully across the Irish Sea and the American plains. For listeners who had invested heavily in high-end premium audio equipment to appreciate the bombast of stadium rock, this track offered a quieter revelation: pure, uncompressed musical joy could be found in simple acoustic spaces.
The track’s co-writer, Kevin Westlake, who played lead guitar in the initial line-up, contributes a short, melodic electric line that provides a perfect counterpoint to the acoustic lattice. It’s a clean tone, bluesy and nimble, reminding us of Lane’s rock pedigree without derailing the song’s rustic charm. The dynamics build subtly, crescendoing slightly in the chorus and then pulling back for the verses, creating a delightful ebb and flow.
“Ronnie Lane’s genius lay in his ability to make the momentous decision—leaving one of the world’s biggest bands—sound like the most natural, unforced musical conversation in the world.”
The Arc of the Departure
The success of “How Come,” which peaked just outside the UK Top 10, was a huge validation for Lane. It proved he could leave the shadow of Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood and connect with the public on his own terms. The song is the sound of artistic liberation. While his former bandmates were embracing international excess, Lane was pursuing a dream of a traveling music circus, a literal Passing Show tour, and a more communal, less hierarchical approach to music.
This little single is the sonic blueprint for the rest of his career: a fusion of country, gospel, pub-rock, and folk. It’s warm, immediate, and utterly lacking in pretense. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to pack a small bag, leave your worries behind, and take the slow train to somewhere quiet.
The song’s enduring appeal lies in its infectious, almost defiant optimism. It’s a sophisticatedly simple work, a perfect three-minute pop statement wrapped in a folk blanket. It’s also a foundational text for anyone considering guitar lessons in the folk-rock sphere, offering a masterclass in rhythm-and-lead acoustic interplay. It’s a high point of 1970s British rock, a perfect anomaly that sounds as fresh and inviting today as it did when it first appeared on the charts.
The music offers a beautiful paradox: a song about mild confusion over a relationship that somehow manages to sound completely certain of its own joy. It is a moment of pure, unforced musical sunshine. When that final, glorious, slightly ragged chorus fades out, you are left with the feeling of a door being left ajar, inviting you to step into Lane’s warm, eccentric world. This is where the real stories begin.
Listening Recommendations (4–6 Similar Songs)
- The Faces – “Ooh La La” (1973): Shares Lane’s distinctive lead vocal and melancholic acoustic charm, written just before his departure.
- Gerry Rafferty – “Baker Street” (1978): A mid-tempo folk-rock classic with a similar introspective mood and warm production texture (also Glyn Johns).
- Elton John – “Tiny Dancer” (1971): Features a rambling, cinematic arrangement built around acoustic guitar and piano with a strong, rising chorus harmony.
- McGuinness Flint – “When I’m Dead and Gone” (1970): Features Benny Gallagher and Graham Lyle, highlighting the bright mandolin and harmony folk-rock sound they brought to Slim Chance.
- Van Morrison – “Domino” (1970): A brassy, joyful, and soulful R&B-folk ramble that captures the same spirit of communal musical exuberance.
- Fairport Convention – “Meet on the Ledge” (1969): An essential piece of British folk-rock with a simple, soaring melody and an immediate, live-band feel.