The year is 1967. London is still officially swinging, but the psychedelic summer is fading into a gritty, autumnal reality. The Small Faces, already mod legends, were in a moment of fascinating friction. Having tasted the ethereal heights of baroque pop with tracks like “Itchycoo Park,” their chief songwriter, Steve Marriott, felt the gravitational pull of American R&B, the music that had first forged their identity. The result of this creative tension was not a compromise, but a magnificent explosion: the single, “Tin Soldier.”
It wasn’t initially tied to a major UK album, though it was later included on the US compilation There Are But Four Small Faces, released in February 1968. This track, co-written by Marriott and bassist Ronnie Lane, landed in the UK charts in December 1967, ultimately peaking at number nine. It stands as a pivotal moment, capturing the band—Marriott, Lane, Ian McLagan, and Kenney Jones—on the cusp of their masterpiece, Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake, yet still firing on the raw, soulful fuel of their early days.
“Tin Soldier” was produced by the band themselves, an act of self-reliance common to artists on Andrew Loog Oldham’s Immediate label, and the mix reflects their unapologetic vision: full-bodied, dynamic, and unapologetically loud.
Inside the Olympic Studio Haze
Close your eyes and listen to the opening. There’s a cinematic quality to the sound, a tangible studio imagery that suggests the close-mic’d intensity of the session. A taut, almost military drum beat from Kenney Jones establishes a quick-step momentum, immediately grounding the listener. This is quickly joined by a frantic, overdriven guitar riff, a tightly wound coil of energy played by Marriott. It’s a sound that is simultaneously aggressive and melodic, pure power pop infused with a blues bite.
Ian McLagan’s textural brilliance anchors the mid-range. He is playing a Fender Rhodes electric piano—not the typical upright, but a much sharper, bell-like timbre—that weaves through the frantic rhythm. McLagan’s work is often understated but essential; he provides the harmonic sophistication that elevates the piece of music from a simple rock song to a complex tapestry of sound. It’s an arrangement that understands restraint before catharsis.
Marriott’s vocal enters with a vulnerable plea: “I am a little tin soldier / That wants to jump into your fire.” His voice is full of desperate urgency, raw and passionate, yet controlled. It is a brilliant contrast to the sonic turmoil surrounding him. The lyrical conceit—a man confessing a fragile, nearly childish longing for connection, his “tin soldier” status implying both steadfastness and a lack of heart—gives the track its emotional core. He claimed the song was written for his first wife, Jenny Rylance, and was about a mental, not physical, union.
The Seismic Shift: Enter the Diva
The first half of the song is Marriott’s show, a masterclass in blue-eyed soul rock. The intensity builds with each verse and chorus, propelled by Ronnie Lane’s inventive bass line, which rarely settles for the root note, constantly adding motion and melodic depth. The band plays with a collective syncopation that defines their Mod heritage—tight, sharp, and relentlessly rhythmic.
Then comes the breakdown, and the world changes.
At the two-minute mark, the entire soundscape shifts. Marriott’s lead vocal drops out, the instrumental arrangement briefly loosens, and into the sonic space steps an entity of pure, unadulterated power: P.P. Arnold.
Arnold, a former Ikette and Immediate Records labelmate, was the very definition of American soul royalty transplanted to swinging London. Marriott had originally intended the song for her, but loved it so much he kept it for the band. His genius move, however, was keeping her on as the featured backing vocalist.
Her entrance is a shockwave. She doesn’t just sing backing vocals; she takes the spotlight and ignites it. Her soaring, gospel-trained voice tears through the track’s established sonic ceiling. Where Marriott’s delivery is urgent and slightly desperate, Arnold’s is defiant, a triumphant, almost operatic explosion of soul. Her vocal run on the line “I just want some reaction / Someone to give me satisfaction” is arguably one of the most powerful and electrifying contributions by any guest artist in rock music history.
“Her vocal run on the line ‘I just want some reaction / Someone to give me satisfaction’ is arguably one of the most powerful and electrifying contributions by any guest artist in rock music history.”
This contrast is the song’s crucial tension: the glamour of the psychedelic arrangement versus the grit of Arnold’s raw, gospel catharsis. The way her voice is mixed—high, clear, with a slight, almost untamed edge—pushes the song toward a climax that neither Marriott nor the Small Faces could have reached alone. It’s a showcase for why investing in quality studio headphones to catch these dynamic contrasts is essential for any serious listener. The intricate overdubbing and the sheer power of her performance are revelations on a proper playback system.
A Failure to Launch (Stateside)
“Tin Soldier” was a hit across Europe and a cornerstone of the band’s legacy in the UK and Australia, where it reached the top five in various charts. However, despite the track’s quality and its power-pop punch, it failed to break the American market in the way the label had hoped, stalling at a meager number 73 on the Billboard Hot 100.
This commercial disappointment, combined with the band’s own internal financial and creative frustrations, would soon lead to the dissolution of the original Small Faces. Marriott, chasing a harder blues-rock sound, would depart to form Humble Pie. The failure of a single this potent to find a mass audience in the U.S. remains a confusing footnote in rock history, a clear case of a powerhouse track not finding its necessary cultural window.
Yet, this piece of music remains eternal. It is a favorite on the modern-day music streaming subscription playlists of those who dig deep into 1960s rock. The short, cinematic runtime—just over three minutes—is perfectly calibrated for maximum impact. It leaves the listener reeling, wanting to dive back into the swirling, organ-laced coda and the final, frantic drum fill.
I once watched a young band attempt to cover “Tin Soldier” in a dingy club, and when the moment came for P.P. Arnold’s voice to soar, the singer simply couldn’t get close to the necessary power. The whole room felt the lack. It made me realize that this single isn’t just a record of four gifted musicians; it’s a testament to a transient moment of collaborative genius, where two parallel musical forces—British psychedelic R&B and pure American soul—collided to create something unforgettable. That perfect sonic collision remains its greatest triumph, a furious, soulful plea that never loses its urgency.
Listening Recommendations
- P.P. Arnold – “The First Cut is the Deepest”: Features the same incredible vocal power, applied to a classic Cat Stevens song, showcasing her solo work on Immediate.
- The Who – “The Seeker”: Shares the same Mod-derived, tough, and slightly psychedelic R&B rock energy from a band in a similar 1960s transition.
- Humble Pie – “Natural Born Bugie”: Listen for the direct continuation of Steve Marriott’s heavy, blues-driven guitar and vocal style post-Small Faces.
- The Box Tops – “The Letter”: Offers a similar example of a white singer (Alex Chilton) delivering powerhouse blue-eyed soul over a tight, efficient pop-rock arrangement.
- Traffic – “Dear Mr. Fantasy”: Contains a comparable blend of psychedelic piano, blues-rock structure, and intensely soulful vocals, defining the era.
- The Rolling Stones – “Gimme Shelter”: Features another iconic, high-impact female backing vocal (Merry Clayton) that defines the track’s emotional and sonic power.