[ Got a feeling inside I can’t explain ] Let me begin by stating the obvious, I’m a huge, life-long fan of The Who. They are easily one of my top three all-time favorite bands. My very first introduction to live rock music in fact, was a performance of Tommy that my mom took me to see at Musicarnival; an outdoor venue under a big circus tent (some time before 1975 when it was torn down to make way for a parking lot at Thistledown Racetrack).
[ This is my generation baby ] The Who wasn’t actually there that day, but Ted Neeley, who later went on to fame and fortune playing the son of God in Jesus Christ Superstar, handled the lead role of Tommy well enough to blow my impressionable teenage mind. (The Who did play Musicarnival on July 14, 1968, but I doubt an 8 year-old would have been welcome under the tent—especially when you read a description of the show: The Who play a one-nighter at Musicarnival in Warrensville Heights, Cleveland, OH on this Sunday evening in '68. Just one show at 7.00pm with a crowd of around 2,500 in a circular carnival marquee. The Who opened with 'Substitute'. After a few numbers they were getting very distressed about the venue's poor Sunn sound system and by the fifth number, 'Magic Bus', Pete began to smash up his guitar and amps. This caused some of the audience to riot and storm the stage whereupon the band retreated to their dressing rooms until peace was restored. Pete's guitar was so badly trashed that he had to borrow some equipment from the support act, Cyrus Erie (which included future Raspberries founder member, Eric Carmen). But The Who's troubles weren't over. When they got back to their dressing rooms, Pete and Roger discovered their passports and clothes had been stolen. This was to cause further problem the following day when the group were due to play over the border in Canada. Billboard magazine reported, "The Who run amok at Cleveland rock concert . . . the concert had everything from early pandemonium and an unexpected intermission to a road manager singing along with drummer Keith Moon."
So a faux performance of Tommy became my magical gateway into the music of The Who, just as the band was really beginning to hit its stride in 1971.
So a faux performance of Tommy became my magical gateway into the music of The Who, just as the band was really beginning to hit its stride in 1971.
[ It’s only teenage wasteland ] Between 1975 and 2016 I saw The Who nine times in five different cities and two different countries.
1. Richfield Coliseum — 12/9/1975
2. Madison Square Garden — 9/18/1979
3. Richfield Coliseum — 12/6/1979
4. Southampton Gaumont Theatre — 3/14/1981
5. Richfield Coliseum — 12/14/1982
6. Madison Square Garden — 7/21/1996
7. Nissan Pavilion — 7/5/2000
8. Verizon Center — 3/8/2007
9. Verizon Center — 3/24/2016
1. Richfield Coliseum — 12/9/1975
2. Madison Square Garden — 9/18/1979
3. Richfield Coliseum — 12/6/1979
4. Southampton Gaumont Theatre — 3/14/1981
5. Richfield Coliseum — 12/14/1982
6. Madison Square Garden — 7/21/1996
7. Nissan Pavilion — 7/5/2000
8. Verizon Center — 3/8/2007
9. Verizon Center — 3/24/2016
[ Join together with the band ] My first live experience of the band came at the Richfield Coliseum when they were touring to support their underwhelming followup to Quadrophenia. Perhaps the band shared my lack of enthusiasm for The Who by Numbers, because only 2 of the 22 songs performed that night were from the album. The ’75 Coliseum show was also the one and only time I got to see Keith Moon with the band, and everything about his performance was manic and unforgettable; from the moment the band walked out on stage and he summersaulted out and nearly tumbled off the edge of the stage to the cement floor 20 feet below. Fortunately Townshend, who no doubt was used to Moon’s shenanigans, nonchalantly reached down and snagged him by the collar before he fell and broke his neck. Later, when the unruly audience continued to talk while Pete introduced selections from Tommy, Moon rapped his sticks on the rim of his snare drum like a judge calling order in the court so Townshend could berate the crowd to “Show some respect! This is a fuckin’ opera, innit?” If you click on the poster you can actually watch the whole show!
[ I’m a substitute for another guy ] Since Moon died, I’ve seen the band twice with Kenny Jones; including once in Madison Square Garden on September 18, 1979, and then later that year in Cleveland at the Coliseum on December 6—three days after the tragedy in Cincinnati. I think Ringo’s son, Zak Starkey, who I’ve seen five times, does a much better job filling in for Moon than Jones ever did. John Entwistle played bass in six of the eight shows—but never in his cheesy skeleton suit.
[ Listening to you, I get the music ] I’ve seen Quadrophenia performed in its entirety twice—once, as an anniversary present in Madison Square Garden with a full cast of actors and musicians like Billy Idol, Gary Glitter and Phil Daniels portraying different roles, and the second time accompanied by a spectacular multi-media presentation here in DC.
[Meet the new boss, same as the old boss] I saw them on their “Farewell Tour” in Cleveland in 1982, and then, 33 years later on their 50th Anniversary Tour in DC!
[ You better, you better you bet ] I’ve seen them with grade school friends, high school friends, college friends, and neighbors. I’ve seen them with my sister Mo (wearing a cast on her leg painted like the Union Jack), my wife Lori, and twice with my son Andy—including his first "big" concert at Nissan Pavilion in 2000 when he was 11.
[ Why should I care? why should I care? ] I’ve bought all their records, worn out the vinyl, and replaced them all with CD’s; some of them remastered editions with bonus tracks. Not counting live recordings and greatest hits compilations (although it pains me to omit Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy), I think The Who have released four perfectly flawless albums over the past 55 years: Tommy, Who’s Next, Quadrophenia, and Who Are You.
[ You are forgiven ] The quirky brilliance of A Quick One, with Townshend’s first foray into an extended musical suite, and The Who Sell Out with its fake commercials and radio announcements between songs makes both of them long-time guilty pleasures I’d readily defend in any musical bargument.
[ Who are you? ] With the exception of Who Are You, all of the albums since The Who By Numbers felt like a mixed bag to me; lovable musical mutts vying for affection, but unable to refrain from crapping on the rug occasionally. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em all. I’ve even come to understand and appreciate them more over time—but only after repeated listens, not straight out of the sleeve or jewel case. Want an example? “Slip Kid” from The Who by Numbers (1975) is a great song. “Squeeze Box,” is not. “You Better You Bet” from Face Dances (1981) is a great song. “Don’t Let Go the Coat” is not. “Eminence Front” or “I’ve Known No War” are fantastic songs from It’s Hard (1982). “Athena” is not. “Mike Post Theme” from Endless Wire (2006) isn’t bad… the rest I find mildly interesting on just this side of inexcusable mediocrity, saved only by Townshend’s indefatigable musical exploration and prowess.
[ I know you’re gonna hate this song ] That brings me to Who, the band’s philosophically poignant or just lazy, unimaginatively titled 12th studio album released just in time to make it under the Christmas tree this year. (Thank you, Bolt!) I love this album more with every listen. There’s an intensity to the music and the lyrics that reminds me of Who Are You. Townshend’s songwriting is, for the most part, rambunctiously thoughtful and sharp; mostly on the topic of, no surprise at 74, getting old before he dies. The guitar playing is vintage Pete: forceful and strong when it needs to be, and subdued and gentle when it wants to be. Roger sounds as good as he ever did—especially considering the number of times he’s hit that high note in “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”
[ I don’t wanna get wise ] Who is both sloppy and sophisticated, profane and poetic, frustrating and rewarding. It starts strong and ends weak. It questions the band’s modern day relevance while asserting its absolute necessity. Like the two surviving members of the band who created it, Who is a little out of step with the times. It can be cantankerous and sophomoric. It often begs the question, “why now?” and the 11-song response is, I think, a resounding “why the hell not?” Fifty years ago Pete Townshend made the infamous declaration: "I hope I die before I got old." Midway through his band’s illustrious history he proclaimed "The music must change." Now he is old—a “geezer” in his native tongue—and he's singing "all this music must fade." There is a prevailing acknowledgment of transience throughout this record, but not in a moribund way. Pete never got his wish about dying young, thankfully, but after all these years and all these songs and all these concerts this album seems content to acknowledge over and over again that at the end of the day it’s only rock n’ roll—and they like it.
[ Come on the amazing journey and learn all you should know ] For nearly 50 years The Who has provided a sustaining soundtrack to my personal amazing journey. Like the men who created that sonic heartbeat, the music is flawed; it is beautiful; it is inspirational, and it is timeless. I am so grateful that Pete Townshend still feels compelled to wield his guitar and his pen to create a simple verse with accompanying music that is mine and is yours. Is this a fitting finale? I hope not any time soon, but if it is, neither the authors nor their fans should be disappointed. Is “All This Music Must Fade” an excellent choice for the Happy Medium Song of the Day? You better you bet. Long live rock, I do need it every day! (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)