I'll Never See The Who - And I'm Ok With That

In the year I was born, four arty scrappers who couldn't decide between the High Numbers and The Who as a band name were playing some of their first gigs in England. In one recording from those days, they repeatedly launch into I Gotta Dance To Keep From Crying in between covers of songs by Bo Diddley, Little Richard and their more advanced contemporaries, The Kinks. Like The Yardbirds, they also did Here 'Tis and Smokestack Lightning, but they didn't have the unstoppable energy of McCarty, Dreja and Clapton working together. They also couldn't match John Lennon's throat-shredding blast through Money - but they tried. Overall, they were pretty good, maybe a cut above your cousin's band, but only just. 

Imagine being there, watching one of the greatest bands of all time in their nascence. Would you be able to tell that great things were coming? Or would you think they were merely another noisy bunch of strivers like David Jones and the Lower Third playing just down the street? Of course, I'll never know, as crawling was still in my future and seeing music even further off. So I missed The Who in 1964 and I'm OK with that. 

When Keith Moon died in 1978 I was just on the cusp of my serious concertgoing years. During the decade prior, The Who had become perhaps one of the most formidable live acts in human history. Even Liszt and Paganini, who both tore it up in the 19th century, would have hesitated before following Townsend, Daltrey, Entwistle and Moon on stage. In performance they had excelled far beyond any of those they emulated in 1964, and minus The Beatles, in songwriting as well. This I knew full well from the Live At Leeds album, of which I knew every note, and fascinating studio works like Who's Next, Quadrophenia and Who Are You. But thanks to a combination of my age, lack of discretionary funds, and an older brother who was more into jazz than rock, I never saw The Who in those years either - and I'm OK with that. 

Kenney Jones was soon behind the drum kit, and while he had skills and pedigree, he lacked charisma and The Who were irrevocably a different band. While I could enjoy You Better You Bet, it took me years to realize that Face Dances is one of the best pop albums of the 80's. I think I considered seeing The Who at Shea Stadium in 1982, but it was probably too expensive and I was slightly disturbed at the idea of my heroes The Clash as an opening act, especially so shortly after they had ruled the stage at Bond's. Then The Who officially broke up for the first time and I spent the rest of the decade seeing Elvis Costello, Talking Heads, PiL, Dead Boys, Beastie Boys, Bad Brains, Gang of Four, Pere Ubu, Bob Marley, David Bowie, etc., etc. So I never saw The Who in the 80's - and I'm OK with that. 

I could go on, describing endless reunions, retirements and special appearances, but if it wasn't already over, the death of John Entwistle in 2002 sealed The Who's fate as a performing entity. They could no longer claim much more than a shadow's connection to their glory days. Even with the release of the terrific Endless Wire in 2006, which I played incessantly for several months, I felt no pull to see them live. Mounting their stadium tours left them too beholden to a past they could only hint at and I wasn't interested in watching them try. Daltrey and Townsend play Endless Wire at The Beacon? Two still-vital creative artists performing new songs? Sign me up. 

So I'm OK with never seeing The Who, or the Stones or Pink Floyd, to name a couple of other bands who have toured as a simulacrum of themselves. It's the same for me as Hendrix, The Doors, or The Beatles. I can accept that the time-space continuum just did not make it possible and I'm just too into the music to suspend disbelief that what I would be hearing could live up to the remarkable legacies of these bands. In the case of The Replacements, I was lucky enough to see them in their heyday, at The Ritz, and it was just as great as you can imagine. While I would love to see Paul Westerberg perform some of his most recent material (which is getting less recent all the time, dude), I didn't want to mess with my memories. Based on some of his remarks at ending the current reunion run, which only featured 50% of the original band, I think Westerberg may feel similarly.

All the above is not even to mention the need to husband the limited resources - of both time and money - I have to see shows. For the cost of one ticket to see Clapton on his 70th birthday, I can have infinitely more satisfying experiences seeing Matthew E. White, Father John Misty, Kate Tempest, Natalie Prass and Holly Miranda - and that's just this year alone. The time is now for these artists, not in the past.

Part Two: The Early Years of Record Buying

Thanks for coming back. Here's where the madness began.

I would lie in my bed, listening to to my knight's-helmet-shaped AM radio, waiting for my favorite songs. I became obsessed with Elton John's version of "Pinball Wizard" and somehow it dawned on me that if I owned the record I could listen to it whenever I wanted to. One day when my mom was going downtown I scraped together a few dollars and asked her to stop into Sam Goody and pick up the Tommy soundtrack album. I could barely concentrate all day, waiting for her to get back home. 

Before I knew it, she was back and I was putting diamond to vinyl. Next, I experienced that sinking feeling that all record buyers have felt and try to avoid: the realization that you bought an album with just one good song. Damn - burned on the very first try! No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get into the songs featuring Tina Turner and Eric Clapton - not to mention Oliver Reed and Ann-Margaret, who appear on an astounding 12 tracks out of 31!!

And then, to add insult to injury, my little knight's helmet played me the ORIGINAL version of "Pinball Wizard" by The Who, which was obviously far superior. Clearly, this record buying stuff was more complicated than I had thought.

That was in 1975. For my birthday in 1976 I got my very own Realistic turntable and speakers (dad loved Radio Shack). My sister Jessica gave me three 45's: "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard, "Magic Man" by Heart, and a reissue of "Got To Get You Into My Life" with "Helter Skelter" on the flip side, released to promote the Rock'n'Roll Music compilation. I loved having the little singles - I could put on my own AM radio show with just my favorite songs. I just needed more vinyl - lots more vinyl...

Next Time: 12" of pure genius.

Whose Reality Is It Anyway?

Here's a brief roundup of snap judgments and potential overstatements.


Radio On The TV: Say what you will about The Who's performance during Superbowl XLIV - I say it was a damn sight more musical and vital than anything on the 52nd annual Grammy Awards. I leaned on the fast-forward button so hard through that travesty that I practically broke the remote. I felt so disconnected from what was going on during the show that it felt like I was viewing an alternate reality. Jeff Beck's homage to Les Paul was a treat, but where did he fit in? When a giant of music like Leonard Cohen is dismissed with a quick sentence, you can be sure it is not a reality I want to be a part of. 


The person who seemed to enjoy it the most was Beyonce, cheering and grinning from her front seat. Considering that what is really being rewarded at the Grammy's is salesmanship rather than musicianship, this is not surprising. That there were 35% more viewers this year than last was a bit surprising, however. Maybe they were tuning in for the Michael Jackson tribute, which featured a song some have called egregious but that I actually think is great.


As for The Who, or the Two, or whatever you want to call them, I have definitely heard them sound worse. While I hated the medley-like aspects of the set list and would like to see another bass player take the place of polite Pino Palladino, I enjoyed the rough and ready passion displayed by Roger and Pete. Considering that there might not be very many U.S. stadium shows left for the quadropheniacs, it seemed a fitting swan song.


Snap Judgments: I listen to lots of podcasts, read magazines, follow tweets, etc., in an effort to keep up. Of course it's overwhelming but what tends to happen is that through repeated exposure, certain names rise to the top and I am driven to seek out the actual sounds under discussion. Sometimes the result is simply: "Why?" For example, lots of talk about Midlake and their new album, The Courage Of Others (**). Four stars and lead review in Mojo, etc. I went to trusty Lala and listened to a previous album - wait, didn't we already have Fleetwood Mac? Then the new one. As one dreary song followed another, I renamed the band Middling. Like Fleet Foxes without the unearthly harmonies or iron-clad songwriting. Next!


And what of indie landfill like Beach House (**)? Why the excitement? If you think your little brother or sister will have their lives changed by finding this on your computer in 5 years, please let me know.


Then there is Charlotte Gainsbourg's IRM (**)- stories everywhere, all about her scandalous parents, her accident, her outre performance in Lars Von Trier's Antichrist, her collaboration with Beck, the rhythm track created from an MRI recording. I was psyched! The title track (****), with it's MRI groove, was fascinating. Unfortunately, after a few more songs, I realized she can't really sing. It's just a breathy near-monotone on every song. She gets a lot of credit for her past and personality - if she and Beck had released just IRM as a single, it would have gone down as a classic one-off. Too bad they felt obligated to make a whole album. 


Same goes for Sade . When you go away for 10 years, expectations grow high. I have liked some of her stuff in the past, so I gave Soldier Of Love (**) a shot. Again - what a title track (*****). Best thing she's ever done, all jabbing strings and guitars set to a quasi-military beat, voice in fine form. Bring on the remix EP! As for the rest of the album, if I could remember any of it, I would let you know what it sounded like.


Speaking of icons on hiatus, I couldn't resist pre-ordering Heligoland (****1/2), Massive Attack's latest after a seven year absence. Even though 100th Window was a little ascetic, they're a very important group for me so I made the investment. This is beyond a return to form - it is a complete and intense work of art. My mental soundtrack is completely overtaken with fragments of these stunning songs. They have moved into a realm some distance from their earlier work, to a place that makes them neighbors with Scary Monsters and Remain In Light. This is art rock, even art songs, for the 21st Century. As brilliant as the original songs are, they have outdone themselves by curating a mind blowing set of remixes, included with the deluxe edition for a couple bucks extra. Not the time to be stingy, people. I would go on, but sample for yourself. Start with the the paranoid landscape they create out of the old reggae classic, Girl I Love You. For good measure, compare it to the source material and check out the remix  for the full experience. Horace Andy sings thrillingly on all versions and the haunting melody will stick with you, yes, forever. While it may lack some of the umami of Blue LInes (****), Protection (*****) and Mezzanine (*****), Heligoland is still a major statement from the newly reinvigorated group.


Some critics, bloggers, podcasters, etc., may rate these records in a way entirely opposite from the way I have. They're welcome to create their own reality. I just don't live there.




In two weeks: Mysteries of The Agora