Fri. Oct. 24

 What do you expect from The Who these days? The band was always a mix of power chords and introspection, aggression and mysticism, love and anger. Never easy to define, but a profound pleasure to follow from the beginning. I can offer a couple of things here. One, a review I did for the Boston Phoenix, which follows, and, excerpts from an interview done with guitarist-singer-songwriter Pete Townshend (left) a decade ago with the Globe. The former should give you an idea where The Who, which plays TD Banknorth Garden Friday Oct. 24 at 8, stand and the latter should give you insight in the Godfather's ever-evolving throught process.
     Review: “I wanna live in the present,” said Pete Townshend from the stage of TD Banknorth Garden Saturday night, early in The Who’s set. “So let’s play ‘Behind Blue Eyes’ awright?’’
     Awright!
     Not to get too heavy, but when you put together what The Who played for two hours and what the high-tech video behind and above them showed, this concert was a (loud) meditation on youth and aging. The youth was seen mostly on video (early Who, mods, early Elvis, hippies, ‘70s punks); the age was seen mostly on stage (drummer Zak Starkey gets a pass, but even he is no kid anymore at 41); the sentiments came from the mouths of close-cropped singer Roger Daltrey and balding guitarist-singer Townshend, both in song and chat.
    Now, The Who – you may know them as the “CSI”  theme song band – are down to two, with the 1978 death of drummer Keith Moon and the 2002 death of bassist John Entwistle. Pino Palladino fills Entwistle’s spot capably and  long-timer Starkey does Moon perfectly (maybe better). Vets John “Rabbit” Bundrick (on keys) and Pete’s brother Simon (on rhythm guitar) flesh The Who out in concert.
    The Who’s takes on the youth/age theme included: “The Seeker” (“I won’t get to get what I’m after ‘til the day I die”), “My Generation” (obvious), and “Real Good Looking Boy’’ (about the young Elvis, omnipresent on screen). When Daltrey referenced previous good times in Boston, Townshend quipped “Everybody I had ‘times’ with looks really creepy now.” (I think he added “creepy and gorgeous” as a make-up call-addendum, but I’m not sure.)
    They faltered on one new one, “Mike Post Theme,’’ with Daltrey admitting he missed a verse (how would we know?) and then calling it “a senior moment.’’ (Earlier, Townshend answered Daltrey’s comment on the video intrusion/infusion – “You have to remind yourself – it’s music’’ with “You have to remind yourself of the chords.’’)
    The Who played all of the quick six-song mini-opera “Wire & Glass’’ (which Townshend qualified by warning us there were rockers and non-rockers involved), and it seemed like a lesser snippet from “The Who Sell Out.’’ And they trotted out a few others from the Oct. 31 CD that contains it, “The Endless Wire,” not to mention two from the forgettable “It’s Hard,’’ released (could it be?) nearly a quarter-century back. Oh, and nothing from “Quadrophenia”!
    They began with mid-‘60s classics like “I Can’t Explain” and “Anyway Anyhow Anywhere,’’ tripped through “Baba O’Riley’’ – with the audienc elders singing along enthusiastically about “teenage wasteland’’ – and they made “Won’t Get Fooled Again’’ seem even more trenchant than it was in 1971, in terms of the shifting of power and the corruption of power. That and the tension/release rock ‘n’ roll thing, of which The Who has been always so adept. It was, really, a damn fine show, given the parameters and expectations.
    They encored with a 25-minute “Tommy” compression and then Daltrey and Townshend closed the show themselves with an acoustic new one … which we didn’t know. Not the way to keep us in the thrall. And, really, they didn’t want us to wait for them to come back. The lights went up and immediately a filtered Wizard of Oz-ish (ha-ha) voice came over the PA advising we could buy a recorded DVD or 2-CD of the show at TheMusic.com.  .... Tickets for the upcoming show: $202 - $62.

TD Banknorth Garden, 100 Legends Way, 617-931-2000 www.ticketmaster.com  

Townshend Interview/Feature, 10 Years ago … 
    What, you may wonder, is the Who's Pete Townshend
doing out on the road this summer?
The Who's glorious ``Quadrophenia'' revival ran its
course last year. Townshend has been beavering away at
his autobiography; singer Roger Daltrey, his bandmate,
jokes that it's taking so long they're calling it
``War and Pete.'' Townshend hasn't put out a new album
since ``Psychoderelict'' in 1993. He has cashed a lot
of ``Tommy''-related checks for the Tony Award-winning
Broadway show.
Townshend's surprise appearance this summer has to
do with wanting to atone for his behavior at Woodstock
in 1969, when he cursed out stage-crashing provocateur
Abbie Hoffman and knocked him off the stage. It has
something to do with feeling those creative juices
surging again. But there is no short answer with
Townshend, perhaps rock 'n' roll's reigning, and most
self-critical, philosopher-king.
How self-critical?
``I think perhaps being in a band that fails
ultimately, the way that the Who failed in the end,''
he says, ``[due to] circumstances out of their
control, maybe, clouded the way that I looked at my
career and my music.''
The Who as a ``failure.'' This, he says, is a
comment directed at their last two, lukewarm studio
albums, ``It's Hard'' and ``Face Dances.'' But here is
how Townshend's current kick start came about.
``I took a short period about six weeks ago to
make the trip over to work with my editor in New
York,'' says Townshend, from his London studio. ``I
went and did that work, working on a whole new set of
chapter headings, sorting out research material for
the rest of the book. I'm still working on it very
hard, and enjoying doing it, although, dear God . . .
it's very hard work. But . . . what writing this book
is doing for me is actually releasing all kinds of
musical creative juices, which it would be crazy for
me to try to bury. So to some extent, this [tour] is
something that I decided to do to take time out and
release some of that.''
It's just three dates: Friday at Harborlights; the
next day at Woodstock, N.Y.; and Sunday a benefit in
Chicago for a children's orphanage, Maryville Academy.
(He will also appear on ``Late Night with David
Letterman'' Thursday.)
``In the last couple of years,'' the 53-year-old
Townshend continues, ``I've done a whole series of
solo performances which have been experimental and
small. I think Danny Socolof, who's involved in the
Woodstock show, saw me up in New York's Supper Club
[playing a small show], and I think that's the kind of
place that I occupy. That's the kind of performance
that I'm doing. I work very much in my own private
little place. But suddenly it [the music] seems to be
empowered, and I think empowered partly by the fact
that as I write about my childhood, as I write about
my years at art school, some of which involves going
and talking to the people that taught me, and talking
to people that I grew up with, finding that actually I
was very, very smart. . . . I'm at a different stage
in my life. I'm older, and I'm upright in a different
way, and I think I've been surprised at just how
excited I've actually found the whole business of
coming back to my own work and to writing.
``What I'm doing at the moment is . . . everything
that I want to do. I mean, it's the most extraordinary
time in my life. I really feel like I'm in the middle
of my life, and very much at the center of it.''
Which brings us to the day of atonement. The
Woodstock Music and Arts Festival is remembered as the
apotheosis of the hippie era: peace, love, and
left-wing politics all bound together in one muddy,
huggy package. Townshend, more skeptical and cynical,
whacked Hoffman off the the stage. His stage.
``I think I've always been extremely angry about
Woodstock,'' says Townshend. ``I've been kind of quite
bitchy and sneering. And I think it's time that I grew
up.''
Issue a mea culpa?
``Oh, yeah.''
But wasn't a young Townshend ticked off for pretty
good reasons?
``Well, that's OK [to say],'' suggests Townshend,
``but you know what then happens is the years pass and
I failed to acknowledge that because I was the
dissenting voice, and there were 1 million people
there, and one of them had a rotten time, that's been
the voice that has been heard loudest. And I think
where I am today, I look back and I think that I
learned something vital, and I experienced something
vital, and my career took a vital turn there. And the
Who's career took a vital turn there. It's a good time
for me to go and stand on that lawn again.''
What will happen?
``Well, there will certainly be an Aristotelian
debate which I may conduct on the stage if anybody's
prepared to put up with it. I think it would be
worthwhile, wouldn't it? Talking about what happened
at the time. It wasn't just that I argued with Abbie
Hoffman. I also argued with Mike Wadleigh, who was the
director of the movie. Despite the fact that I kicked
him in the head, he went on to cut a very exciting and
dynamic piece of footage. I don't think I was wrong
particularly. I think it would be wrong for me to say
I was wrong. I'm not trying to reverse what it was
that I said, or take back what I said. What has
happened for me is I look back and I think actually
Woodstock was not the beginning or the end of a dream.
I mean I found myself kind of thinking and talking
about [the fact] that Woodstock was kind of an end of
an era. But I don't think that that's right. Given
enough distance, it was a moment when we all, and by
this I mean the English performers but mainly the
American performers and the American audience,
realized that it was OK to be who they were. It was OK
to be Americans. It was OK to be young Americans, that
there were 1 million of us, and we weren't even trying
and there were 1 million of us. It was unnecessary to
shout and scream and stamp our feet. We were in
control.
``I wish that I had not handled it as I did. When I
look back at [Hoffman's] life, I feel sorry for him.
It's a strange feeling to have for such a kind of
spunky, crazy, dynamic kind of guy, but you know he
faded with, what's the word, with his obsolescence of
that whole mood, the function of that kind of
revolutionary instrument the Chicago group was
supposed to represent. We had that [movement] in the
UK too. But when we realized, after Woodstock, all of
us, that we didn't need revolution because if there
was going to be any revolution, we would only
overthrow ourselves. We were in our early 20s. Some of
us were in our late 20s. We were already running the
[expletive] country, or we were well on the way.''
Here is the attitude Townshend hopes to bring with
him to America. ``I feel immensely potent. I think
it's coming from a certain sense of certainty,'' he
says. ``That I have a right to be who I am. And I mean
I know that sounds . . . obvious, but for an artist
this is an extraordinary thing to feel, because a
necessary qualification for an artist is to have a
huge ego, and absolutely no self-esteem. And I think
what you actually do is inject into that melange of
confusion a sense of certainty about any attributes
that you have; they become barbed and superpowerful.
And I think that I've got a great trust of, not just
my performing and musical ability, but my
understanding of my craft.''
Here's what Townshend won't bring to the stage in
the coming week: a drummer and a bassist. Townshend
was inspired by seeing new pal Bob Mould (Husker Du,
Sugar) play dynamic solo shows.
``What I got from this was complete freedom,''
Townshend says. ``The freedom to, as an artist, play
wherever I like, whenever I like. And for there to be
no vanity involved -- in other words, I wouldn't lose
money. When I went out with a tour like
`Psychoderelict' and I got sponsorship and Tommy
Hilfiger gave me a couple of hundred thousand dollars,
but I still lost $400,000, I came back and I thought,
we had a lot of fun, but the price was too high. I
don't want to feel like I'm paying people to come and
see me play. So, I'm trying to adjust the way that I
perform to the scale of the audience that I can reach
these days, to the numbers of people that not only
want to come and see me but that I can reach.''
Townshend will play selections from various phases
of the Who's history and his own solo career. He says
he has no plans to emphasize or de-emphasize hits. He
does suggest ``Won't Get Fooled Again'' should sound
quite sprightly with a jew's-harp replacing the
synthesizer lines.
He'll be joined by keyboardist-guitarist-singer Jon
Carin (a former touring musician with Pink Floyd),
Boston-area native Jody Linscott on percussion,
bassist Sherman Sean, harmonica player Peter
Hope-Evans, and singer-guitarist Tracey Langran.
As to Townshend? Well, the old hearing-impaired
gent who shunned electric guitar during most of the
``Quadrophenia'' show will pick up the electric ax
here. ``I've actually found a new, quite small Fender
amplifier that they discontinued for a while. It's got
kind of an old-fashioned mismatched sound, but that's
working very well for me onstage. It's not too loud,
and it I play a fair bit.''
Townshend, of course, is aware of how rock careers
tend to flatten out creatively as the aging process
takes its toll. ``I see it in my peers, and, of
course, I've experieced it as well,'' he says. ``It's
not so much just that one's creativity perhaps levels
off -- maybe that's not what happens. I think what
happens if that we lose sight of the magical chemistry
of serving the masses. And I think, God, how did that
happen? Simply, I suppose, because of music moving to
stadiums. Because the people there were denied the
`collective unconsciousness' that happens in the
performance of any art.
``I think that if the person on the stage is
living in any kind of fantastical bubble, there's a
problem, too. In other words, if they're surrounded
with enough yes men, they end up in kind of Michael
Jackson-land.''
What, then, is the pop artist's role?
``They're meant to be the bunch of flowers that's
on the table for today until you replace them with new
ones,'' says Townshend. ``In pop we don't ask much,
but what we do ask is that we are served, in the
passing moment, we are served by the music and the
artists that we hear. In the world of pop, what we
want is solace and we want it now; we want cheer and
we want it now; we want self-forgetfulness and we want
it now.''
Who is Pete Townshend? ``I'm a generic celebrity.
It's like I bring myself and my history to the stage.
So what's interesting now about going to Woodstock is
that I'm grasping all that stuff head-on. And I've
mismanaged it terribly in the past.''
Now, of course, he gets another shot.

%BC%
 
Pete Townshend on. . .

The fate of the Who: ``The only thing that would
draw me back into the revival of the Who brand name
would be that there is something musical, a dramatic
platform, from which we can jump off today. [It
wouldn't work if] the familiarity undermined the new
ideas all the time, the familiarity of the
partnership, and the sentimentality and nostalgia that
accompany the reunion; it would tend to overweigh and
melt down any new ideas. . . .
``It's convenient for Roger to pretend [that not
assembling the Who] is about me blocking him. That
this is about me holding the reins and refusing to
whip the horse, but actually it's much more about his
capabilities and his choices, and his limitations as
an artist. If he refuses to look at anything to do
with theater stage, in a way it's kind of nonsense. I
think we, the Who, began very much in those early days
as a band who approached rock 'n' roll in a very
theatrical way. We actually use the stage as a
stomping-ground way of reflecting and engaging the
audience, and we're unashamed about using any kinds of
tricks or fables that might help that communication. I
think maybe to pretend that rock 'n' roll itself is
just so powerful and magical that it can work miracles
is just wrong.
``We could go out and we would kill people. It
would be absolutely astounding. But when it's just,
when the three of us [Townshend, Daltrey, bassist John
Entwistle] gather, one becomes aware of what is not,
rather than what is. One becomes aware of what was
rather than what will happen next.''
How songs' meanings evolve: ``What I actually bring
to songs now, as a performer, is exactly what I
brought to them when I was younger. I wrote them to
serve the audience of the day, and if there is anybody
out there that still kind of relates to that piece of
work on the basis of when it was first commissioned,
then fine. But, as a performer, I perform it without
any sense of propriety. I don't believe it's mine. I
mean, as a musician I might take certain liberties
with it. But now I think what's wonderful is having a
few songs that have this anger, that have this edge,
that have this automatic sense of
don't-go-near-him-when-he's-playing-that and I can,
dynamically speaking, in my performances, go very,
very much in the other direction and get away with
it.''