The Who
Hollywood Bowl
Hollywood, CA
Nov. 6, 2006
By Cameron Dye
(SugarBuzz Hollywood)
Photos From The Web (Not From This Show)
For nearly thirty years I’ve put off seeing The Who again, either out of circumstance or just sheer disbelief that any performance could rival that of the original band that I saw back in ’76 at San Francisco’s Winterland.
The spirit of the band was always one of excess, maximum volume, downright hooliganism , a jaw dropping combination of acrobatics and pyrotechnics on stage, and a fashion statement that was both tough and pretty.
After Keith Moon’s unfortunate (if not likely) passing, Kenny Jones (a Small Face) had the impossible task of replacing one of the most outrageous personalities ever in rock n’ roll. As well as filling the shoes worn by a maniacal double-kick drummer.
This lineup toured successfully, on and off through the eighties. The nineties saw the original three members touring with capable (and star-studded) backup as they ambitiously performed their classics, not to mention Tommy and Quadrophenia.
Their last time through here had the original Who down to two. John Entwhistle joining Keith Moon in Rock and Roll Heaven just two days before their show at The Bowl in 2002. I understand Pete and Roger took the stage that night like their lives depended on it. And rightly so.
Now they were bringing one of the most tried and true rock shows back to my neighborhood (The Bowl again) and promoting a new record, their first offering of new material in 24 years. I was curious.
Before anyone knew what hit them, a succession of power pop images open the show. The band surrounds itself with some brilliant retro film footage for “Can’t Explain” (the traditional starter), “The Seeker,” and “Substitute” while unleashing all the excitability of four or five generations of teenagers.
“Behind Blue Eyes” and “Who Are You” (Why are the playing the CSI theme?) collectively raise the fist of all the FM warriors in attendance. A familiar homily to their creators. The crowd responds warmly to the new songs, evenly distributed throughout the night. “Mike Post Theme,” is Townsend’s homage to TV theme songs.
“Black Widow’s Eyes” describes a scenario in which a man (or is it a woman?) falls in love with their kidnapper. No surprise that this comes to us from the same man known for penning a rock opera about an abused deaf, dumb, and blind boy who is eventually regarded as a messiah by way of becoming a pinball champion.
“We Got A Hit” and “Mirror Door” both celebrate the power of music while counting all of the cuts and bruises that go into creating it.
Pino Palladino, who assumed his position in the band just days after John Entwhistle’s death, plays a very credible Thunderbird bass and Simon Townsend capably handles John’s harmonies while backing his big brother Pete on guitar.
Longtime keyboard companion, John “Rabbit” Bundrick, is at his wife’s bedside tonight but is given brilliant emergency relief by his keyboard tech (whose name we didn’t catch but I’m thinking he should hook up with that drummer who filled in for Keith Moon when he passed out at The Cow Palace).
Zak Starkey has played with The Who (as well as Oasis) long enough to be considered their logical drummer of choice. There’s a little resemblance to his famous drummer dad (from another British Invasion band) and he ably attacks those parts assailed by Moon throughout most of the band’s recording career (and keeps time doing so!).
And then there’s Roger Daltry and Pete Townsend, the familiar faces, the beauty and the brains. Like the Beatles had John and Paul and Stones got Mick and Keith. On this night the faces are still familiar: the eyes of one, the nose of the other. The hair’s shorter or thinner. But the sheer presence of these two men who, collectively, put the balls down the pants of many a rock front man and the wind in the windmill practiced by generations of power chording guitarists and air guitarists!
Roger’s voice may crackle on occasion but when it really counts, he can still bellow across the Atlantic and Pete unflinchingly plays any guitar he picks up with a beautiful vengeance (even though no instruments were harmed during this performance).
Between songs, Pete announces that tonight’s show is dedicated to Keith’s daughter, Mandi Moon, who recently lost her mother, Kim, “not to any sort of Who family rock n’ roll excess,” as he points out, “but to a fucking truck driver!” Our good thoughts go out to Mandi and her stepdad, Ian McLagan.
The classics are marched out. “Baba O’Reilly” sounds as good ever. ( I love Townsend’s wry comment about the Hollywood crowd knowing what its like to be “working the fields for their living.” ) They still bang out “My Generation” in a way that defies anyone to scoff at their maturity.
“Won’t Get Fooled Again,” their anthem to anyone who’s ever felt had by the powers that be, finishes off the set and reminds us all just how much “history ain’t changed.” They return and deliver a Tommy set that sees Daltry hurling the mike like a lasso and Townsend leaping about the stage with a similar defiant wonder as when they first performed this piece that has come to define the credibility and staying power of rock music as an art form.
Our two survivors close with “Tea &Theatre,” a beautiful new ballad sung by Roger and picked on acoustic guitar by Pete. I get kind of sad as I see just the two of them take the final bow. But tonight there is no threat that the spirit of The Who will ever die or get old. And on this particular night as they leave the stage, I can almost swear I hear a little thunder from above . . .