Dallas Observer on upcoming show

["Brian Cady" <cadyb@home.com>]

Available on line at:
http://www.dallasobserver.com/issues/2000-08-24/preview.html

Preview
The Who
By Robert Wilonsky

The Who said good-bye in 1983, then again in 1989 with a stadium concert
that barely escaped tarnishing the legend for good. There was Pete on the
Cotton Bowl stage with his hand plastered and bandaged after having impaled
himself on his guitar's whammy bar; most of the time he played acoustic
anyway, the electric proving too painful for his near-deaf and
tinnitus-impaired ears. There was Roger with his golden mane and fine-toned
frame throwing his microphone into the air one more time, catching it as
well he should after decades of practice. There was John thumping and
plucking and teasing his instrument as he had for so many unappreciated
years as Rock and Roll's Best Bassist, the silent and brilliant Ox still
content to take a back seat to the bully boys who every now and then set
aside their differences for a few extra mil on the farewell circuit. And
there were the dozens of extra musicians fleshing out the former
quartet--two drummers to fill in for Keith Moon, all those goddamned horns
and backup singers and other needless hacks turning what was once the
world's greatest rock and roll band into the Late Show with David Letterman
band. It's the New Who Revue, coming right at you.Good-bye, farewell, good
riddance--even if the 1989 version of The Who seemed more lifelike than the
dreary It's Hard (to listen to, that is) version that hit the road facedown
in 1983; if the '83 show was a funeral, in '89 it was more like a wake. Then
came Tommy the Musical in London, New York, a dinner playhouse near you;
Pete Townshend managed to turn The Who's worst album--an indecipherable
parable about teen alienation, Townshend's pretentious attempt to bring rock
to the "respectable" audiences -- into a smash stage production, no better
than Cats and no less difficult to follow, even if it did win him a Tony
before a Grammy (still lacking one of those). Townshend's recording output
post-Who amounted to a bunch of concept albums whose sole concept was that
they suck (I defy you to find one die-hard Who fan who owns copies of both
Iron Man and Psychoderelict), so he cashed in and sold out like the real pro
he always threatened to become. Now, Pete's even got his own Web site, where
he's selling bootleg boxed sets and books he got out of the warehouse; the
man knows how to unload the past, 60 bucks at a time. And last we saw of
Roger, he was on the Bronco Bowl stage singing with a second-rate symphony,
turning into a parody in front of the faithful dozens who felt embarrassed.

Since the farewell tours didn't take, here's the latest hello tour: Four
years after the band toured Quadrophenia in the arenas, sounding better than
they had since planting Keith Moon in the ground, the band once more rolls
through town, promoting an Internet-only live album (the double-disc The
Blues to the Bush, available through musicmaker.com) and promising another
studio album if they can come up with material worthy of inclusion (given
the last 20 years, chances are their standards have slipped low enough to
find room for just about anything when they begin recording at Entwistle's
house next year). The live album's dud enough to lower
expectations--Daltrey, for the first time on disc, sounds like a man
fighting middle age--but canny enough to excite the die-hards about the
opportunity to hear the golden oldies one more time. The current
tour--featuring a stripped-down lineup for the first time in decades,
meaning it's just Daltrey and Townshend and Entwistle and drummer Zak "Son
of Ringo" Starkey and longtime keyboardist John "Rabbit" Bundrick--features
a set list that dates back to the long-ago days when Mod was mod: "I Can't
Explain," "Substitute," "Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere," "The Kids Are Alright,"
and, no duh, "My Generation." Never mind the obvious punch line (apparently,
they now hope they die before they get really old), because there's little
that can dissuade the nostalgia rapist deep inside anyone raised on
classic-rock radio that hearing old men play old songs will be anything
other than thrilling.

When Reunion Arena's corners and crannies fill up with the rumbles of "Baba
O'Riley" or "Won't Get Fooled Again" or "The Real Me" (maybe the best of all
Who songs), it will be hard to pretend these are just vestigial echoes. The
albums will live forever (OK, some will live longer than most), but a
concert, even one performed by graying foxes picking your pocket for
$75-$150 seats, is where rock and roll like The Who's becomes visceral,
tangible, even a little messy. It may never sound like Live at Leeds
again--a hurricane rumbling through your bedroom--but that was a long time
ago. The new Who's not the same as the old Who, but it's still The Who
nonetheless, which counts for something. Actually, about the time they get
to "5:15" or some deep cut (recent shows have included the British-only
single "I Don't Know Myself"), it may count for everything.

By Robert Wilonsky
©2000 New Times, Inc. All rights reserved

        -Brian in Atlanta
         The Who This Month!
        http://members.home.net/cadyb/who.htm