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Very long Hyde Park comment
- Subject: Very long Hyde Park comment
- Date: Thu, 4 Jul 1996 06:59:12 +0200
Hello Whosters,
this is my official Hyde Park report. Since the whole weekend in London meant
more to me than just the Quadrophenia show, and since there were quite a few
further Who-related moments before and after the concert, I will not at all
restrict myself to simply reviewing Quad in every detail. I will rather tell
you the whole story of my observations, impressions, thoughts, and feelings.
Of course, this is going to be a lengthy, very personal, and very introspective
thing, but I think that it is worth the effort to write (and to read) it.
After all, Jimmy's report (aka Quad) is also a lengthy, very personal, and very
introspective thing, but we like it nevertheless.
If you don't have enough time to read all of this, or if you are getting bored
at some point, shaking your head about my actions and my view of life, don't
complain but simply skip the sections you don't like, or just don't read this
report at all. Remember: The fact that you subscribe to this list doesn't
give you the right to determine the style of other people's postings, it only
provides you with the possibility to read what other people want to write about
The Who and related topics. I want to write this report in exactly this
introspective style because this helps me most to preserve my recollections of
a wonderful weekend. And I want to prompt the other listers who were at Hyde
Park to discuss the details of the show, this way further sharpening my
recollections. As long as we don't have a broadcast or a video of the show,
this list will be one of the only possibilities to transmit the feeling and the
atmosphere of Hyde Park '96.
All judgements mentioned below are of course only IMHO. Feel free to disagree.
As for the facts, I have made notes throughout the whole weekend except for the
Quad show itself (you might understand why). Further sources of this report
are the official concert programme, the Daily and the Sunday Telegraph, and the
snippets of reviews that already made it to the list. I try to report
everything as close to the truth as possible, and I apologize if I nevertheless
make some mistakes. Certainly I would be very grateful for every single
correction. As usual, I will also commit quite a lot of linguistic mistakes,
but I hope that they won't be too distracting for the many native English
speakers here on the list.
Alright, here we go.
---
The first time I heard an announcement of the Quad show was around April 1 here
on this list. I could hardly believe it, but time showed that the rumour was
right. There was no doubt for me that I had to be there at all costs,
considering that this might be the first and only time in my life that I would
be able to see The Who - or, more precisely, to experience Roger, John, and
Pete together at an important concert. That they wanted to present their
masterpiece Quadrophenia to the world was a further incentive, for only very
few things in my life had ever touched me like the studio version of this great
rock opera.
It was soon clear to me that I would only be able to be in London between 28
June and 30 June, since I won't get any holidays during university term. This
rendered the date of the Hyde Park show into a magical one for me: It had been
on 28 June 1986, ten years ago, that I had had my first rendezvous with my wife
during an 11th grade excursion to Berlin. Exactly nine years later, on 28 June
1995, she had left me, and she hadn't really answered to any of the many
letters and e-mails I had sent to her thereafter. Since I still loved her, I
decided to try a crazy thing: inviting her to a weekend in London and a show of
her favourite band... I hoped that the date would remind her of some pleasant
moments in the past, and that she would be able to swallow her pride and to
discuss our future with me instead: Should we continue to live separately?
And, if yes, what should be our aim? Divorce? Or becoming wise on our own and
finally getting back together again?
Thus, when tickets went on sale, I ordered three of them: One for me, one for
my wife, and one for my brother who wanted to see the show independently of the
trouble I was going to have with my wife. Upon receiving them about three
weeks before the show, I immediately booked flights for my wife and me between
Munich and London, and I sent her both her Hyde Park ticket and her flight
tickets together with some clumsy invitation. A little more than a week later,
my wife sent all the tickets back without any comment. I wrote her a lengthy
letter, teasing her for her cowardly behaviour, and enclosed the flight tickets
again, together with the comment that I wouldn't care whether she threw them
away, exchanged them for money, or actually used them. However, I kept her
Hyde Park ticket. As I expected, she didn't react at all to my letter.
---
Meanwhile, I sent the third ticket to my brother. Since he was about to take
another flight than me, we agreed that we would meet at the official meeting of
the Who list at Hyde Park after the show, and that I would try to spot him in
the crowd before the show. This shouldn't be completely impossible since he is
giant of 6' 6'' height.
I was not very well-prepared for my journey to London, especially since I was
still uncertain whether my wife would accompagny me or not. I had not even
reserved a hotel room, but I was confident to find either a double or a single
room. The only thing I felt uncomfortable about was that I would have to take
a plane from Munich (where my wife lives) instead of Nuremberg (which is much
closer to the place where I life) even if I would be on my own.
Since I had to leave on early Friday afternoon, I worked only in the morning,
went home, packed my leather bag and was just about to leave for the railway
station, when the telephone rang. It was 12:43 p.m. (German daylight saving
time, gmt+2), and my train was scheduled for 1:22. I hesitated for a moment
and considered not answering the call at all, but since it could have been my
wife, I went back. It was my boss. He announced that he would not be in
office the week thereafter, and he tried to exactly schedule my work for that
period of time. I think I said yes several times too often, but then, when he
continued to talk, I interrupted him and kindly reminded him that I had to
hurry to the station in order to catch my plane to London. We said good-bye,
and I ran off. Well, I should have taken a taxi, but since I usually like to
walk the mile to the station, I didn't think of that possibility at all. I
arrived at 1:20, hardly having time to buy a return ticket to Munich before
jumping on the train that was just about to leave.
---
Surprisingly, the fastest way to get from Bayreuth to Munich Airport by train
requires you to take slow trains through the province. At first, it was a
pleasant and cosy ride through the landscape. I leant back and thought of the
things to come. I hadn't told my boss why I wanted to go to London. He must
have been thinking that I wanted to see the football match in Wembley Stadium
on Sunday. The German team had just won the semi-final match of the European
Championship against England on Wednesday, and was now about to play against
the Czech team on Sunday evening. Well, I am not really a sports fan, and I
rather like to watch athletics than football if watching sports at all, but I
certainly would have tried to get a ticket for the final just for fun if only
it had been possible to return to Bayreuth after the match before Monday
morning. But this way, I didn't care about football at all. The Who are way
more important, and I didn't want to get distracted from Quadrophenia...
When I changed the train for the second time, I got on a very crowded one.
School holidays in Saxonia had just begun, and lots of Saxonians were heading
for holiday in Bavaria or for Munich Airport. I wondered why they didn't take
planes from one of the Berlin airports which should be closer to Saxonia than
Munich... Well, not my problem. I pulled the sheet containing the
descriptions of Who listers I was about to meet at Hyde Park out of my bag and
tried to memorize them. Although there were only seven descriptions (plus
mine) on that list, learning them by heart was pretty difficult: It is easier
to describe a person you know than to recognize someone from just a few lines
of self-description.
---
I arrived at the airport on 4:55 p.m., bought some books, checked in, and had
enough time to watch most of the passengers of my flight. My wife didn't seem
to be among them. We got on the plane in time at 6:00 p.m., but take-off
clearance was denied because some passenger had checked in and hadn't boarded
the plane yet. My wife? Who knows. After several boring minutes, the problem
was solved somehow and we took off. I grabbed my Quadrophenia booklet from my
hand luggage and studied it once again. I was very hungry, but the Lufthansa
airline granted us passengers only two small sandwiches for this short-distance
flight.
As a victim of hay fever, I was very busy to blow my nose carefully in order to
avoid pain from a lack of pressure compensation in my head during landing.
The weather had been a little cloudy near Munich already, but when we were
heading for Heathrow London Airport, it got more and more cloudy. Our plane
dived into a see of clouds, looking from above just like a huge alpine
landscape covered with snow. We sank deeper and deeper, but there were still
clouds and more clouds and thicker clouds around us - I couldn't see further
than a couple of yards through the window, and I was very grateful for modern
radar systems. My ears already indicated that we were very close to the ground
when suddenly the view became better - hazy weather at Heathrow, a layer of
clouds in the sky looking suspiciously like willing to grant us a rainy
weekend. English weather. I feared the worst for the concert. Three minutes
later, we landed, exactly in time. 7:00 p.m. (English daylight saving time,
gmt+1).
---
I got my bag at the baggage reclaim, sat down, and waited till every passenger
of my flight seemed to have fetched his or her luggage. I didn't see my wife.
No matter whether she had stayed at home or was hiding here - I didn't care
about her any longer. I went out and prepared for a weekend on my own,
celebrating love, loneliness, music, Quadrophenia, and The Who. I felt much
better than before...
---
I joined a short queue waiting in front of a noble hotel reservation booth, and
I watched how two German football fans appalled as they got ripped off for a
double room for three nights in the city. They took the room nevertheless, for
it was evident to everybody that finding accomodation on a summer weekend with
two major events would be difficult even in a huge city like London. When it
was my turn, I asked for a single room as close to Hyde Park as possible. Boy,
that was a great feeling - the first time in my life that I talked to a native
English speaker. (I had started learning English almost 17 years before. -
Well, I already had made the experience to speak Italian in Italy, but this
hadn't been the same thing since I had started learning that language a few
weeks before my business trip to Italy. English, however, had always been a
written language to me, a language spoken by others, or a means of
communication with non-native English speaking foreigners...) And the amazing
thing was: the clerk understood me at once. However, I wasn't very pleased
with her answer: The very expensive room she recommended was nearly in
Holborn, and that couldn't be the closest available accomodation for concert-
- -goers.
I left her and found another hotel reservation booth near the underground
station. This one was free of charge, and still they were doing a way better
job. The room I got was almost as expensive as the one mentioned above, but
the hotel was situated near Oxford Circus - close enough to the Park to make me
happy. I took it at once. The clerk somehow figured out that I was a
foreigner, but she couldn't tell from my accent where I came from. Some pride
filled my heart: Great, I don't have an easily to distinguish German accent.
After checking my identity card she asked me about football, and she was very
surprised to hear that I probably was the only German in London who wouldn't go
and see the match.
---
Ah, London Underground. I took the tube to get to my hotel. The trains looked
very old from the outside, but they were more than comfortable inside, provided
one was able to get a seat. An interesting mixture of people surrounded me. I
caught up conversations in both Queen's English and Cockney, and I tried to
work out a compromise of both in my head, just to hide my German identity even
more. Many other languages were spoken by people who obviously looked like
tourists - I followed some conversations in Dutch, French, German, and Italian,
and I felt sorry that there were still some languages in the world that I
didn't understand. I was surprised at the many immigrants (or descendants of
such) in London. I compared the situation with the foreigners in Germany, and
I easily saw why integration was much less a problem in England: They have
immigration laws in Britain, and they don't have a language barrier. After all,
where do you speak German outside of Central Europe?
---
The welcome at the hotel was a hearty one. It seemed to be no problem for
long-haired young men with decent clothes to be accepted in fine London houses.
Still I felt a little uncomfortable because I hadn't shaved for several days,
but no one cared. The moment they recognized that I was German was when I paid
cash - well, it's hard to get rid of national habits like that, especially if
one doesn't even own a credit card.
But they were generous and gave me something similar to a credit card. It was
supposed to be the key to my room. Never saw anything like that before. Well,
I went upstairs, carefully inserted the `key' in the lock, took it back, waited
for the green light to appear, and turned the knob. Nothing happened. I tried
again, and again, and again, I tried harder, made a lot of noise while rattling
the lock and bashing at the door, but I continued to fail. Come on, I am
a modern guy, I know almost everything about computers, so why should I fail to
open that damned door? After a few more trials, the door finally sprang open
for no apparent reason, and I stepped in, angry and confused.
The room was a nice one, illuminated by the last lights of dusk. But I didn't
want to stay here for more than a few minutes. I still had to celebrate
something this Friday, and I wanted to go for a little walk and have a nice
dinner somewhere. Two sandwiches on the plane weren't very much since I had
failed to have lunch at noon.
---
Oxford Street. I slowly walked to the East, gathering some impressions from
the many shop-windows around me. Nearly all shops were already closed. Lots
of voices around me, among them some German ones. Nice feeling to see every
once in a while some London girls turn their head to have a closer look at me.
Maybe my appearance can even compete with the very high London standards.
Probably life could become quite exciting and interesting if I gave up the wish
to get my wife back again. But not on this Friday night, not on this very
evening of an anniversary. For the very moment, I decided to live more in the
past than in the present.
London traffic. Less German cars in the street than in any other non-German
city I had visited before. Well, Britain has a great car industry of its own.
The few German cars I saw were always large ones: Mercedes and BMW. But maybe
this wasn't typical for London but just for the inner city of Westminster. Ah,
and then the traffic on the left side of the street. It took me a while to get
used to it, and I was very grateful for these `Look left' and `Look right'
signs at the pedestrian crossings - without them, I would often have looked to
the wrong direction and certainly would have been run over by some non-German
car...
I took the Northern Line to the Victoria Embankments and enjoyed a walk along
the River Thames. Rivers will always be to me what the sea is to Jimmy:
Places to collect my thoughts and places to lose them if necessary. Places
where life becomes less important than feelings. Born near a river of the size
of London's Themes, raised a little further downstream, and now living near the
source of still the same river, seeing water flow has become kind of an
addiction. Even more since the river I live upon is still a creek at Bayreuth.
Waterloo Bridge, Cleopatra's Needle (an Egyptian obelisk), Big Ben, the Houses
of Parliament, Westminster Bridge (covered with roadworks at the moment). Lots
of anchored ships with bars and restaurants inbetween. Cloudy sky, but still
warm enough to walk around with trousers and a short shirt. Water, flowing
water. `I Am The Sea' comes to my mind. Is it me for a moment?
Happy looking couples embraced or walked hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm on the
embankment. I didn't mind. The girl I used to love...doesn't want to know me
now. And still she's my wife.
It got late, and my hunger grew unbearable. I took the tube back to Oxford
Circus and found a nice Italian restaurant near my hotel, just like ten years
ago. I stepped in and sat down at some table with a pleasant view of the empty
streets. Little business in the restaurant. `Isn't it a little late for
eating now? Would you mind to rather take some food with you?' What? It was
only 11:40 p.m. Late? Where were we? In Central London or in some unknown
rural village? Alright, I admit that I compared London with Berlin where it is
never to late for eating (but often too late for shopping). That wasn't fair,
but still I insisted to get a nice menu, mentioning the `open' sign at the door
(which they turned at once), and they began to serve at midnight, when I
already was the only guest. Strange way to celebrate an anniversary, but I
enjoyed it...
---
I was very tired when I returned to my hotel, and I had already forgotten about
the key. But still, the problem was the same: The door didn't open. Well,
actually it was worse because making noise after midnight isn't the most
pleasant thing to do in an hotel. A hotel servant came after a while, but he
didn't care about me at all, putting bed linen in some small room next door
instead. Two trials later, I asked him for help, and I was relieved when I saw
him fail, too, even as he tried his `mastercard'. He got desperate, made even
more noise than me, and after five more minutes the door really opened. He
promised to have the lock repaired the next day while I staggered into my room.
---
I decided to get up early on Saturday, hoping to find some nice CDs in Soho
record stores before the show. While I was setting my alarm-clock, it began to
rain outside. Not really a heavy rain, but a continous one. Nice prospects
for the concert. I tried to close the window, but I failed - it stuck. After
my experiences with the door, I wasn't keen on wasting several minutes on yet
another malfunctioning mechanism, so I just went to bed. I looked around once
again. Well, telephone and satellite television were there, but something was
missing: A computer with internet connection. Time to upgrade hotel
standards. I really would have liked to frighten the Who list a little with
some comments on the weather.
---
As I woke up on Saturday, I noticed two things: It was late, and I had a
little cold. A cool breeze crept in through the open window, and a cloudy sky
greeted me from the outside. I vaguely remembered some night scene where I had
been begging myself for mercy, finally giving in, standing up and turning the
alarm-clock off. There I had it. It wasn't too late for breakfast - 8:40 a.m.
- - but obviously too late for realizing ambitious morning plans.
A look in the mirror convinced me that my three days' beard didn't look very
cute on the fourth day, so I decided to waste even more time by shaving.
Fortunately the shower didn't operate based on any complicated credit card
system, such that I was able to wash my hair without any help from the hotel
staff. Just to make sure that I wouldn't need any help right after breakfast,
I put my alarm clock between the door of my room and its frame, this way
preventing the lock from getting shut and putting the clock at least somehow
to use.
I felt fine again when I entered the breakfast hall, and that little sniffle
didn't really disturb me. The only thing I was worried about was that the
clothes I wore (and had to wear for being recognized by the fellow Who listers)
were way too thin for a cool day like this. Most likely, I would get a real
cold in Hyde Park...
My hotel reservation had planned continental breakfast for me. I took some
rolls and croissants from the buffet, and I got an excellent English tea.
Still the whole thing seemed very silly to me. Why should I go to England just
to have continental breakfast like at home? I would rather have liked to eat
that tasty-looking English breakfast half of the guests in the hall had
ordered...
---
When I left the hotel, it was already 10:40 a.m. I just told the clerk at the
reception that they could start working on the lock of my room's door,
mentioning that I had tried to ease their task with a little help from my
alarm-clock
It was still cool outside, and I shivered a little under my T-shirt. I had
just enough time for a short walk through Soho before I would head for Hyde
Park. I found a lot of neat little record stores and regretted not to have
time to enter them, but after all it was perhaps better to have slept late and
gathered some energy for the show than to have got up early and grabbed every
interesting CD out there. I passed through some markets and heared one
merchant's portable radio playing `Pinball Wizard' at full blast. Ah, couldn't
that become a great day? Without having studied any map before, I reached
Picadilly Circus without problems and took the Underground to Hyde Park Corner.
The train was completely overcrowded. I stood near the exit close to some
Germans boys discussing football. An elderly black interfered in their
conversation, speaking almost perfectly German, and introduced himself as a
football fan from Namibia who was in London to support the German team. He
left the tube together with me at Hyde Park, and I started to exchange some
words about Germany and Namibia with him. It was nice to see that German
colonists obviously had brought some joy to Africa. London Underground and the
people I met there continued to surprise me.
---
I identified the song I had been humming since I left the hotel as `Naked Eye'.
Strange, I had not idea what could have inspired me to choose this one for my
way to my first (and probably only) Who concert in my life. Anyway, after I
had said good-bye to the kind Namibian, I even began to sing it while I headed
for the public conveniences. When I left them, I didn't sing or hum anymore,
I had just one single plan in my mind: Getting as close to the stage as
possible. I wanted to clearly see at least one pair of blue eyes...
I passed a lot of scalpers who buyed and sold tickets, but since there were so
many of them around I decided that keeping my wife's ticket as a souvenir
wouldn't be unfair to other music fans.
I entered the Park at about 11:35 a.m., and I immediately headed for the
concert grounds in the north-eastern part. A lot of people were walking in the
same direction, but all of them seemed to be very calm and relaxed. Well, most
of those who wanted to get up to the front were certainly already at the gates.
Recollections came to my mind. Who lister Shannon Dell had written in private
e-mail
> I plan on getting in line on Friday to get in so I can be real close to the
> stage Saturday.
to which I had responded
> I wish you good luck with getting a good place. I won't go to Hyde Park
> before about 11:30 a.m. I think that there will be enough time and
> opportunity to work my way up to the front during the `opening acts'.
Would this hope of mine become true?
---
As I approached the entrances, I saw a large crowd already being there, waiting
for the gates to open at noon. I headed for the right-most entrance for this
would be the one where the Who listers should meet after the show. As I
approached the crowd there, I spotted my brother standing in the very centre,
and amazingly, he also spotted me at once though I am only 6' 2.5''. I worked
my way up to him through the waiting fans, greeted him, and felt relieved. The
first step was done - I was among the first thousand of fans at this gate.
We chatted while waiting for the gates to open, and I shivered again - the
temperature seemed to go down even more. My brother showed me the official
grey Quadrophenia T-shirt he had already purchased: It had a coloured circular
version of the album's cover photo on the front, circumscripted with
QUADROPHENIA......QUADROPHENIA......QUADROPHENIA......QUADROPHENIA.......
in small gold print. The back side was headlined with QUADROPHENIA in large
black print, followed by a large red-blue-white target symbol mixed up with a
white radioactivity symbol and the black words THE WHO-> in the centre. Below,
from left to right, there were in large gold print the names ROGER JOHN PETE
and DALTREY ENTWISTLE TOWNSHEND. Centered at the bottom was in black print
WITH SPECIAL GUESTS, and in gold print again IN CONCERT. The left sleeve
contained a black-on-orange radioactivity symbol, headlined with HYDE PARK, and
labelled 29.06.96 underneath, both in black print. Great idea for a shirt,
though I didn't like the grey colour.
Some guys with a megaphone were lifted with a crane inside the concert ground
and announced the opening of the gates. People packed their bags and prepared
to get in line. Since all of the general admission gates were at the very back
of the ground, it would be a long run of more than 500 yards up to the front of
the stage. I seemed to be the only one without a bag or backpack. Well, I
didn't intend to eat or drink anything here, nor did I depend on recording.
The only things I needed were right in the pockets of my trouser: Two
handkerchiefs, my pocket watch, my purse, my `key', a pen, and three sheets of
paper, one of them containing the descriptions of the other listers around
here. (I didn't trust my memory.)
---
The gates opened, and we all had to pass a triple control: First ticket check,
security check, second ticket check. When I had passed the latter, I looked
back to my brother who was a few steps behind me, and then started to sprint
for the stage. Well, I used to be a very good runner back in my youth when I
had practised a lot of athletics, but now I am not very athletic anymore. But
still, technical superiority in sprinting and the lack of a backpack allowed me
to leave the greater part of my competitors behind, and since I hardly slowed
down when told to do so while passing through two consecutive loose rings of
security staff, I managed to occupy a rather satisfying place for me and my
brother for the very first part of the afternoon: About 35 yards from the stage,
right to centre position. I was glad that we were already in front of the
centre tower with the additional two video screens.
The stage was a huge and deep one, roofed and with a lot of static coloured
lightspots. To the left and right there were incredibly huge stacks of
speakers, surrounded on both sides with a metal ring that carried additional
lightworks.
Someone onstage ordered us to sit down and occupy as much space as possible,
but most of the runners had already done so. We sat down near some obviously
Dutch Who fans, one of them wearing the Quadrophenia shirt, another one
studying carefully The Who's part of the official programme. I regretted that
I hadn't had the opportunity to buy some merchandise products before the show,
but on the other hand I was happy to have nothing with me that could hamper me
on my way up to the front.
The pre-show started with some MasterCard advertisement on the video screens
and outtakes of Toto's album `Tambu' on the speakers. (They would play nearly
the whole album throughout the afternoon - I wonder why.) Several quite
tolerable music videos followed, surprisingly two of them from Robert Palmer.
There had to be some leading technician out there who wanted to show his taste
of music during the breaks...
Some Alanis Morissette fans, girls of fifteen, worked their way through the
rows of sitting people and found some very small unoccupied places close to me.
They unpacket eyeliners and headbands and other stuff and were busy on their
own. Alanis would surely admire their beauty...
The ground was cold, the weather very cool, so I lifted my back from the earth
and crawled a little up and down on hands and feet to get warm again, when we
got the first highlight of the show: the Calippo ice cream commercial featuring
My Generation. Stupid commercial with happy beach girls or something like
that, but great to sing `Talking 'bout my generation' together with lots of Who
fans around me. Well, we still seemed to be a minority up here in the front.
I spotted the back of another T-shirt somewhere in front of me, a white one,
headlined `The Who Live at Hyde Park', followed by a huge TKAA cover photo, and
containing the names of the other performers below. Looked great. I planned
to buy one of those after the show.
---
More commercials. Someone onstage asked the audience not to buy unauthorized
merchandise items. Commercials. Videos.
Then, finally, the official announcement of the concert: Some bloke welcomed
us and listed all the acts to perform. He forgot to mention Dylan on purpose,
just to correct himself after some muffled boos and to tell the world that Bob
Zimmerman was his all-time favourite artist. Well, shut up, idiot. Certain
people really shouldn't speak in public.
The signal from the stage to jump up. I did, and like everyone around me I
started using the space for running, ending up about 25 yards from the stage,
even more to the centre than to the right now. Looking back, I spotted my
brother way behind me...
---
A band of the Prince's Trust opened the concert: male front singer, two female
backup singers, two guitarists, bass, drums... They did two nice little songs
and convinced me musically, but gave a very bad and boring stage show. Well, I
shouldn't expect too much - surely it was the first time they had a large
audience, and for this they did a good job until their third song.
They announced it as `a tribute to Mr Tommy'. A cover of `Pinball Wizard'.
Not necessarily a bad idea at a concert like this - the crowd cheered. But
since the cover wasn't any good, they shouldn't have done it at all: The
acoustic guitarist skipped the melodic intro and started right with the high-
- -speed rhythmic part, whereas the electric guitar and the bass completely
failed when trying to imitate John's power bass. The vocals were at most
mediocre, and most of the audience (including myself) stopped singing along
with them after a few verses. Nah, this wasn't the reason why we were here.
Go home, boys and girls, get some more funds from the Trust, and rehearse a
little harder. Sure you are talented, but don't embarass yourselves by daring
too much...
---
They finished their set at about 1:20 p.m. Time for me to examine the stage a
little closer. The band had just played in front of some kind of a huge white
curtain of nearly 10' height which separated the very front part of the stage
from the rest. That curtain reminded me of a slighty transparent banner as
used by demonstrators, and it contained a lot of technical paintings. The most
important ones, from left to right, were a ladder, a door labelled `Keep out',
a window with some construction workers behind, a door labelled `Masters of
Music', a door labelled `Visitors', a `No guitar playing' road sign, a second
door labelled `Masters of Music', two telephone cells, a third door labelled
`Masters of Music', and a door labelled `Site Crew only'.
Some folks to my left were still sitting on the ground, conserving their
energies for the more exciting acts to come. They seemed to enjoy some
interesting discussion and moved a little closer together, this way giving me
the space to take another step towards the stage. A skinhead among them didn't
like that and tried to occupy that space again and to scare me off by simply
laying down on my feet. He expected to see some pain in my face when looking
up to me, but I felt fine - those high-quality German shoes I was wearing made
the whole thing only uncomfortable for him, not for me. Seeing his cute idea
fail let the skinhead become angry - my first enemy here in the audience...
A lot of MasterCard advertisement on the video screens, recorded music from the
speakers. Then, at exactly 1:30, the next act hit the stage, this time without
curtain.
---
Jools Holland - I thought I had heard that name before, but I didn't recall
what kind of music had been connected with it. He called his band a Rhythm &
Blues Orchestra, but what they produced rather sounded like modern jazz to me.
Jools on grand piano, supported by guitar, bass, drums, three saxophones, two
trombones and two trumpets.
I wasn't too excited about what they performed, but at least the excellent
instrumentation made me move a little with the rhythm and helped me to get warm
again. The piano work was amazing, and most of the crowd cheered all the time.
Jools must be very popular in England, even among pop and rock fans. He made
some family promotion when letting his brother Christopher play piano during
one of the songs, and they finished their set at 1:57 p.m. after an interesting
three-handed piano number.
---
MasterCard advertisement, mentioning the Prince's trust. Videos. I turned
round and examined the VIP gallery far behind me, along the left side of the
concert ground. Most of the seats were still empty, but a lot of people were
rushing in there. Maybe the next act would be the first interesting one for
the folks up there. Well, I didn't envy them at all - of course they had a
very good view of the rear video screens, but they were way to far away from
the stage itself - more than 80 yards, I guessed. I was very glad that I had
decided not to buy a VIP ticket. I think I would only have used it to jump
down from the gallery and to work my way up to the front from there.
There were still a lot of young girls around me. They got very nervous during
the changing onstage, some of them already screaming, they became hysterical
when Alanis Morissette's band hit the stage, and went wild when Alanis herself
came shortly thereafter, playing harmonica. 2:18 p.m.
---
Since I don't have television and rarely listen to the radio, I had never heard
anything of Alanis before, and I had had very low expectations. But I
immediately recognized that her band - two guitarists, bass, drums - did a fine
job whereas Alanis's stage performance was very poor: She was just walking her
mic up and down the stage like other girls walk their dogs. I didn't see any
reason why this should cause excitement among the fans, but yet it did. Most
of the girls knew all of the lyrics and sang very loudly such that it took
quite a while till I even had a chance to hear Alanis's own vocals. Certainly
a nice and powerful voice, but again nothing to get excited about. I didn't
quite understand why that average-looking girl in her white blouse and black
leggings was today's most successful rock artist.
Anyway, listening to the bands' music and observing the fans around me was fun.
Many girls took turns in climbing on each other's shoulders, and some boys made
fun of them by doing likewise. I had already sneaked past the skinhead and
stood now right in front of him. He still seemed to be angry with me, and he
got a great idea how to annoy me: He invited a girl to sit on his shoulders
and began to dance wildly together with her, ramming her feet every once in a
while into my back. I was very grateful for that since the sheer power of this
`dance' pushed the three of us through the audience, closer and closer to the
stage, while I was just looking like an innocent victim of some madman. We
came to a halt about 20 yards from the stage.
I looked up to the sky - a small MasterCard Zeppelin floated over the audience.
Not too far above it there were very many dark clouds. How long would the
weather stay dry? When one of the guitarists took of his shirt, it began to
rain a little. 2:56 p.m. A lot of time to get wet before Quadrophenia. But
fortunately the weak shower lasted only two minutes.
Alanis played rhythm guitar during one of her songs, and immediately her stage
show became better: some dancing, some little leaps, some excitement. She
showed even more movement at the end of her last song when she ran around the
whole stage several times, ending up at the drums where she began bashing the
cymbals with two sticks over and over again. She looked even more childish
than her fans while going wild together with her drummer, and I asked myself
whether she really was 20 already. Anyway, for an `opening act' of The Who,
she was very good. Many young fans in Who or Quadrophenia T-shirts cheered as
she left the stage at 3:09 p.m.
---
The first fans from the front rows were leaving, squeezing themselves backwards
through the audience. I used the space they left and the pressure they exerted
on the crowd to have myself pushed towards the front. Still 15 yards away from
the stage. An announcement ordered the audience to sit down on the floor, but
no one obeyed. The weather was too cool and the place too crowded to make
sitting on the ground attractive. The stage was again divided by the curtain.
At 3:23 p.m. the second band of the Prince's Trust, a more professional one,
came onstage: Male singer, guitar, bass, drums, congas, keyboards, saxophone.
But the crowd's attention was drawn to the female backup singer who did some
great dancing and got a big share of video screen time. The drumming was
horribly monotonous, but the stage show was great. That band should be able to
earn some money on their own. They left at 3:41 p.m.
---
Even more fans were on their way back from the stage. I couldn't understand
them, what was their problem? Hunger? Not interested in the acts to follow?
Fearing the rain? Or fearing the Who fans? Well, I didn't care but used their
movement again to get pushed forward. Some elderly lady observed me and
accused me of working my way up to the front. What? No, I'm only pushed
by the others. I tried to look innocent and pretended to take even more notes
than I actually did while getting pushed forward even more. 12 yards to the
stage. I could already see the front row of the audience and the security
staff over there, and I was happy that everyone in front of me was now
significantly shorter than me. Great place, but still not close enough for
Quadrophenia.
Some guy asked me why I kept on taking all those notes, and he smiled when I
used the word `internet'. MasterCard thanked all the advertisers for their
support. I began to like the idea of the Prince's Trust and the concept of the
concert. This was really a very good opportunity for some talented unknowns to
present their music in front of a huge audience.
---
Bob Dylan appeared at 4:01 p.m. His harmonica playing during the first song
was incredibly loud and shrill, but as soon as he stopped that noise I began to
enjoy his show. Finally, Dylan had become as old as his voice had always
sounded, and his performance was a very cool show of a serene geezer. Two
additional guitars, one of them played by Ron Wood (will this guy ever age?),
keyboards, bass, drums, and some kind of zither. They looked great altogether
up there: Dylan and the keyboarder dressed in brown, all the others
predominantly dressed in blue. Wood left during the acoustic numbers (when the
other guy left his zither behind and played some small guitar) and returned
later on wearing sunglasses. Strange idea, especially since the sky was still
dark and cloudy. I turned to have a look at the gallery - there seemed to be
not a single empty seat left. Dylan must be the VIPs' favourite performer.
Cameras began to film the audience from above, displaying the waving crowd on
the video screen. Was some technician getting bored at the videoboard? I
wasn't. I liked Dylans act, especially when Wood sang together with him later
on. The bassist was cute, and the drummer simply great. Ah, I couldn't think
of any better `opening act' for Quadrophenia.
Dylan finished his set at 4:55 p.m. The video screens showed a cheering
audience screaming `more!', and indeed Dylan returned again at 4:57 for
`Highway 61' as an encore which lasted till 5:04.
---
Waiting for Quadrophenia. I was still too far away from the stage, but I saw
only little movement in the crowd. It would be difficult to get any further.
MasterCard announced that buying merchandise items would support the Prince's
Trust.
Again, the Calippo commercial. Us Who fans sang at the top of our lungs.
`Talking 'bout my generation.' Now some Dylan fans began to feel uncomfortable
and worked their way back. This caused a lot of movement, Who fans were
squeezing up to the front, and I followed them. About 10 yards to the stage
now, very close to the centre. The security staff saved an almost unconscious
girl from getting squeezed in the front row. Again movement, and I managed to
step another three feet ahead.
The two video screens above the stage were being moved to the centre and united
into one big screen. Great. Maybe we would see some scenes from the film up
there?
The drums were brought to the stage from the left. Two large red-blue-white
target symbols on the back of the bass drums. Something looking like a second
drumkit came from the right, adorned with a Union Jack. Two drummers? No,
these weren't drums, rather some gongs, cymbals, and other percussion stuff.
Interesting.
Large paintings were being placed in the background of the stage around the
video screens. Six of them altogether. Upper left: Jimmy and The Who in
front of the Hammersmith Odeon (like in the Quad booklet). Lower left: A dark
West London road with an Olivetti advertisement on some facade to the right.
Left centre: Jimmy in the boat (booklet). Right centre: Dudley Hotel
Brighton. Upper right: Brick houses (title page of booklet). Lower right:
Postcard from Brighton, titled `If only I could see my little Fanny.' (Full-
- -bosomed woman cannot see little girl that is standing right in front of her
at the beach.)
A circular red net was spanned in front of the top part of the speakers on
either side of the stage. What were these nets good for? Several scooters
with a little more mirrors than usual were ligned up at the bottom of the
speakers.
Two microphone stands were placed on the stage, one in front centre, one a few
steps back to the right. I didn't believe my eyes. A microphone stand for
Roger? No, that should be impossible! Quadrophenia isn't Quadrophenia if
Roger stands still while singing! Remove this crap!
The stage crew indeed seemed to get a little confused. They decided to draw
the curtain once again and to work without being observed. This caused several
Who fans to get angry and impatient, shouting `Where is the fucking Who.'
Guitar soundcheck behind the curtain. I looked around. The MasterCard
Zeppelin was floating above the left set of speakers, I noticed that it was
carrying some camera. Emptiness on the gallery, but the VIPs seemed to be
returning from the break now. Drums soundcheck. Floodlight check.
It was getting really crowded in front of the stage, a lot of pressure from
behind. I managed to take another step or two to the stage and reached a
position I was really happy with: Seven yards from the stage, four to five
rows of shorter people than me in front of me. The security staff in the free
space between audience and stage were very busy to keep us calm, and every once
in a while they handed some plastic beakers full of water to the crowd.
Perhaps it was a good thing that the weather was very cool and damp, otherwise
thirst might have become a real problem there at the front.
The first soundchecks via the large speakers. Guitar, drums, microphone. Who
fans behind me danced together and shouted `We are the mods!' though at least
half of them rather looked like punks. Being unable to sing, they began to
shout the lyrics of `The Real Me', `Cut My Hair', and `5:15'.
The speakers transmitted a song possibly titled `In Cold Water' by some group
unknown to me. Maybe a nice allusion, but nothing to calm us down. More and
more shout `We want The Who.' At 5:43 p.m., some guy stepped to the centre of
the curtain from behind, opened it and held the two parts together with his
hands only. Was this Roger? Certainly not, but he looked like him.
Hallucinations perhaps. I also believed to see John and Pete walking up and
down the stage through the curtain. Impatience, anticipation. Someone sweeps
the stage...
At 5:46, Jools Holland welcomed the Prince of Wales and the audience to The
Live Premiere of Quadrophenia! I looked to the VIP area, but I had no clue
where the Prince might have been. Anyway, I think that at this very moment I
didn't envy him his seat, rather vice versa: If he really liked Quadrophenia,
he would wish to be right here where I stood, amidst the true princes and
princesses of this show.
---
The curtain opened at 5:47 p.m. Great line-up. To the left, first row deep
behind in the stage, John with a black bass and Geoff Whitehorn with a green
guitar. Behind them, second row, Rabbit on keyboards and Zak Starkey on the
drums. Behind Rabbit, third row, the brass section. In the back centre, the
main stage entrance. To the right, first row, Simon Townshend with a white
guitar and Jon Carin on keyboards. Behind them, second row, Jody Linscott in
her percussion booth and four backup singers, two of them female. A ramp
leading up on either side of stage, at approximately half stage depth. Even
further to the front of the stage, halfway on the right, a microphone stand.
And no microphone stand at all at the very front of the stage!
A strange blue wall with a cute-looking guy in front of it to the far right at
the very front of the stage, a large camera facing him. Well, that was Phil
Daniels, Jimmy actor in the Quad film and narrator here.
The show started with pictures of the surf on the video screen, Jimmy's four
faces from the Quad film. In the chaos of the crowd, the surf sound was barely
audible, and the vocals of the four themes of `I Am The Sea' seamed to come
from nowhere. Disappointing introduction.
Daniels had his first (live) appearance on the video screen, and then Roger and
Pete stormed in from the main entrance. `The Real Me.' The crowd went wild
immediately. The folks behind me began to jump and to dance around furiously,
pressing everybody up to the front and trying to squeeze themselves through the
first rows. A guy to my left lost balance and went down, I grabbed his
shoulders and tore him up again. He looked very grateful - that could have
been the end of the show for him. Security staff tore frightened fans, mostly
girls, from the first rows over the barricades and escorted them out. Shouts
of fear and anger around me, little brawls among the fans. Someone put his arm
around my throat - I took it and pushed the guy back to the masses. He tried
to apologize, but we were at once torn apart by the crowd pressure again. I
took the opportunity to take a step to the right, thus getting another person
between myself and the wildest dancers such that I was finally able to
concentrate a little on the show.
Pete played a large acoustic guitar whereas Roger wore a badge over his left
eye, again styled like a target symbol in colours red-blue-white. Very strange
idea, but extremely cute-looking and fitting well to his white shirt and blue
jeans. Both Pete and Roger gave an excellent performance with a lot of
reminiscence of the past: dancing, power chords, and mic-twirling. Too bad
that I had missed half of the song while fighting against the crowd.
The short pauses between the songs and Daniels's comments were a good thing,
providing enough opportunity for applause. Even those who had just been about
to trample us into the ground were now politely clapping their hands over their
heads. I think everybody around me didn't only see the show as a major rock
event, but also appreciated the artistic value of Quad. Show a little respect,
this is a fucking opera...
Roger and Pete went off-stage for `Quadrophenia'. Many nice pictures of Jimmy
and The Who in their early days on the screen. The crowd went silent, stand
still, listened, and watched. But I had no time for the video screen - I was
too busy with observing the musicians. First of all John: Utterly amazing how
fast his fingers moved over the strings. He looked completely relaxed, almost
a little bored. Maybe his standards had gone up since '73, and playing Quad
was now mere child's play for him technically. It would have been interesting
to hear John play at the very top of his abilities, but unfortunately it was no
use on this evening: Bass and brass section were somehow lost in the mix,
drums and guitars were just fine, whereas keyboards and vocals sounded
overmixed to me. And the whole show was definitely not loud enough...
Zak Starkey. He really is a hell of a drummer, and with his young boy haircut
he even slightly ressembles early Keith Moon. Up to that point of the show, I
hadn't completely believed what Fang had written about Zak, but it proved to be
true: On the drums themself, he showed almost as much energy as Keith had used
to do. However, he was unable to hit as many cymbals at once as Keith. (I
wondered whether anybody would ever be able to do so.) Well, that might be a
good reason why Zak's drumming was supplemented by Jody Linscott's percussion.
They cooperated perfectly and together often sounded exactly like Keith. Sure,
Linscott is a showgirl, always trying to make her many different tasks look
like the most important things of the world, but still she was very valuable
for that show. Zak and Linscott also got quite a lot of attention on the video
screens.
Rabbit - ah, looking like a true madman at the keyboards. Sometimes hammering
them, sometimes almost crawling over the keys - great showmanship. Simon
Townshend. Well, with his sunglasses he really looked cool, and he did a great
job on rhythm guitar. Geoff Whitehorn. `Quadrophenia' was his and only his
show. He played excellent lead guitar and was on the video screen for a long
time. His posture while playing looked very strange, just like his guitar had
a terribly strong erection, but anyway - his playing kicked ass.
At the beginning of `Cut My Hair', Pete and a grand piano were lifted up from
under the stage. Great special effect. Pete's piano playing was fine, but
unfortunately his singing was very lousy. During the first verses, he didn't
hit a single note. Additionally he had some mechanical problems with his head-
- -mic which caused his vocals to fade out in the mix at the beginning of the
second stanza. Nevertheless, the song was one of the great moments of the
show. Roger appeared at the top of the left ramp for his vocal part, and at
once the crowd around me went crazy again, pushing and squeezing everybody to
the front. I tried to keep balance, but it wasn't easy at all. More girls and
guys begged the security staff to tear them out of the crowd which allowed me
to get another step towards the stage.
Trevor McDonald, a famous British newsreader, appeared at the top of the right
ramp for the mod versus rocker news, but somehow he sucked. For a professional
journalist, he seemed to be incredibly nervous up there in these unusual
surroundings, he didn't speak straight into the mic and was therefore barely
audible, and, to make things worse, he didn't even hit that famous BBC English
to my satisfaction. What a pity. I felt sorry both for the old man and for
the show. I think that this was the only part of Quad that I could have done
way better than the performers.
During Daniels's interlude, the security staff in front of the stage discussed
among themselves for a minute and then stepped up towards us with very resolute
looking faces. They must have had an idea how to prevent even more chaos and
injuries during `The Punk And The Godfather'. I was curious about what they
were planning to do, and I hoped that they would succeed for I really began to
feel frightened amidst the wild crowd here.
The grand piano vanished again and Roger came out to the centre of the stage.
Again the guys behind me began to dance and to push, throwing me right into
another German Who fan I recognized as an internet friend of mine. Small
world. He didn't recognize me probably because my hair was significantly
longer than the last and only time we met nine months ago, and I wasn't keen on
introducing myself during the show. As I stood straight up again, I saw the
security staff gruffly point at some troublemaker in the crowd next to me. The
surrounding fans understood the gesture, grabbed him, lifted him over their
heads and handed him to the security staff. Immediately thereafter, another
wild fan was removed from the audience in the same way, and at once the rest of
the dancing and jumping fans became quiet and peaceful. They continued to push
and squeeze, but it was much less dangerous than before. This was the point
when I could begin to fully concentrate on the show. Unfortunately I had now
reached a place where some spotlight at the front bottom of the stage
obstructed my view of John's hands. There was no point in trying to get any
closer to the stage because otherwise the front border of the stage floor would
hide even more details of the stage from my eyes. Well, I was now really
close, probably only six yards away from the very centre of front stage.
A leather-clad Gary Glitter played and sang the Godfather in a fantastic way.
He first appeared at the top of the left ramp and then often ran up and down
the ramp in his dialogue with `punk' Roger. Together they really kicked ass,
and I began to understand why this show was called The Live Premiere - it was
more than just a concert, it contained elements of musical and opera. And
Gary Glitter brought a lot of action onto the stage.
[Hm, now my recollections aren't sharp enough to be sure that the following
paragraphes are completely correct. I should have met the others after the
show in order to discuss the details. But anyway, I'll try to write down
what I believe to be true. Please correct mistakes, if possible.]
Pete returned with his acoustic guitar for a great version of `I'm One'.
`The Dirty Jobs' was sung as a duet between Roger and Adrian Edmondson (who was
the personified mod - as opposed to the Godfather - and later also the Bell
Boy). Edmondson appeared at the top of the right ramp, but his performance
really was a shame. His singing was rather bad, and he didn't look cute at all
in too old a grey suit. No, this wasn't a mod, this was rather an old business
man.
I think `Helpless Dancer' was again duet between Roger and Gary Glitter.
During `Is It In My Head?' it became obvious that the background singers were
completely superfluous for the life performance - they were only there for the
recording. The audience took over their part and sang the chorus.
`I've Had Enough' was again a great stage show. Gary Glitter on the left ramp,
accompagnied by several rockers, and Adrian Edmondson on the right one,
together with some mods. Both of them sang together with Roger, and rockers
and mods insulted each other with gestures. But where was the bass? I moved a
little to have a better look at John, and I saw his fingers fly, but couldn't
hear much of him. The mix really stank. Or was it my position in the audience
that made hearing John difficult?
Pete came back with his acoustic for `5:15', and he looked very relaxed when he
started the song with `Why should I care?'. Obviously he enjoyed the show, and
he seemed to be confident that this song would become another highlight. He
was right. Rabbit went crazy on keyboards, all three guitarists were
excellent, Roger simply kicked ass, and the background singers were more
superfluous than ever.
David Gilmour appeared between Simon Townshend and Jon Carin on lead guitar for
`Sea And Sand' where Roger sang duet with Edmondson again.
The greatest disappointment to me was `Drowned'. Pete played it all alone on
acoustic. Since his voice wasn't the best on that day and since there were a
lot of other musicians around who had nothing to do while Pete was strumming
along, the whole thing looked rather ridiculous. Of course, Pete is great on
acoustic, but was it really necessary to disturb the show's continuity with a
thing like this? Or was this supposed to give a reason why the show had been
announced as `Pete Townshend's Quadrophenia' instead of `The Who's
Quadrophenia'? As much as I enjoyed Pete's playing, it really was completely
inappropriate at that very moment. I hoped that Pete would change his mind and
let all performers play `Drowned' together at MSG...
At the beginning of `Bell Boy', Adrian Edmondson entered the stage on a scooter
with the lift from below, wearing a page's uniform. He perfectly imitated
Keith's voice and accent. On the left ramp stood a some rich hotel guest
(played by Stephen Fry) with a whole lotta suitcases pointing at the Bell Boy
to come and fetch them. The chorus words `Bell Boy!' were sung by all
performers except Fry and John together, and everybody pointed with his or her
finger at Edmondson except for John who pointed at him with the neck of his
bass and played two chords. The whole thing looked pretty stupid and reminded
me too much of mediocre musical scenes. From John's facial expression I
concluded that he also didn't like it, but just played the game because it was
part of his job in this show. At the end of the song, Fry pushed Edmondson
with all the suitcases to the right side of the stage and kicked him in the
back several times.
Pete and David Gilmour came back for `Dr. Jimmy'. Great stage show with
rockers and mods on the two ramps and a distant streetfight going on between
them. Roger lifted his eye patch for a moment during the verse `Who cut up my
eye' and he showed a terribly swollen left eye. Was that make-up or was he
really injured? I didn't know, but it looked really awful. Zak Starkey and
Jody Linscott kicked ass again, but the horns were somehow lost in the mix.
They got a little more prominent during `The Rock', but still I wasn't
satisfied with what those guys at the soundboard did. The guitars, however,
were all great, and especially Gilmour was outstanding.
Daniels again. Then silence. Roger stood in the main entrance. Joe Carin
slowly played the piano intro to `Love Reign O'er Me'. Pete was eyeing Roger
suspiciously. Would he be able to turn this show with all its heights and
depth sinto a great success in the song that used to be one of the most
exciting ones in Who concerts of the past? The fans were way more confident
than Pete that the next five minutes would be the greatest ones in the whole
decade. Everyone around me screamed `Roger, Roger!' over and over again. I
didn't. I just stood there with tears in my eyes, and I was very grateful for
everything: my first opportunity to see a Who concert, my perfect view to the
stage, and the excitement to be surrounded by thousands of Who fans.
Roger rushed forward to the very front of the stage, just six or seven yards
directly in front of me, and he gave his very best. It was the first time I
dared to raise my arms during the show, no longer fearing to lose balance in
the pushing crowd, and I deeply enjoyed one of the greatest-ever moments in my
life. `Love, Reign O'er Me.'
---
The show ended at 7:21 p.m. Huge applause. Roger introduced Gary Glitter,
Adrian Edmondson, Phil Daniels, and David Gilmour to the crowd, and he fell
down to his knees in front of Gilmour in order to worship him. Then he
introduced Pete, and Pete introduced Roger and continued with naming all the
other artists, beginning with John.
Pete made some jokes about encores, which in this case would mean either no
encore or playing it all again, but then they just repeated `5:15' altogether.
Daniels, Edmondson, and Glitter were singing background vocals together with
Pete. Again a great song, but maybe Pete should have dared to play no encore
at all - this repetition looked a little silly to me.
At 7:27 p.m. everything was over, and I felt pretty exhausted. But I had got
more than I had been asking for: I had seen one and a half pairs of blue eyes,
and one black eye...
---
I was asking myself whether I should stay at my front position for the rest of
the concert or go to some of the refreshment booths on the concert ground and
watch the rest of the concert from over there. But it wasn't that easy to
leave the crowd at the front of the stage - many Clapton fans were pushing
forward from behind, and those who were already were here at the very front
defended their position against any movement. I must have missed the best
moment to leave right after the encore when all those Who fans behind me had
worked their way back. Now it would probably have been harder to get out than
to endure the rest of the show. Having eaten only a continental breakfast in
the morning, I was very hungry and felt very tired, so I was hoping for a short
last act.
---
At the end of the Quadrophenia show, the right part of the left half of the
video screen had been damaged a little: First there had been a small static
green point at the lower right, and now there also was a larger static blue
point near the centre. Not a technically perfect show, but anyway a fine one.
The screens displayed several messages for people who had lost each other
during Quadrophenia. Some bloke was told to bring the medicine for his girl-
- -friend to a first aid point. Parents were supposed to look for their lost
children at the lost persons' point back at the entrances.
The two video screens were separated again, and the curtain was drawn. Some
scenes from the audience were displayed, then commercials again. This time the
Calippo commercial wasn't backed up by `My Generation', because the speakers
were busy with other recorded music. The security staff handed more and more
plactic beakers full of water to the first rows of the audience. Though people
generously shared the few sips of water, none of the cups ever reached me.
Well, I didn't care much about my thirst right now. I didn't believe that
drinking water would change anything about my exhaustion.
I let some Clapton fans pass by and fell back to a position about 8 yards from
the centre of the stage front. The VIP seats had emptied again - people over
there were obviously enjoying the break after Quadrophenia.
---
At 7:46 p.m., the third band of the Prince's Trust came onstage: female
singer, male backing singer, two guitars, bass, keyboards, drums. They were
really great and received a lot of applause from the audience. Some folks
around me eyed me suspiciously when I took notes during their shows. Yes, this
must be one of those guys who will decide whether these young bands will have
success or not. I grinned. The band finished their set at 8:05 p.m. After a
short blackout during their set, the video screens worked fine again.
For the fourt or fifth time, the screens showed a commercial for Nike football
shows, featuring a football match between monsters and human Nike-wearing
football players. This time, German fans started to shout ,Deutschland!`
(`Germany!') during the commercial, and they continued to do so when the
following Coca Cola commercial also featured football scenes. Somehow they
were right. The concert wasn't that interesting after Quadrophenia had been
over - time to think about something else.
A lot of busy stage working, but I didn't care much anymore. I looked up to
the sky - the Zeppelin now floated over the right set of speakers. Much less
cloudy sky, the sun broke through some hole in the clouds and warmed up the
scenery. Nice evening, but now I really wished to also have a VIP ticket to
sit down and watch the end from over there. People returned to the gallery and
took their seats, but it didn't look like every seat would be needed for the
Clapton show.
More cameramen than ever before in the afternoon, many of them with portable
cameras. Well, maybe we would get an interesting screen show.
---
Some grey-haired comedian, obviously very well-known to the audience, came out
at 8:19 p.m. to announce one of his greatest heroes. He said that he always
felt that Clapton should never have left The Yardbirds.
Well, that was his opinion. Mine was that Clapton should never have come to
Hyde Park. He came anyway and started his show on acoustic at 8:21 p.m.,
supported by another guitar, bass, keyboards, harmonica, trumpet, two
saxophones, and two female backing singers who also did some percussion.
Sadly, no Cream reunion.
I had never liked Clapton, but I had never asked myself why. Now I got the
answer: His show consisted only of guitar solos, one after the other, and one
even more boring than the other. No really exciting contribution from the
other instruments, and only muttered, almost non-existent vocals. The whole
performance only to pay homage to Clapton's guitar. Sorry, I'm wrong, that
should read: Clapton's guitars. He took a new one after almost every song,
but that didn't make his playing less boring. Maybe I could have tolerated
this music on a lonely evening in my armchair, but not here at a concert. If
Fang had been here and had continually shouted `You suck!', I would have chimed
in without hesitation. (On the other hand, Fang would certainly have been
clever enough to leave before Claptons act.) But now I just stood there, felt
tired, and got bored.
His fans, however, seemed to enjoy his sleepy act. They all danced in trance
around me, and the only emotion they showed was some handclapping after each
song and some ah's and oh's once they recognized the new one after a few riffs.
And they smoked. I know a lot of heavy smokers, but I had never seen anyone
smoke that much at an event that had been supposed to be entertaining. The guy
to my right lit seven cigarettes in a less-than-90-min show (the mere fact that
I counted this shows again how boring Clapton was), and the others didn't seem
to smoke less. I gasped for fresh air, but there was none. His fans sucked
even more than Clapton himself.
Finally my exhaustion, my hunger, my thirst, and the lack of fresh air demanded
their tribute. My blood circulation went wild, and I was about to collapse.
9:01 p.m. Clapton would surely play for another three quarters of an hour, and
there seemed to be no way out of this crowd, especially since I was no longer
close enough to the very front of the audience to have myself torn out by the
security staff. I considered sitting down, but then I had an even better idea:
The guy in front of me was several inches smaller than me, and he looked very
sturdy. He didn't care when I leaned on him for the rest of the show.
Clapton had as little mercy with my physical conditions as I had mercy in my
criticism. He really played till 9:45 p.m. A large choir of robed blacks
streamed in and assembled at the very back of the stage, Clapton announced that
this would be the encore, and he let his guitar whine once again. Was it only
my sad condition that I felt like Clapton's show was way too loud whereas
Quadrophenia had been too quiet? I don't know. I managed to sustain even this
very last song and was very happy when the concert was finally over at 9:50
p.m.
---
The crowd was ordered to take their time while going out. But this
announcement was superfluous. Everybody seemed to be tired, and there was no
sign of a panic anywhere. I took a few cautious steps, and as soon as I had
left the smoke behind me, I felt way better, but still very weak. Of course I
was very hungry, but eating right now would probably not have been the best
idea as I didn't intend to vomit in front of the other Who listers I was about
to meet. Pepping myself up with sugar sounded like a very good idea, so I
bought a large coke on my way back to the main entrance. I also passed a
merchandise stand and purchased two of those Quadrophenia T-shirts (I had to
take them in XL because L was already sold out) and a poster, and close to the
entrance I also got one of the official programmes.
After this slow walk through the rubbish the crowd had left behind I felt quite
refreshed again when I arrived at the right-most entrance shortly after 10 p.m.
Unfortunately, no one was there who ressembled one of the desriptions I had in
my memory and my pocket, and not even my brother had found this meeting place.
Or had they already left? Had no one been as close to the stage as me? Had
they hurried to the gates?
I had no idea, but I was very disappointed. It would have been nice to discuss
Quadrophenia right now, when recollections were rather fresh. I waited for ten
minutes under a lantern at the entrance and hoped that some lister might
recognize me in case I didn't recognize him, but nothing happened. I went to
the left-most gate (in case someone had messed things up) and came back again,
but then I just decided to leave. It was no use waiting. The other were
either already gone or not at all interested to talk to me. What a pity!
---
It was 10:35 p.m. when I finally left Hyde Park. Exactly eleven hours after I
had entered. Another tune came to my head and my lips. `Too Much Of
Anything.' Yes, it was a long and hard concert, but it was definitely worth
the effort.
I took the underground back to Oxford Circus. I didn't meet any people looking
like concert-goers down there, maybe they had already left half an hour ago. I
trotted back to my hotel and hoped that they had already repaired the lock.
Indeed, something was different than before when I tried to open the door with
my card: I didn't get a green light anymore, but only a red one. I went down
to the reception angrily, and they made me a new `key' at once. (Interesting
system, just inserting a blank card into a machine and typing the room number.)
I climbed the stairs again (yes, I hate lifts) and tried the new key. It
produced red, yellow, and green lights all at once, and I still was unable to
open the door. After a few trials and making some noise I gave up, went down
again, and asked for help. The same hotel servant as the night before
accompagnied me to my room, took my key and opened the door at once. Fine,
this time it had really been my fault - not enough force. Well, I felt really
tired.
When I had placed my merchandise items on my desk, I asked myself whether I
should go out again to have some meal. But I felt tired enough to sleep with
having eaten nothing but a continental breakfast, and therefore decided to
stay in my room.
I turned on the television, hoping to get some news about the concert, and
flipped through the hotel's Daily Telegraph. I found a nice one-third-of-a-
- -page article about the Hyde Park show, featuring a large picture of Roger and
Pete and small ones of Clapton, Dylan, and Morissette. `Golden Oldies pop to
the park.' The article started with some whining that because of a clumsy
penalty kick of an English football player, Hyde Park would now be the only
major event in London this weekend. Some well-known historical information
followed, as well as some interesting details. `... the most expensive outdoor
system ever assembled, 3 million [pounds] worth of equipment powered by one
million watts...' `A recent survey revealed that almost half of under-24-year-
- -olds think that the best British music was recorded before they were born.'
Then, a strange statement, almost an insult: `The Who may be a little rusty
but Dylan and Clapton are still very much in business.'
Another sentence showed that the authors judgement might not have been the
best: `[Morissette] has been added to the bill in case there is anybody under
25 in the crowd.' At least near the stage, by far the greater part of the
audience had been under 25, such that I already had felt a little old with my
27 years. And according to my observation, Morissette had only had a majority
of followers among the concert-goers under 18. A Who fan of 20 years is quite
a normal thing, dude, and also Clapton fans are often very young. More
interesting information: `Thanks to special dispensation from the Royal Parks,
this is the first Hyde Park rock concert where the organizers have been allowed
to charge for entrance.' `The rock stars are performing for their expenses and
`small fees' only. [...] MasterCard has guaranteed the charity at least 500,000
[pounds].' The article also mentioned another National Music Day event
sponsored by MasterCard at Manchester with Simply Red, Madness, and M People as
most important acts. I was glad that the Telegraph's rumour that the Beatles
might have come to Hyde Park for a `surprise appearance' hadn't become true...
Another small article provided some information about the Prince's Trust, but
nothing of further interest.
I hadn't found anything about the concert on television, only announcements of
the football match on Sunday. I switched off. TV sucks. Again, too bad that
there was no internet connection in the room.
I put on one of my Quadrophenia shirts, and it looked really great. Definitely
a good idea to buy two of them. The poster was rather awful, but the programme
seemed to be interesting. However, I was too tired now to read it, so I just
went to bed. Without the Quadrophenia shirt, of course.
---
As expected, I woke up early on Sunday morning (since usually I don't go to bed
before modnight). First thing I did was checking out the hotel's Sunday
Telegraphe for an article about the concert. I found a small one on page 2
already, but it wasn't very interesting. Obviously the article had been
written right after Alanis Morissette's act, so the only thing of some interest
was a description of the audience. Surprisingly, the author saw a crowd
`mainly between 25 and 50'. Maybe age of the fans went up with increasing
distance from the stage...
---
7:15 a.m. I shaved and decided to go to the mass even before breakfast. I
took the tube to Victoria Station and walked through a cloudy morning to
Westminster Cathedral, arriving exactly in time at 8 a.m. Interesting
experience to hear the mass in English. However, I'll never get used to the
strange English pronounciations of Greek or Hebrew biblical names. Argh, as a
foreigner, you really have to have a thorough knowledge of the bible to
completely understand what's going on there...
`Let us pray for the Queen and the Royal Family.' Hm, sounded strange to me at
first. Praying for the public royal family theatre? Other people have similar
problems like the Royal Family, and they don't make a public mess of them.
Alright, other people aren't chased that much by the press. So let us pray.
And maybe we should even pray for the Prince's Trust and for exciting Who
concerts every year on National Music Day?
Holy Communion as bread and wine for everybody? Those English really have
style. I had never seen anything like that in an ordinary German Sunday mass
before. Great mass...
---
After having had a closer look at all the artwork in Westminster Cathedral, I
went back to Victoria Station but somehow failed to find the entrance to the
Underground again. I got lost somewhere at the railway tracks and immediately
was asked the way by lots of travellers. It really seems like I have the
perfect average European's face, because the same thing happens to me whereever
I go: Everybody seems to think that I am a native of the country I currently
visit.
I wasn't keen on asking the way myself and therefore decided to go back to my
hotel on foot. Good opportunity to cross most of Westminster. I came to
Buckingham palace when a German coach was leaving. In these morning hours, no
one was around but two bored-looking photographers and myself. We started
talking a little about football and the Hyde Park concert, and again I was
amazed that everybody I talked to in England knew The Who. Great country. In
Germany, almost no one in tourist business would know them - but after all,
they are English boys...
The sun broke through the clouds for a few minutes as I walked along Green
Park. Better and warmer weather than on the day before. My cold had become
worse on the concert, but I felt quite fine in the sunshine. I reached
Piccadilly Circus and found yet another way through Soho. I was surprised to
see some very busy roadworkers here, but again I had to blame myself for
comparing London with German Sunday habits. Unfortunately, the record stores I
passed by wouldn't open on Sunday. Well, this wouldn't be the last time that I
visit a large city, so there was nothing to regret.
---
Back in the hotel, I was able to open my room's door at once without any help.
I went down to the breakfast hall and ordered English breakfast this time.
Great choice, definitely worth the additional two pounds they demanded. I
wondered whether I would be capable to eat such an opulent breakfast everyday,
but on this very Sunday it was exactly what I needed since I had been
incredibly hungry.
---
I didn't intend to do any sightseeing on this Sunday. This was not a holiday
trip to London, this was my first Who weekend, so I rather tried to collect
some more Who experiences. I took the Underground to Shepherd's Bush and had
a long walk through White City and Acton. Though my map didn't cover this area
and though I hadn't planned this walk before (which would have meant passing as
many Who-related localities as possible), I got quite a good impression of life
in Western London. Many small terraced brick houses there, just like on the
cover of the Quadrophenia booklet. And also quite a lot of smaller German cars
in the street: many VWs, some Audis and Opels. Even on the public places,
nobody looked like a tourist here. These were rather places to live in than
places to visit.
---
At 1 p.m., I took the Underground back from Stamford Brook to Westminster and
had some lunch there. Fucking German football fans everywhere. The streets
seemed to be crowded with people wearing shirts of the German national team or
of some of the many local German football clubs. German flags, scarfs in the
colours of Germany, faces painted with German colours. There seemed to be more
people speaking German than speaking English. What a world! Welcome to
Central London...
Nobody needed another German football victory. If they won, it would be
considered as natural, if they lost, many good reasons why winning was
impossible would be found. As a German with Czech ancestors, I wasn't sure
which team to favour. Of course I am way more German than Czech, but so what?
I believed that Germany would win, but it wouldn't hurt me at all if I was
wrong. There are way more important things than football...
I went to Hyde Park Corner again.
---
Sunday business in the park. Many people walking, jogging, on roller-blades,
or just relaxing on benches. Well, not quite the usual Sunday business. As I
approached Saturday's concert grounds, I saw another new fence all around them
which had collapsed at one point. Through this hole, the winds blew a lot of
rubbish into the rest of the eastern park: wastepaper, plastic foil, plastic
beakers. Incredible how much litter 150,000 people can leave behind.
I stepped through this hole and found myself at about where the entrances were
on Saturday. The concert grounds looked even more like a rubbish heap than the
rest of the eastern park. I couldn't remember having seen that much refuse
when I left the concert, but my memory might have been mistaken. I waded
through the wastepaper towards the stage. The speakers and the gallery were
just being dismantled, and a lot of other work was being done around. Some of
the workers ordered me to leave, but I stayed. The space between the video
tower and the stage had already been cleared of rubbish, and a lot of plastic
sacks full of refuse where piled somewhere.
I stood at the place where I had sat right after the opening of the gates, and
I looked towards the stage, imagining what way I might have taken to get to the
very front. In my mind, I stood again there, six yards from the stage, and
Roger came out to sing `Love Reign O'ver Me'. I cried some tears. Maybe I am
too sentimental as a Who fan. But hadn't that been one of the greatest moments
of my life? Why should I be ashamed of my tears when I now looked back and by
the same time saw that this stage would vanish soon. Tomorrow it wouldn't be
easy to find the place where it stood...
I went a little up and down and looked to the stage from different angles. Up
to which distance might the fans have had a good enough view of what had been
going on there? Had everybody had a good view of at least one set of video
screens? What about the VIPs? Had they been stage- or screen-watchers?
Stupid questions perhaps, but since the concert was all that was in my mind,
these questions seemed natural to me. I went as close to the stage as the
circumstances permitted and tried again to imagine Quadrophenia's line-up
there. It had been a show with very many flaws. But it had been a great show.
I weeped again, silently.
When I left and waded again through the rubbish, I turned round several times.
This had been a unique event, but I wanted more. Should I also fly to New York
to see one of the shows over there? Difficult question. A premiere is
something special, something that cannot be repeated. But on the other hand,
seeing a Quadrophenia show from a cosy seat might be another interesting
experience... Well, maybe I should wait some more days before I decide about
that. Lauren would surely have some floor tickets till the very last minute...
---
When I left the concert grounds, workers were just busy with putting up the
fence again. Lucky me, it seemed like I had found exactly the right time to
come and to go.
I headed for Speakers' Corner, spotting some Czech football fans on my way
there. About eight to ten speakers were around, must of them talking rubbish.
I joined the largest crowd around the most enthusiastic speaker, and I got the
answers to the most important questions of my life. Why it had been necessary
for the British nation that their team had lost the football match against
Germany. Why this didn't mean that Germany should have won the war. Why the
Hyde Park concert had been just another sign of British nationalism. Where
British life comes from. And why the Queen and Her Prime Minister should be
put under house arrest. I rarely had laughed as much as I did here. Good
place to dry my tears from moments ago...
I went back to some bench in a rather tidy area of the eastern park, sat down,
observed the people that passed by, and wondered what I should do with the few
hours that I still had in London. Rush to the tube in order to see some sights
I already know from my 6th grade English books? No, I wasn't a tourist now, I
was a Who fan, and I wouldn't spoil this great weekend by running through
London till the very last minute. I decided to stay at Hyde Park instead.
I stood up and walked to the Serpentine, humming `English Boy'. Lots of people
had rented boats and were somewhere on this small artificial lake, many others
just sat there, relaxed, and observed the boat traffic. I spotted a small
refreshment booth, and I had an idea for a last Who-related experience in the
park: I bought a Calippo (`My generation'), orange taste, for an official
product test.
This was the first time in years that I bought some industrially ice or ice
cream product, and I felt rather childish while doing so. But anyway, this was
a serious project of Who research, hence no need to feel ashamed. What I got
essentially was frozen orange juice in a cardboard tube that was flattened at
the far end. Some additional sugar seemed to be contained. I had a walk
around the Serpentine, and I sucked. Sucking was probably the most reasonable
way to consume this stuff. It didn't taste bad, but I wasn't too excited about
it. When I was finished, the completist inside of me suggested also to buy a
Calippo with lemon taste, but I finally decided that I had enough of this sour
stuff. If this was also available in Germany, I could continue my product test
at home. And if not, well, who cares?
---
I left the park at 5:15 p.m. (reminded me of Quadrophenia once again), bought
some postcards at Hyde Park Corner and took the tube to Piccadilly Circus. I
entered Tower Records there and got the last remastered Quad they had
displayed, as well as a Mobile Fidelity Tommy CD and some other less
interesting stuff. Once again I was about to regret that I hadn't had the
opportunity to check out the many small record stores.
No football fans around anymore. The match was scheduled for 6 p.m., and
everyone who wanted to see it was already at Wembley Stadium now. I took yet
another walk through Soho and found Carnaby Street this time. Still no open
record store here. I reached my hotel, reclaimed my luggage and asked for
stamps for the postcards I wanted to write on my way to Heathrow. The
receptionist regretted not to have any stamps but offered to post my postcards
if only I paid the postage. I agreed, ordered some drink in the bar and began
to write. Unfortunately, I had a lot to write about, and I forgot time. When
I was finished, it was already 7:04 p.m., and my plane was due to take off at
8 p.m.! I just paid my drink, hurried of, and forgot to hand the postcards to
the receptionist. Ah, really bad luck...
---
As I sat down in the Underground train, it became clear to me that I wouldn't
reach my flight in time. Heathrow was too far outside of the city to be
reached in much less than an hour. I just wondered whether there would be
another flight to southern Germany in the evening when I overheard two German
businessmen (What? Germans that are not at Wembley?) with great suitcases,
talking with a strong Bavarian accent. Gee, still some hope. If these geezers
were not as late as me for their flight, then there really should be another
one...
We arrived at Heathrow Underground station at 8:01 p.m. I hurried to the
Lufthansa check-in, searched my bag for my ticket and my German money (yes, I
should have done that before, but...), and stepped up to the ticket exchange
desk. The flight schedule at the wall said that the last flight to Germany
would leave at 8:30 p.m. for Nuremberg Airport. Great. If everything went
fine, I should be able to reach it. However, some clerk told me that they had
already closed. `Impossible, I have missed my plane, and I must get to Germany
tonight.' She said that it was already too late for the flight to Nuremberg,
but I contradicted. 8:11 p.m. couldn't be too late. She rang up someone,
nodded, and insisted that it was too late, but she promised me to ask British
Airways whether they had any possibility to get me home. They hadn't. `So
shall I go back to Victoria Station and take a train to Germany?' No, no -
she looked a little appalled. After another telephone call, she told me that
they had a seat for me in the plane to Nuremberg, but that they wouldn't wait
- - I had to hurry. 8:19 p.m. No problem. She wrote something on my ticket,
and I ran at the top of my lungs through Heathrow airport, ruining my leather
bag while doing so. Of course, I hadn't checked in.
I reached the terminal at 8:24 p.m. Passport control. Someone printed a new
boarding pass and handed it to me - the first person in England who tried to
pronounce my family name, failing completely. They weighed my luggage, decided
that it had to be checked in and did so in a very informal manner. I boarded
the plane at 8:29 p.m. The pilot announced that the Czech team was leading 1-0
against Germany.
---
A pleasant flight. I took my CDs from the hand-luggage, unpacked them and
studied the booklets. Not much new about Quadrophenia: acid-free paper,
slightly different print, a remark about the original release, but same text,
same pictures. Fine - the original booklet had already been great.
I started reading the official programme of the concert. First surprise: In
the table of contents, Quadrophenia is listed as `The Life Premiere of
QUADROPHENIA Featuring Roger Daltrey, John Entwistle, Pete Townshend and All-
- -Star Cast.' No longer Pete Townshend's Quad? Fine with me.
Lots of editorial notes and advertisement by the sponsors. Four pages Clapton,
five pages Quadrophenia, two pages Dylan, and each one page Morissette and
Holland, plus a lot of advertisements for albums of the artists (and the IOW
video).
The Quadrophenia pages start with a double page containing a short history of
Quad itself (interesting quote: `By providing grants, the Prince's Trust helps
young people reach their full potential as they made the transition into adult
life. Quadrophenia is a very appropriate piece of music for this occasion.'),
photos of Pete, John, and Roger, a twisted radioactivity symbol (or what else
is that?), and biographies of John and Pete. Background artwork is a leaping
Pete. John's biography is very humorous whereas Pete's sounds very arrogant.
I wonder who wrote them...
No, there's no biography of Roger. Instead, the following double page contains
photos and short biographies of Phil Daniels, Trevor McDonald, Stephen Fry,
Adrian Edmondson, Gary Glitter, and David Gilmour, plus, again, the symbol.
Background artwork is a mic-twirling Roger.
After three advertisement pages (Calippo, Mojo, IOW video), a page with photos
of the remaining musicians and a list of the technical staff concludes the
Quadrophenia part.
---
Again, only two sandwiches during the flight. But fortunately I had had more
than just a continental breakfast on this Sunday. Somewhere above Belgium, the
pilot spread an important message through the board speakers: Germany had won
the final of the European Championship, 2-1. The passengers cheered.
We arrived at Nuremberg airport at 11 p.m. (German daylight saving time,
gmt+2). Waiting for the bus, changing to the underground train. A few German
football fans enter the train, singing and cheering. More of them later at the
railway station. A lot of police around. But obviously, the great victory
celebration was already over.
12:30 a.m. In the train to Bayreuth, I took off my shirt and put on my
Quadrophenia T-shirt. Everybody should see that I had been in London, but not
for football. My railway return ticket was still valid, though I didn't use it
for the full distance.
---
Only a few football fans were still celebrating at Bayreuth. I arrived at 2:01
a.m. at my apartment. Quickly unpacking my bag, short message to the Who list,
then going to bed. If I had caught my plane to Munich, I would not have
arrived before 6 a.m. What a crazy weekend. But a great one!
---
Everybody was surprised on Monday that I came to my office wearing a printed
T-shirt. That had not been my style so far.
In the afternoon, I sent my postcards in an envelope back to the hotel in
London, together with a banknote...
Bernd