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FIRST NIGHT - The Who
Shepherd's Bush Empire, London

"It was a rough area that -- Shepherd's Bush.  Kids of 16 walking round with
machine guns in violin cases."  So Roger Daltrey describes his manor in
1967, when the nation associated the west-London suburb with Steptoe and
Son.  The Who always managed self-mythology better than their rivals.

As well as a hard-earned reputation as the world's best live act (and
loudest -- Pete Townshend and John Entwistle are said to be as deaf as
retired miners), they always had more ideas than their peers.  Though they
weren't always good ones.  Pinball never did displace football as the
national sport, no one knows what possessed Entwistle to sport a luminous
skeleton suit at the Isle Of Wight Festival, and you don't hear too many
"rock operas" these days.  But plenty has stood the test of time.  Their
brilliant, art-school yobbishness, caught forever in the definitive
"rockumentary" The Kids Are Alright, all smouldering glances, self-analysis
and smashing equipment, still serves as a template for parent-unfriendly
musicians.

The chance to see survivors Daltrey, Entwistle and Townshend is irresistible
to many -- tickets are being touted at £200.  The trip may be in their
fifties, but they don't sound like it.  Daltrey, dapper as ever, is in fine
voice and Entwistle looks old and grumpy, as opposed to young and grumpy.
Townshend hides his baldness under a skull cap.  But, by the first
instrumental break of the opener, "I Can't Explain," he's wind-milling
frantically and Daltrey is swinging the mike through the air.

Sterling support comes from John Bundrick, an organist and long-time
collaborator, while the rejuvenating effect of a young drummer -- Zac
Starkey, Ringo's son -- can't be underestimated.  But the real star is
Townshend.  Even now, pretenders like Noel Gallagher and Steve Craddock of
Ocean Colour Scene aren't fit to tie his shoelaces.  His guitar crackles
with electricity, notably on the funky "Magic Bus" and a superb "Who Are
You," scratching a 20-year old itch.  "5:15" is so powerful that the band
doesn't seem to know where to take it, the random, ragged element welcome in
an age when musicians no longer know how to surprise each other in front of
an audience.

A conclusive "My Generation," where Townshend demolishes a guitar, proves
that these prosperous stars haven't forgotten how they used to feel.
Rumours abound that new material is in the offing, but this homecoming
defied cynicism.