More Who from Friday's Orange Country Register

[Brian Cady <cadyb@home.com>]

Available on line at:
http://www.ocregister.com/entertainment/weekend/gems00811cci.shtml

A band -- and rock music -- in transition 

By BEN WENER
The Orange County Register 

It's commonly (and wrongly) held that the last great Who album is
"Quadrophenia" (1973), everything after it believed to be bruised by
booze, clashing egos and aimlessness.

To a certain degree it's easy to agree. Scaling touring heights just as
its creativity was beginning to dry up, the band was close to free-fall
by the mid-'70s. In a short while, Keith Moon would be dead, while the
last album he would play on, the posthumously released "Who Are You,"
had only two memorable cuts - the vicious title track and "Sister
Disco," a leftover from the sessions that would eventually result in
"Who's Next" (1971).

Though the Who soldiered on, often scoring Top 40 hits, it never would
recover entirely, partly because it failed to adapt. The band was in its
own perpetual transition at the same time rock itself was in transition
- and the two had little in common.

Bloated beyond recognition, pop music was stalled, waiting for the punk
revolution to slam-dance the fat away. The Who's downfall was in how it
reacted to that shift. The more prescient, like Neil Young, embraced it;
the outwardly supportive but inwardly resentful - their king: Pete
Townshend - all but ignored it, preferring to theorize its cultural
effect rather than incorporate it into their sound.

Sure, rebellion isn't for everyone, especially articulate songwriters
past 30. But there are other ways to express rage - and with "The Who By
Numbers" (1975), the group (and Townshend in particular) prepared for
middle age.

It only makes sense that the album would mark the band's 10th
anniversary. In retrospect, "Quadrophenia" sounds like the last
grandiose gasp of the old ideal-pushing Who; that it was bookended
catalog-wise by the best-of "Meaty, Beaty, Big and Bouncy" and the
leftovers collection "Odds 'n' Sods" only reinforced the notion that the
first chapter in the group's career had concluded.

"Numbers" was a slight but significant step forward. It sounded similar
to recent efforts, especially the shuffling rhythms of "Going Mobile"
and the aching tenderness of "Love Reign O'er Me." But thematically it
went in completely new directions.

Despite opening with a final glimpse of teen-age angst (the stomping
"Slip Kid") and leaving enough room for a catchy radio hit (the
irrepressibly randy "Squeeze Box"), the album was essentially Town
shend's way to grapple with the realization that he indeed would not die
before he got old.

In some ways it sounds like a conceptual suicide suite - though, as
critic John Swenson points out in the liner notes to the disc's
rerelease, how does "Squeeze Box" fit in? Still, you can hear this as a
death knell; if Townshend is killing someone, it's his old self, the one
of "Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere." By '75, that freedom had been stifled by
fan expectations, leaving Townshend able to fill stadiums (an
increasingly dull pleasure), play the obvious, feel miserable and drink.
Heavily.

And so we get a clutch of the songwriter's bravest tunes. The rollicking
"However Much I Booze," the turning point in his self-awareness. The
suitably soaring "Dreaming From the Waist," a discovery that rock
swagger and untamed sexual drive will get him nowhere. "Imagine a Man,"
with its author seeking realistic enlightenment for a change. "How Many
Friends," in which he wonders who he can trust in the music industry. 

And most surprisingly, the subtle but captivating "Blue, Red and Grey,"
with Town shend singing a sweetly somber self-evaluation worthy of Ray
Davies above a pining ukulele strum.

The greatness of the album, however, doesn't reside solely with
Townshend. Roger Daltrey's vocals still maintained a roaring ferocity,
and he had begun to achieve a new dynamic that brought proper
preciousness; compare how burly the quiet moments of "Behind Blue Eyes"
are with the same moments in "They Are in Love" here.

The Ox, bassist John Entwistle, contributed a beauty: "Success Story,"
which lovingly parodied the band's early sound while lyrically adding to
the disillusionment ("you know, this used to be fun," he sings). And
Moon's drumming, though not as jaw-dropping as on the previous two
albums, was every bit as propulsive.

The true importance of "Numbers," though, is the trajectory on which it
sets Town shend; it's one he rarely would be able to explore with as
much depth while working with his Who mates.

Try this: Play "Numbers," then Pete's Ronnie Lane collaboration "Rough
Mix," then his vastly underrated early '80s solo albums, "Empty Glass"
and "All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes." That's his evolution. All
those Who albums during this same period (i.e. "Face Dances") are for
the fanatics who refuse to tell good from bad. Those who enjoy studying
Townshend's ups and downs as an art form unto itself know that "Numbers"
is the departing point.

"However Much I Booze" to "Who Are You" (yeah, you need the song) to
"Rough Boys" to "Slit Skirts" - there's a fascinating autobiography in
there. You just have to map it out. And the Who have never been much for
directions.

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