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Shoreline review from S.F. Examiner



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Crashing chords into the night
Powerful guitar saves The Who from nostalgia-band status
By Craig Marine
OF THE EXAMINER STAFF
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 MOUNTAIN VIEW - Pete Townshend was ticked off Monday night, which was good.
After all, this was The Who onstage at the Shoreline Amphitheatre - albeit
an aged version - and The Who is a band that has always been fueled by anger
and frustration. This is the group, you may recall, that many of the Flower
Children did not want at the all-too-groovy Monterey Pop Festival in 1967,
because The Who smash things and generally misbehave. God bless 'em.

Whatever was stuck in Townshend's craw Monday night, he used his electric
guitar to work through his emotions, sending crashing chords out into the
cool night air with his trademark windmill gestures, scowling and jumping
about like the angry young Brit who wrote these songs decades earlier.

Considering that this tour is a trip down memory lane, with many of the
group's earliest songs, it seemed fitting that Townshend became reacquainted
with his bad attitude. The band opened with "Can't Explain," a song
Townshend wrote when he was 18.

He has described the song as being about "the frustrations of a young person
who is so incoherent and uneducated that he can't state his case to the
bourgeois intellectual blah blah blah." That's Townshend all over - angry,
brilliant and unwilling to take himself too seriously, at least publicly.

Of the three remaining original members, only Townshend conveyed any type of
emotional connection to the music. Roger Daltry, shorn of his flowing locks
but still in great shape, looked like the poseur he has always been. He
still sees himself as a Rock Star, and his attempts at re-creating the stage
moves he used at Woodstock - microphone spinning and knee diving - looked
foolish. John Entwistle kept his dignity by standing there and playing the
hell out of his bass, but his blue leather jacket, cut short Eisenhower
style, looked bad in the '70s and looked worse here.

The other two musicians onstage fared better. Drummer Zak Starkey - Ringo's
kid - was smart enough not to try to copy the late Keith Moon on drums. And
keyboard player John "Rabbit" Bundrick, essentially a shadow member of the
band for more than 20 years, performed with his usual understated and
excellent style.

But it was left to Townshend to keep the show, which ran more than 2 1/2
hours, from disintegrating into an embarrassing nostalgia concert that would
ruin the band's credibility among its strongest (or richest) fans. Naturally
enough, Townshend rose to the occasion.

He set the mood early, speaking to the audience about returning to a venue
that he had always associated with warmth and good deeds through his
participation in Neil Young's annual Bridge School concerts, which benefit
severely disabled children.

"It seems weird bringing The Who's brutalism to this lovely place,"
Townshend said, "but you wanted it, so here it is."

All of the best songs on this night were the ones that tapped into Townshend
seemingly bottomless pit of pain and rage. "5:15" and "The Real Me" from
"Quadrophenia." "Won't Get Fooled Again" and "Baba O'Riley" from "Who's
Next." Even "Who Are You," one of the only good Who songs past a certain
period, was delivered with fiery intensity on the strength of Townshend's
furious guitar playing.

Clearly, Townshend has abandoned all hope of rescuing what's left of his
hearing. Whereas he has played before from behind the safety of a plexiglass
barrier to protect his damaged ears, on Monday he more often stood directly
in front of his amplifiers, coaxing whatever screaming feedback most fit his
interpretation of a given tune. He did own the best spot in the house,
because his playing was phenomenal.

Townshend's internal conflicts were on display for everyone to see Monday
night. While he is clearly and justifiably proud of his songs, it is also
evident that the idea of standing up there as a middle aged man singing
songs rooted in adolescent angst seems somehow out of place. While Daltry
doesn't know or care that he looks like a clown up there, Townshend is
terrified of the prospect.

At one point, he argued with someone in the front row, offering to pay for
the person's ticket out of his own pocket so he or she "could go see Kenny
G." Another time, he asked for the house lights to be turned up so he could
see if people were standing. Spotting someone in a wheelchair, he said,
revealingly, "I can see that you are crippled. Aren't we all, aren't we
all?"

Which is why, on this night, the most powerful song, the one that truly
captured the mood, was "Behind Blue Eyes." With a lovely melody and pretty
harmonies, "Behind Blue Eyes" had the aging couples in the crowd hugging
each other and swaying to what may be the angriest and most brutal song
ostensibly written of love ever recorded.

It is classic Townshend, totally subversive - he dares the listener to
really hear the song, to listen, when Daltry sings that, "My love is
vengeance that's never free."

There is the aging rocker's love-hate relationship with his fans. Townshend
fears being a fraud, yet loves and desires the adulation. And, at least on
nights like this one, he goes out and earns every bit of it, as angry as he
may be.

By Craig Marine
OF THE EXAMINER STAFF

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