Pete's Diary Oct. 12, 2002

[Ken in MD <seahawkman2001@xxxxxxxxx>]

Ah Ha! You thought I was sulking. 
   
  I think today is probably as good a day as any to
come to this place and speak to everyone who is
interested about what might happen next to Roger
Daltrey and myself.

Roger has borne the entire weight of press work in
support of the various recent releases around The Who
- The Ultimate Collection and the remastered My
Generation album, and of course the DVD for the Royal
Albert Hall show for The Teenage Cancer charity. You
may have read what he has to say, I'm afraid I have
not: I've neither read interviews nor show reviews.
But I have of course spoken to the man himself. He is
upbeat and energetic about the future, but as ever -
worried that he may be unable for various reasons to
sing my songs for very much longer.

As I expected when I decided to go on with the tour
after John's death, most of the shows were powerful
and emotionally charged. I will probably not attend
John's memorial service next week, not because I feel
detached or wish to distance myself from fans or
family, but because for me the entire tour was a kind
of memorial. It is over and done now. Throughout the
tour I have been reading John Keegan's two books about
the last two major World Wars, carrying with me the
sense that, as a historian, what he writes stands as a
memorial for all those nameless men of all
nationalities who died; a better memorial really than
fields of poppies, or at least as poetic and eloquent.
I played with the Who for John. That is what I do best
that always improved his life and now honours his
memory.

Because of the power of the shows, and their
phenomenal financial success in a slightly depressed
marketplace, there are those who conclude that I will
naturally continue to perform with Roger under The Who
banner. There are those, who perhaps think they know
me better (as a grouch, a spoiler, a self-obsessed
creative, an insecure and pretentious self-styled
artist etc), who conclude that now it is all over.

The truth is that I lean toward neither position. The
truth is rather less sparked with drama. Most people
choose to ignore the two main reasons I stopped
performing with the Who on a regular basis towards the
end of 1982. Firstly, I had experienced advancing
hearing damage, which I wished to arrest. (I think I
did so to a great extent. I was told I would be deaf
by the time I was 40, and that did not happen).
Secondly, I could not write any songs that compared
with my best work for The Who during the years 1964 to
1976.

Many people think of me as a rock performer first and
foremost. A guitar smasher. An arm swinger. An
innovator of very loud chord work. But primarily,
after art school, I turned my attention entirely to
writing rock songs for The Who. Without that creative
work I would not have stayed in the band. There have
been times I've hated it. When I began to find that
song-writing work impossible to do well, I felt there
was no point in carrying on with all the other stuff
that related to my rock 'image'; it was all real, but
very heavy to carry.

On the first issue, the recent return to touring, and
to me playing electric guitar - albeit more quietly
than I used to in the '70s - has lead to further
deterioration of my hearing. My right ear, which
encounters both my own edgy guitar, and the machine
gun strokes of the drums, has suffered badly. Luckily
for me, I still have my left ear, which seems to be
less fucked up. When I've worked solo in the past five
years I've not used drums. This has meant I could play
more quietly I think. With The Who, there is of course
no way to play the old songs without drums. I have no
idea what I can do about this. I am unable to perform
with in-ear monitors - in fact they increase the often
unbearable tinnitus I suffer after shows.

On the second issue I have reached a conclusion of
sorts, which I know may infuriate some people, excite
some and leave many yawning. It is that I still don't
think I can write new songs for this thing we all call
The Who. What is The Who? It is a brand name, and two
old guys called Roger and Pete. I think I'm going to
stick with the two old guys and let the brand name
look after itself, it's done pretty well without my
help - and despite a huge amount of my active
interference - for the twenty years since 1982 when I
did my last studio session with the band.

Pretty bad news for hard-core and hopeful Who fans,
who long for a renaissance on record to equal that
we've enjoyed on the road lately. Pretty bad news too
I suppose for those who hope to see The Who return
with the kind of thundering performances of the 2002
tour.

Is there any good news? Roger and I met under Bill
Curbishley's watchful eye in Boston for a short
meeting before we all came home to catch up on our
domestic lives. Roger suggested we go on to tour
Australia and Japan, he usually does at the end of a
U.S. tour. I think I said I would not do it. Bill
stated simply that The Who are attracting audiences in
the U.S. out of all proportion with our visible and
measurable status in the record and entertainment
industry; if we tour once a year for another four or
five years we will probably amass large personal
fortunes and make a lot of people very happy. I
suggested Roger and I meet as often as possible when
we get home, and attempt to write some music together.

That might seem like a clear place to find ourselves.
But I do not want to write with Roger so we can pass
ourselves off as a 'new' Who, or to get richer. I want
to write with him so we can see whether we can write
together. To see whether he and I have anything we can
say together, that we could not say separately. I am
not shying away from the usual division of labour -
Roger is more of a singer than a writer, and I am
claiming to be a more of a writer than a rock star.
What I am shying away from, and Roger is not very
happy about this I feel, is trying to pick up The Who
recording legacy where it was dropped in 1976.

Whether we call an album a Who album is not the point.
We can call it what we like. It is how we approach it
that matters. Why are we making it?

My old friend Tom Wright, who some fans will know as
the guy who left his collection of great R&B
recordings for me to plunder when he went back to the
U.S. in 1963, feels Roger and I need to make a 'last'
album. One that is real, passionate, earthy, and
innovative - but also accessible. In various recent
letters to me he suggests lots of things I shouldn't
do: record or create on my studio territory, wear
baggy suits, write about old feelings, allow people to
use me to aggrandise themselves, take over, etc. He
also suggests he himself might make a great producer,
that much is worth listening to. Tom is still an
incredible musicologist and analyst.

Anyway, two weeks after the tour Roger is still
suffering jet-lag and we haven't managed a meeting
yet. And if we don't get together to write in my home
studio, I worry we will have to surround ourselves
with several helpers, because we will need guitars,
keyboards, tea, tape machines etc. It is beyond me
quite what dear Tom would do while Roger and I worried
about our doctor's appointments. But we will do
something I'm sure.

That's pretty much where things stand. The Who grossed
several zillion this summer. Yet I am not exactly
counting my money. Who/Led Zeppelin Manager Bill
Curbishley isn't counting his either, despite having
just sold his small private company to an expanding
PLC for even more zillion millions. The money thing
just happens around us. It is not what drives us. Not
really. Astonishing to think that three years ago
Roger and I toured to keep shopaholic John out of
debtor's prison. 

Outside The Who I am working on a number of projects,
which may or may not come to fruition in some serious
way. They all require money of course, so I am glad I
earned some this summer. I have 20 employees, a music
publishing company, several recording studios, a video
studio, a sail-boat (I won the Prada Super League in
the Med this summer, despite the fact I was on the
stage most of the time), a pretty and talented
girlfriend, a very cool family, and lots of friends. I
also run a really good charity which keeps a low
profile, but does a lot of valuable work with addicts,
alcoholics and both the victims and 'recovering'
perpetrators of sexual abuse. But I myself am always a
Grade One addict-accident waiting to reoccur. I have
to measure my lust for life very, very carefully and
take impartial advice wherever I can on how to live a
decent and relatively normal life. Like most people in
the entertainment industry I'm a nut. 

I'm a nut. But please trust me. I'm going to attempt
to get out of my own way, and stay out of my own way.
That will be hard for me. It's not exactly a spiritual
discipline, but for someone like me who has no regular
confining daily schedule of work and responsibility
outside the time I spend with my young son, it's hard
to remain focussed on remaining unfocussed. A nice
blur. That is what I should be content to see. A
gentle mist is what I should be happy to breathe. On
the stage, old friends often shout 'Get on with it!'
just to see me react. But today, I feel I should not
try to 'get on with it'; I should try to let happen
whatever happens. 
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