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ty. Townshend and Daltrey pared a couple of tunes from their arena set list such as “You Better You Bet” and “Bargain,” most recently heard last month at the Tweeter Center, but otherwise stuck to the program in sequence, moving from “Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy”-era singles into sections of “Who’s Next” and “Quadrophenia” and closing with a suite from “Tommy.”

The one exception was “I Don’t Even Know Myself,” a 1970 B-side, notable for its last-gunslinger-in-town introspection and loping country keyboards by John “Rabbit” Bundrick.

Yet there was undeniable power in this performance. Zak Starkey has done the impossible, expertly channeling madman Moon’s drumming. It’s a

Tribune photo by Nuccio DiNuzzo Roger Daltrey (left) and Pete Townshend, half of the original Who, presented undeniable power.

feat that would have been beyond Moon, who was incapable of playing anything the same way twice, so unhinged was his genius. But Starkey has

emerged as a potent foil for Townshend’s volatile solos, and epics such as “Who Are You” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again” were played with finely calibrated power, every fill in its place, every explosion expertly timed.

Unlike Starkey, who has had years to grow into the surrogate Moon role, Pino Pallidino has the unforgiving task of replacing John Entwistle, who died on the eve of the current tour June 27. Pallidino had more presence in the mix than he did last month at Tweeter Center, but his deep, self-effacing style is so far removed from Entwistle’s

aggressive tone that it can’t help but impact the music.

As if to compensate, Townshend tore into his solos with a ferocity that belied his hearing problems. For a man reduced to playing acoustic guitar exclusively only a few years ago to protect his ears, Townshend played with remarkable intensity and volume, and took songs such as “Eminence Front,” “Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere” and “5:15” beyond their expected, time-worn conclusions into the sonic unknown, wind-milling his instrument into stuttering, machine-gunning climax-

The Who’s songs are towering monuments to what once was, and Townshend and Daltrey can still do them justice.

es. Daltrey sang with bloodied conviction, even if his stentorian bray sounded a bit frayed from road wear, no longer quite capable of sustaining the high notes in the demanding “Love, Reign O’er Me” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

The pair of survivors ad-libbed some lines about growing up and having kids of their own in “The Kids Are Alright,” which was played as a folk-rocking jangle rather than a mod-era pop single. No mention was made of the recently departed Entwistle, let alone the long-gone Moon, but all of the songs performed betrayed their absence.

The Who have moved on, a career band content to play their hits as best as humanly possible, and at this point, it’s difficult to expect anything more. Their songs are towering monuments to what once was, and Townshend and Daltrey can still do them justice. Their sweat and enthusiasm are still real, even if their zeal to add to their creative legacy no longer burns.

The task is better left to bands like Pearl Jam, who in their wildest dreams hope to still be captivating audiences 40 years into their career. Right now, they’re still on course.