Last Hurrah Simply a Classic

By Pam Platt

TODAY Staff Writer

It was probably The Who’s last hurrah. But whether first, middle or last — what a hurrah!

The 64,000 who jammed Orlando’s Tangerine Bowl Saturday for the Florida version of The Who’s First Final Farewell Tour were the beneficiaries of two hours’ worth of first-rate entertainment.

And more.

They experienced, first-hand, the visceral spark of what’s kept this legendary rock group going for 17 years.

The Who rode into town on that history, but the group’s chart-topping attention-grabbing past alone could not maintain what turned out to be a riveting display of grand-scale Show Biz and enduring, hustling musicianship.

During their opening number, “My Generation,” Roger Daltrey sang, “Hope I die before I get old.”

Not to worry. In that sense, if this Who show proved anything, it was that for the millions who’ve turned out to see them on this North American tour, The Who are immortal. Or, to some hero-worshipping fans who spray-painted their feelings on a bed sheet, “The Who Is God.”

The Who were the main event in Saturday’s five-hour extravaganza, which means The Who weren’t on first, they were on third. And, judging by audience response, an I Don’t Know was on first and a What was on second.

Joan Jett, dressed in blue body suit, black high-top sneakers and low-slung bass guitar, opened the show promptly at 3 p.m. with her group, The Blackhearts.

This former member of the Runaways, an all-girl band of the late ’70s, had a runaway hit this year called “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.” The Who crowd seemed less than adoring of hers.

She played her greatest hit, some other stuff from her albums, a journeyman’s cover of the Rolling Stones’ nasty “Star Star” and a tooth-grindingly off-key version of the oldie “Wooly Bully.”

At one point she belted, “I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation.” But Jett may have had a change of heart during her 45-minute set as the audience pelted her and her band with wadded-up paper cups and other garbage.

Likewise, but even worse, it was bombs away for the B-52’s, a seven-member New Wave group from Athens, Ga., who took the stage after Jett took off.

The B-52’s have their devoted fans, but not enough of them were at the T-Bowl Saturday to save them.

The group plays quirky dance music most suitable for enjoyment in clubs, so their being tapped to play before a crowd of 64,000 was both unfair to them and inexplicable to a hideously rude audience who, in their behavior, exposed the rockhard underbelly of Southern hospitality.

The waving of arms is a part of the B-52’s act, but that showmanship took on defense aspects in this show: More than several times, a band member’s hand shot up and out to stop a paper projectile from reaching its target. But the audience’s aim was true more often than not and, heralded with a chorus of boos and flurries of tossed trash, the B-52's bailed out after only 25 minutes of trying.

During that final break before the real show, people made their last mad dashes to vendors selling soft pretzels, Italian ices, nachos, hot dogs and soft drinks; to bathrooms with achingly long lines; to memorabilia stands where T-shirts made of less material (the sleeveless kind) cost more than the others; to the tarpaulin covered grass field of the T-Bowl.

And, by 5:50, it was show time.

The huge white letters spelling Who (the “H” straddled the stage) were bathed in light and outlined in flashing lights, the huge video screen suspended by crane above the stage showed a test pattern, and then The Who were on stage, barreling and finesse-ing their way through a two-hour act which had their mammoth audience shouting, gaping, dancing and singing.

The obvious crowd favorites were Who oldies, especially those from the landmark “Who’s Next” album: “Baba O’Riley,” “Behind Blue Eyes” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” At times, these songs, seemed anthems of a sort; the audience sang along, summoning the words from memory, their pledge of allegiance.

The trademark Who-isms were there:

Lead singer (and, as the show illustrated, one mean harmonica player) Roger Daltrey whipped his microphone-lasso through the air with all the precision of a Louis L’Amour cowboy. His vocals were strong and true.

One-of-a-kind guitarist Peter Townshend showed off his patented windmill strumming, acrobatic leaps, and fancy footwork; the physicality of his effort, both in gesture and music, was amazing.

Bass player John Entwistle was characteristically laid back, but wore a loud red suit.

Drummer Kenney Jones, who assumed that role at the passing of original Who drummer Keith Moon, controlled the back beat that moved it.

The giant screen, which showed giant video images of what was happening on stage, was a treat for those who weren’t close enough to the stage to eyewitness the nuances of the performance. It was terribly nice of The Who to provide this, but a lot of people watched the screen — instead of the live performers — with the same slackjawed gaze they give their TV sets at home. (That video display is just a harbinger of a taped TV special of this tour which will indeed show up on home TV sets next year.)

Counterpoint to all this was a light show, which never overshadowed the machinations of the group but at times was just as dazzling. Spotlights whirled in the night sky, blazing headlights were turned on the audience as the group pranced through their own Who’s Who: its first hit, “I Can’t Explain,” “What Makes a Man a Man,” “Pinball Wizard,” “See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me,” “Who Are You,” “Rain,” “Long Live Rock.”

And then it was over. Well, not quite.

The often-squabbling Daltrey and Townshend hugged each other before leaving, only to return a few minutes later with an encore of “Squeeze Box” and “Magic Bus” which was further punctuated by a long fireworks display fueled by thousands of dollars), and spitting fireworks redly spelling out “The Who” on both sides of the stadium.

Then it was really over, in more than just the particular concert sense.

There is an excellent chance that this is the last time The Who will tour Ameri-

Sentiment has surrounded this tour, but not hysteria.

Despite the record-breaking crowd at the T-Bowl, there were no serious inci dents, slightly more than 20 arrests, 60 admissions to the first aid center. The day was described as “mild” by Emergency Medical Services coordinator Ed Hesse.

Medical and law enforcement officials are probably the only ones who would call the show mild.

Sixteen-year-old Erik Cline of Melbourne put it in other words. “They went out in style,” he said,

The Who really aren’t kids any more. But they’re still all right.

TODAY Photos by Michael R Brown

Stroke for stroke, Pete Townshend can still go the distance with any guitarist in the world

The T-Bowl crowd gave opening acts bland receptions — but by nightfall The Who, aided by a large visual screen, scored well