The Who

Royal Albert Hall

Max Bell

Although they’ve come out of retirement more often than Maria Callas, the Who have never reformed—their act, that is, rather than their band status. Once billed as “the greatest rock and roll group in the world” (as were the Stones), Pete Townshend, Roger Daltrey, John Entwistle and assorted chums refuse to die before they get old.

This can be problematic. The last time I saw the Who, at Shepherd’s Bush, they were chronic, ring-rusty and rough. Last night, abetted by a star-studded cast of special guests, in aid of the Teenage Cancer Trust, they were firing on all cylinders with only intermittent stalling.

Leaving aside obvious Who crowd-pleasers, the pleasure lay in the “surprise” element. Paul Weller joined his hero Townshend for a kind of double “Modfather and Son meets the Everlys” during So Sad About Us, while Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder had flown 8,000 miles to bark I’m One, and to swap mic techniques with Daltrey for Getting In Tune.

Various excerpts from Townshend’s Lifehouse project and Quadrophenia cut into the meat-and-potatoes hits, but Nigel Kennedy’s fast fiddling was a bonus during a version of Baba O’Reilly that recaptured the song’s original transformation into a heavy metal folk epic.

With Noel Gallagher swapping, er, licks on Won’t Get Fooled Again, and the diminutive Stereophonic Kelly Jones adding a valley swing to Substitute, the feel-good factor stayed high and didn’t lose sight of the charitable impetus.

Long-term Who addicts were probably even happier hearing Mary Anne With The Shaky Hand and a windmill and power-chorded attack on Magic Bus, complete with Daltrey’s Charlie McCoy impersonation. For the youngsters relishing My Generation, the Who are an institution—go to the back of the class whoever said the band will soon be put into one.

On form: Roger Daltrey

Ratings:  adequate  good  very good  outstanding X poor