The Who at Winterland

Rock and roll at its best

By Dan Roach

Outside Winterland arena in San Francisco Saturday night, the producer’s special security guards were telling the young people that they would have to move along. Like a starving child begging for food, the face under the long black hair asked longingly, “Spare ticket for sale?” These were the losers of the Great Ticket Lottery.

Inside Winterland, the producer walked on stage following the Steve Gibbons Band set and told those who managed to get tickets that, “After a short break, you’ll have the greatest (expletive) rock and roll band in the world.”

At approximately 9 o’clock, The Who walked, leaped, rolled, and pranced on stage and proceeded to perform the best rock and roll show seen at Winterland since the Rolling Stones played there in 1972.

The Who is one of a handful of bands that can generate a genuine religious fervor in its audience. They are the Father, Son, Holy Ghost and Devil wrapped up into one tidy package.

Pete Townshend—The Father, the creator, Townshend of the windmill guitar strokes and acrobatic leaps and Chuck Berry shuffle. He is not rock’s premier musician, but he is rock and roll’s greatest spokesman. He is the composer of rock’s first opera, “Tommy,” the driver of the “Magic Bus,” the leader of “My Ge-Ge-Generation,” the rebel that claims we “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

Roger Daltrey—the Son, and rock’s first movie star, with lead roles in “Tommy” and “Liszto-mania.” Like a stallion, he prances nervously around the stage before starting the show with a couple of oldies “Can’t Explain” and “Substitute.” Daltrey, of the golden voice and golden locks, breaks a million hearts a day.

John Entwistle — the Holy Ghost. The stabilizing force in the band, he alone remains stationary, playing astonishing bass runs, stepping forward once to sing his own composition, “My Wife.” Entwistle is the invisible force without which the band would be empty.

Keith Moon—the Devil, the wicked Uncle Ernie in “Tommy.” He smashes about like a maniac on the drums, rolling around the stage, but at least still conscious. When The Who was last in town, Moon passed out and had to be replaces by someone from the audience. He made it through the entire two-hour concert Saturday night, keeping a furious pace, while a small electric fan provided air conditioning.

Who concerts are indeed special. This one easily could have sold out any huge auditorium or arena in the Bay Area. Instead The Who chose Winterland, which holds perhaps 5,400 and played two nights. (The concert was repeated Sunday night).

To be as fair as he possibly could under the conditions, producer Bill Graham sold tickets through a lottery system, similar to the way Bob Dylan’s 1974 concert tour ticket sales were handled. The winners cried for joy, while the losers cried out in frustration.

Like their fellow British Rockers, the Rolling Stones, and Rod Stewart and the Faces. The Who had no encore. Their idea is to make as fast a getaway as possible, while everyone is still in the hall screaming for more. It works.