It’s hard to imagine what could possibly have kept The Who alive and well and on the road through 17 years of rock’n’roll. It could be talent. Or it could be just luck.

But whatever the reason, the effects of this remarkably long-lived British band hit home Tuesday night as The Who sparked a Salt Palace crowd into a frenzy. Often viewed as the forefathers of new wave, the band zoomed through a two-hour, 15-song set that left the 15,000-plus audience screaming for yet another encore.

At $10 a seat, The Who had a lot to prove, but it’s doubtful that anyone wanted a refund at the end of the concert.

The band’s sound spans two generations of popular music, ranging from mid-’60s hits like “I Can’t Explain” to contemporary rock’n’roll anthems like “Who Are You.” That they have somehow remained relevant over the years proves that the Kids are more than just all right; they are unique.

Exactly just what has kept The Who afloat in the fickle seas of today’s music is uncertain. Salt Palace ushers might argue that their only mark of distinction is that they play louder than other bands, but sheer volume could not sustain the hysteria generated at a Who concert.

The secret to their success lies partly in the visual elements they have learned to exploit so well. In the early years, they made a name for themselves as the band that smashed more gear and gutted more hotel rooms than anyone else.

But Tuesday’s performance showed that much of that anger has dissipated with age and The Who seemed almost jovial at their warm Salt Lake reception. The only remnants of their former antics were Pete

“Looking like a Greek god in Levis, Daltrey strutted from one end of the stage to the other, swinging his microphone like a lasso and accepting offerings of flowers and beer cans from front-row worshippers.”

Townshend’s arm-flailing guitar licks and Roger Daltrey’s flying kicks at an innocent amplifier.

Both musically — and in a sense spiritually — Townshend has remained the band’s ringleader, composing such classic rock anthems as “I Can See For Miles,” “Magic Bus” and “Long Live Rock.” Although an excellent musician, Townshend was content most of the night to simply grind out the traditional three-chord thunderclaps that

have become The Who’s trademark. But on “Young Man Blues” and “Who Are You,” he finally let go some dazzling lead guitar showcasing the true breadth of his abilities.

As the voice of The Who, Daltrey adds the gritty vocals and street-brawler image that has come to personify the band. Looking like a Greek god in Levi’s, Daltrey strutted from one end of the stage to the other, swinging his microphone like a lasso and accepting

offerings of flowers and beer cans from front-row worshippers. His voice was in fine form during old reliables like “Substitute” and “Baba O’Riley,” and it was only in reaching for the high notes on “Behind Blue Eyes” and “See Me, Feel Me” that he came up empty handed.

Although Townshend and Daltrey soaked up most of the spotlight, the best musicianship of the evening may have come from the rhythm section featuring bassist John

Entwistle and drummer Kenny Jones. Entwistle, who has become famous for his deadpan demeanor, makes up for his lack of stage personality with tightknit background bass lines punctuated by crisp lead-on songs like “My Generation.”

Congratulations are in order for percussionist Jones, who has had the tough job of filling the vacuum left when former Who pounder Keith Moon died last year of an overdose. And while Jones’s performance was, for the most part, faultless, one cannot help but mourn the passing of “Moon the Loon," a guy whose idea of a good time was driving Lincoln Continental’s into swimming pools or dynamiting his drums at the end of a performance.

Other new additions to The Who’s format include a keyboardist and three-member horn section. The contributions of these individuals were marginal, but they did make possible the performance of selections from Quadrophenia and added an appropriately ethereal mood to songs from Tommy.

At the conclusion, a five-minute standing ovation, replete with matches and cigarette lighters, earned Salt Lakers an encore from a band that generally doesn’t do encores. As the final chords died and Townshend took a last leap into the air, there was some sadness at bidding farewell to this band of English gentlemen who had rendered such an outstanding performance.

In sum, it was an evening to remember, something to tell your grandkids about.