Mon. Apr. 21, 1980 JOURNAL 11

The Who essentially stopped touring and rumors that the band was headed for oblivion abounded. Then, after more than three years of divisiveness, the group talked things over, decided to tour again and went to work finishing production on their 1978 album, “Who Are You.”

But, having made the decision to stay together as rock’s longest-lived group, an unexpected death was to shatter hopeful plans for continued survival.

“Keith Moon, the wildman drummer of The Who rock group, whose fiance found him dead in their apartment Thursday, died from an overdose of drugs, a post mortem showed Friday.” – Associated Press, September 9, 1978

“I think someone looked down and said, ‘Okay, that’s your ninth life.’” – Entwistle

Like a whisper in a large room, Keith Moon quietly died September 7, 1978, while sleeping off a late night in his London apartment. Initial news accounts attributed Moon’s death to “medical reasons” and any rumors of drug abuse were denied. Later, however, an autopsy revealed he’d taken an overdose of the prescription sedative Heminevrin.

That the drummer’s death was drug-caused surprised no one. Daltrey said, “I’ve seen him take 25 leapers (amphetamines) and then drink a bottle of brandy many times.” Moon’s life of excesses had finally caught up to him.

Because the musician suffered from mania and chronic alcoholism, the question of suicide seemed a possibility. But friends and associates doubted it. “He loved life too much,” Entwistle said.

Indeed, Moon seemingly had a lot to live for. The Who had just completed a tour of America to promote their latest album. In a September Rolling Stone interview, Moon said he felt the Who’s increased productivity had given him new direction.

Less than 24 hours before his fatal overdose, he’d announced his engagement to Swedish actress Annette Walter-Lax, at a party thrown by ex-Beatle Paul McCartney.

A star-studded crowd attended that party (celebrating the birthday of 505 rocker Buddy Holly, whose music is posthumously published by McCartney) including journalist David Frost. Frost described Moon’s composure that night as being “tremendously relaxed and content.”

Moon and his fiance, whom he’d lived with for two years, attended a special screening of “The Buddy Holly Story” and then left for home. Breakfasting late, Moon went to sleep.

A spokesman for Moon said Walter-Lax said Moon was “perfectly all right” after the party. “But when Annette tried to wake him she could not and called a doctor. When an ambulance arrived he was already dead.”

Oddly enough, it was a peaceful death for the flamboyant Moon. His life had been filled with acts of hostility.

Once, a hotel manager asked Moon to turn down “the noise” from a cassette he was playing at full volume. Angered, Moon reduced the room to splinters, announcing, “This is noise. That was The Who.” At one time, Moon’s hotel-destroying led to The Who’s banning from all hotels in New York.

One might’ve expected that his end would’ve come during a fit of violence, but it didn’t.

While the band had made their reputation on inter-group conflict, The Who felt the loss. Townshend said, “We all felt very weird, Keith has always appeared so close to blowing himself up in the past that we’ve become used to living with the feeling. But this time, Keith hasn’t survived, he hasn’t come round, he hasn’t thrown himself off the balcony and landed in one piece.”

All the band members were deeply shocked. Entwistle expressed anger because Moon had died the result of “a stupid accident.”

Many people felt Moon should’ve taken several recent hospitalizations as a sign to slow down. “I think he actually believed himself indestructible,” Entwistle said. “He was quite shocked that he’d broken a few bones over the past few years. I mean, I’ve seen him tumble down 30 stairs and get up as though nothing had happened and begin a conversation.”

Worldwide, news of the drummer’s death came as a blow to fellow musicians. Clement Burkes, drummer for Blondie, kicked his drums over at the end of a show saying, “That’s for Keith Moon, the greatest drummer in the world.”

It was true. Keith Moon probably was the greatest drummer in the world. While he’d never achieved the charismatic fame Ringo Starr had, Moon’s style had set the outrageous pace for rock and roll.

With his death, fears that The Who might come to an end began to surface.

However, speaking for the band Townshend announced, “We are more determined than ever to carry on and we want the spirit of the group to which Keith contributed so much to go on, although no human being can ever take his place.”

The news that the band would continue to perform under the same name was ironic in the light of a song on “Who Are You” called “Music Must Change.” Because the music was in a 6-8 time signature and unsuited to Moon’s drumming style, he didn’t appear on that track.

The music did change and by Jan. 11, 1979, The Who acquired a new drummer. Kenny Jones, formerly of the Small Faces, was to fill Moon’s shoes.

Jones was a logical replacement since he’d worked on “Quadrophenia” and had played on Daltrey’s solo LP and on the “Tommy” soundtrack.

Later, former member of Free, John “Rabbit” Bundrick joined The Who as a keyboardist. Also, a three-piece horn section was added. The band was developing a new sound, and bugged by the urge to tour, they re-emerged in 1979 in the U.S.

But, death wasn’t done with The Who yet.

“People were climbing on other people’s shoulders. Some people went berserk and started swinging their elbows.”

“God, this one girl, it must have been 20 minutes before the doors opened and all of a sudden I felt a tug on my arm; it’s this girl, and her head was at my waist and she said, ‘Excuse me, my feet are back there somewhere.’ She was horizontal.” – observers at The Who concert in Cincinnati, where 11 people were trampled to death

Bottles of booze passed hands freely. Some children wailed under overcast skies. A cold, biting wind blew in from the west, numbing the crowds who’d gathered outside Cincinnati’s Riverfront Coliseum to see The Who on a December tour.

Although the music wasn’t scheduled to begin until 8 p.m., nearly 7,000 fans had anxiously gathered outside the arena by early evening. Most held general admission tickets the concert’s promoters had decided to sell for profit’s sake.

By 7 p.m., perhaps prompted by the cold, perhaps by the sounds of The Who rehearsing inside, the masses pressed in closer to the coliseum’s west gate. By 7:20 p.m., someone had smashed their way through one of the glass doors blocking their entrance.

Promoters decided to relieve crowd pressure. They opened two – only two – of the gates.

Suddenly, people found themselves crushed in a mad push for the inside. Unable to breathe, many found themselves helplessly pinned between countless bodies, feet off the ground. Shoes and clothing were ripped off as the crowd’s swirling motion created conflicting pressures.

Horribly, people began to fall beneath the feet of friends, family or strangers. At the back of the crowd, unaware of the jam near the doors, concert-goers pushed against the backs of those in front of them.

When some of the crowd finally got inside, many – including a four-year-old girl – had blood on their shoes. It was the worst tragedy in the history of rock and roll. In all, 11 people were trampled to death in the crush.

Inside the coliseum, The Who had no idea what had happened. They only knew they’d been instructed to play their standard two-hour set and keep the encore short.

When the four came offstage that night, they were stunned. Jay Cocks, writing Dec. 17 in Time Magazine, said, “Kenny Jones slumped against a wall. John Entwistle tried to light a cigarette, which shredded in his shaking hands. Roger Daltrey began to cry. Pete Townshend went ashen quiet. Daltrey thought the entire tour should be cancelled. Then Townshend spoke up. He said, ‘If we don’t play tomorrow, we’ll never play again.’”

Initially, the blame for the tragedy was put down to the crowd’s animalistic nature, or the violence of The Who’s rock.

As later reports showed, the fault lay in the promoter’s poor planning. Less than 20 percent of the Cincinnati tickets sold were for reserved seating. The rest were sold under a system called festival seating. Festival seating brings promoters extra bucks and forces the audience to fight for the best seats.

Most of the country’s major promoters had abandoned festival seating as an unworkable system years earlier. A stupid oversight, or perhaps greed, had caused the death of 11 people.

“We’re always trying to outdo each other onstage. All of us are a bit mad. We’ve stayed together for 15 years because we’ve never stopped fighting.” – Daltrey

“I’ve seen some things on television since I’ve been here, like that California Jam I fuckin’ hell, man. Who was it, Santana? I just thought, ‘Someone get out there and mean it, please.’ The Who should get back on the road if that’s what’s around.” – Daltrey

What can the fans expect in Denver this week?

To be honest, the kids are no longer young. Daltrey and Townshend are both 35. Entwistle is 34. That’s old for a rock star. Only Moon died before he got old. Of all the band members, none feels their age like Townshend.