TEMPO

For The Who, Last Tour Will Record End of Era

FROM ENQUIRER WIRES

When the Who’s Roger Daltrey called himself around a microphone in 1966 to shout the anti-authoritarian message of “My Generation,” he and his scruffy buddies defined, as well as anyone could, the adolescent rage at the core of rock ’n’ roll. They plugged their rage into amplifiers and converted it to crude poetry.

In the 16 years since that first hit, the band members got old. One of them died (Keith Moon). Their fans have been trampled in an effort to see them: A specter of ugly violence which haunted the band from the start—and which the band members sometimes cultivated—peaked three years ago when fans killed one another in a rush for seats at Cincinnati Riverfront Coliseum.

The national press ate the Who alive for the Dec. 3, 1979, tragedy at the coliseum, blaming them and their music. The group has had its problems putting the event behind them.

TOWNSHEND TOLD an interviewer earlier this year that the tragedy in Cincinnati was something the band “had” to survive.

“It’s not for me, or for my freedom or my indulgence, or for my bank balance that 11 kids died,” Townshend said. “But as an example to all of us within the rock ’n’ roll framework that it’s not perfect, that we’ve got lessons to learn, that we shouldn’t sit on our laurels. We shouldn’t be complacent.”

Which is maybe another way of saying we shouldn’t get fooled again.

But the Who go on. And when they play their best music, it’s driven by the old ironies of power and powerlessness.

But now, after living through the terrors, the group—whose only rival for World’s Greatest Rock Band is the Rolling Stones—may be stepping off the stage. The band will keep making records, says guitarist/songwriter Pete Townshend, but after this tour, which opened Wednesday in Landover, Md., they’re off the road for good.

Judging from Wednesday’s performance, this farewell trip

THE WHO may be at the end of a generation. From left, they are Roger Daltrey, Kenny Jones, Peter Townshend and John Entwistle.

(the show will play Indianapolis Wednesday; Pontiac, Mich., Thursday; and Louisville Thursday, Oct. 7; present plans do not include a stop in Cincinnati) will be one of the group’s best tours ever. That’s because the group members, veteran rockers though they are, performed Wednesday with the vivid urgency of beginners.

THE SHOW was a pull-out-all-the-stops celebration of the Who’s history, a blend of chaotic energy and intense emotion which enhanced the familiarity of the songs.

The band opened, as it always does, with “Substitute” and “Can’t Explain,” both loud and raunchy rockers which pretty much set the tone of the evening ... an evening which would see Pete Townshend crash out his power-chords, accenting them with flying leaps and swinging arms; Roger Daltrey sing in an effortless and gutty growl while swinging his hand mike like a lariat; John Entwistle look sane and pump out good, sturdy bass lines; and Kenny Jones keep the beat with strength and energy—less than Moon would put out, but still more than enough.

The band also included songs from its new It’s Hard album: “A Man is a Man,” “Eminence Front” and “Cry if You Want.” In most cases, Daltrey carried the vocal load, but there were times Wednesday when Entwistle and Townshend joined him at the mike.

And of course the oldies. Some of them were sloppy and sluggish, others were infused with a new energy. But all of them did their part to put the heart back into rock ’n’ roll.

What the Who finally did Wednesday was begin their long goodbye to rock ’n’ roll touring. But they’re doing it from a position of strength, unlike so many bands which keep playing until they just plain can’t do it anymore. Why would a group, still at the top, still one of the

world’s best rock ’n’ roll bands, quit touring?

“THEY DON’T fancy pulling their bodies around for six or eight weeks at a time,” road manager Bill Curbishley said. “I think everybody gets tired of doing something at one time or another.

“But don’t be amazed at seeing them come back and do some special event.”

Of course, a breakup of some kind has been rumored for years. With the 1978 death of Keith Moon, self-professed “loon” with a savage drum style and a penchant for violence, the group seemed defused. An old friend, Kenny Jones, from Small Faces, is the drummer now, but for the last two years, even loyal fans have wondered if the Who could survive the energy loss. Or if they even wanted to.

It’s a new Who in 1980. Daltrey cut his hair for a dramatic role in the British movie “McVicar.” Pete Townshend concentrates mainly on his own material, like

“try and make up visually for what I couldn’t play as a musician.” So he worked up all sorts of “lethal looking” licks, which got “bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger, until eventually I was getting myself incredible tasks.”

The licks got so big they were too much for the guitar, which one night ended up in pieces on the stage. And the Pete Townshend guitar-demolition act began. For years, the Who acted out their version of guerrilla rock. Townshend’s guitars and amplifiers, Moon’s drum kits, hotel rooms, cars—everything was turned to splinters. The kids loved it. Parents and authorities were not amused.

YET IT was not the violence that won for the band its widest popularity. It was the self-conscious artiness of “Tommy,” the Who’s 1969 “rock opera” (and 1974 Ken Russell film of the same name), which pulled in an audience that may have been too intimidated by the rougher edges.

The period produced some distinctly un-Who-like music, but it also was the era of Woodstock. And the power of the band in performance was preserved on the film that amounted to the only lasting documentation of the mythical Woodstock Nation.

Although they turned out to be the festival’s best rock act, the members of the Who—particularly Townshend—already were buying out of the Woodstock era of peace, love and political activism. Townshend kicked Yippie leader Abbie Hoffman off the stage for trying to talk politics during the Who’s performance.

The Who in performance: That’s where the power comes from. Townshend’s leaping, windmill-strum frenzy; Daltrey’s focused energy; Entwistle’s immobile mastery of the bass lines; and, in the old days, Keith Moon’s manic drumming. That power built and sustained the band.

A review of the latest album from the Who is on Page E-26.