WELL, THE highest energy rock band has come and gone. The Who arrived on stage at the Amphitheater last night in the usual way, lead singer Roger Daltrey's legs chugging like pistons, microphone twirling, Peter Townshend's guitar arm windmilling, Keith Moon manic on drums and John Entwhistle minding his business on the bass. The din from the stage was incredible; the din from the audience matching that and then some. Down front, there was the usual crush, with the casualties carted out from time to time, and the kid next to me threw up during "My Generation."

Another evening of living theater at the Amphitheater.

When it comes to rock theater, the Who must be the masters. No Alice Cooper theatrics needed, no props other than the voices and the charge the group self-generates. With them, it’s all energy, transcending the music, transcending the scene. Harness 'em up, and they could probably transcend the energy crisis as well.

THE WHO, of course, have always had "their generation" in hand, from pre-"Tommy" days to the present. Tho 10 years or so now separates them from many of their most avid high school age followers, they're still at their best singing about adolescence, most lately with chief writer Townshend's "Quadrophenia," the double-album rock opus describing the four facets of a mixed-up kid called Jimmy–who represents, in reality, the psyches of the four men who make up the Who.

That effort, predictably enough in a field where mediocrity is the going thing, has been hailed as a monumental musical achievement. It's not; it’s just better than what passes for big deals in the world of rock. When Daltrey tried to explain what it was all about between songs, his English accent and

Pete Townshend

the acoustics rendering everything all but indistinguishable, it was pretty dull. But when the music began again, the group was off again, and the energy trip carried the whole thing.

Townshend himself introduced the segments from "Quadrophenia," which took up the greater portion of the two-hour set, as selections from "a potboiler album we put together to please the industry and a long drawn-out piece of s—." Irony thus dispensed with, they swung into some of the story of Jimmy and his problems in putting himself together. Like Roger, Jimmy is depicted as a ruthless one, a fancy dancer; like the guru-indoctrinated Townshend, he is a spiritual seeker. Like Moon, he can be devil-may-care; like Entwhistle, he can lean toward the romantic. Of such stuff are rock operas made.

BUT THE Who did not do the complete work; as Daltrey said, the record's long and you can listen to it at home. Rather, they did only representative parts, filling the rest of the evening with Who staples such as "My Generation," "I Can’t Explain," and "Summertime Blues." "Tommy" and Quadrophenia" may have marked the Who as rock intellectuals, but their appeal and stage presence are far less complex. They are, in the final analysis, pure, raw energy – which is, after all, what rock ’n’ roll’s always been about.