The scene outside Madison Square Garden last night seemed more like an Angolan political rally than the prelude to a rock concert by the Who. Surly gangs of young teens roamed through the dense anxious crowd. Some were looking to buy or steal tickets. Others were looking to sell tickets at prices ranging from $50 to $75 each.

The reason for the desperation was that this was to be the Who’s only New York area concert this spring. Though the Garden can accommodate nearly 20,000 persons, demand for tickets to see the Who could have been 10 times that.

The tense situation outside the Garden may well have been aggravated by the self-serving rhetoric of disc jockeys on radio stations like WNEW-FM. Even that station’s respected voice of moderation, Scott Muni, was unusually rhapsodic yesterday. “The Song Is Over,” he said, naming the Who title he had just played, “but the song is just beginning again, and again, for the Who.” This was two hours before the long-sold-out show.

The message may have been subliminal, but it was unmistakable. If you missed the Who, you might as well hang up your rock and roll shoes, cancel your subscription to the Resurrection, and forget about showing your face in school tomorrow.

The show itself had been postponed from Wednesday night. Drummer Keith Moon had collapsed from what was said to be the effects of the flu the night before in Boston.

The Who began in fine form playing two of its oldest, grandest songs, “Substitute” and “Can’t Explain” which manages to articulate the mesmeric, non-verbal power this band holds over its audience.

But the Who did not fulfill its promise. Perhaps there were sound problems. Guitarist and hero figure Pete Townshend appeared to be exchanging angry words with the sound man at one point. But Townshend’s guitar playing was not especially sharp on “Slit Kid,” and his sound was thin rather than full and driving on “Magic Bus.”

The set faltered with a wrong excerpt from “Tommy.” This dreary score is memorable only for its audacity when released six years ago as the first rock opera. Last night’s renditions of “Acid Queen” and “Fiddle About” were relatively anemic. Despite Roger Daltrey’s valiant effort, “Pinball Wizard” simply didn’t score.

Still the Who is virtually the only rock band left from the 1960s that can instill in its audience the experience of generational unity. “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” with Daltrey leading 20,000 raised fists, was inspiring. “See Me Feel Me Touch Me” had a similarly galvanic effect.

But “My Generation,” which should have been the moment of unparalleled triumph, digressed into an inadequate jam that drained this youth anthem of its sometimes profound impact.

Few in the overflow crowd were disappointed, though. After finishing strongly with “We Won’t Get Fooled Again,” the houselights went up, but the audience refused to leave. Despite its reputation as a band that steadfastly refuses to deliver encores, the Who returned to perform three songs: The Junior Walker classic “Road Runner,” a reprise of “Can’t Explain,” and an obscure song called “Song for the Naked Eye.” At that point, even those in the $75 seats probably felt they’d gotten their money’s worth.