SAN FRANCISCO—After its cold, mechanical 1973 concert at the Inglewood Forum and rather unconvincing new "The Who by Numbers" album, it seemed nearly time to finally put the Who into rock's inactive file. After all, 12 years is a long time for any rock 'n' roll band. Even if—as in this case—it is one of rock's all-time greatest.

But the Who played with enough credibility March 21 at the largely impersonal 55,000-seat Anaheim Stadium to make another look seem worthwhile. Besides, the band's next California stop was at the 5,000-seat Winterland hall in San Francisco. If the group was to ever regain its original fire and purpose, it would probably be in an intimate setting like Winterland.

Sure enough, the band responded to Winterland's intimacy Saturday night. Because the Who is expected to return to California this summer, the Winterland show probably wasn't the band's last hurrah locally, but it was probably one of its finest hurrahs.

If the conditions imposed on the band by the vast, outdoor Anaheim Stadium setting pretty much limited the band to simply sharing its legacy with the audience, the intimacy of Winterland allowed the band once more to assert its vitality.

Though the Who used basically the same material of the Anaheim concert, its set Saturday bristled with the kind of tension, grandeur and celebration that audiences once associated with the band.

Part of the reason for the concert's success at Winterland, no doubt, was the energy and enthusiasm supplied by the audience. Sensing the two Winterland shows (there was also one Sunday night) might be the last time the band would appear in this country in such an intimate setting, there were more than 80,000 orders for the 10,000 available tickets. Because seating was nonreserved, hundreds of fans camped outside the hall overnight Friday to get the best locations for Saturday’s concert.

More Bite and Conviction

As soon as the group arrived on stage, the audience's energy was unleashed in a long, emotional tribute of applause and cheers. Keith Moon, the band's colorful drummer, raced on stage with the same kind of somersault that he had done the week before at Anaheim. But it was soon obvious that this was not to be the same show.

By the time Roger Daltrey had finished the opening "I Can't Explain," it was evident he was singing with more bite and conviction than on any recent appearance in years. It was enough, even, to make one temporarily forgive Daltrey his dreary solo album and the hapless "Listomania" experience.

The intensity Saturday was so strong at one point that Daltrey—frustrated by a malfunctioning microphone—

Pete Townshend

hurled the microphone across the stage at full force, barely missing (or, possibly, hitting) a member of the stage crew. Then, he picked up the microphone stand and threw it across the other side of the stage.

But the most encouraging and uplifting factor in the Who's performance was the vigorous playing and spirited manner of Pete Townshend, the creative heart of the band.

In the 1973 tour, Townshend—noted for such visual trademarks as sudden, high leaps into the air and smashing of guitars—seemed simply to be going through a series of all-to-familiar motions. His leaps appeared too calculated and his playing too remote. After the tour, he admitted he was worried about the band becoming a parody of itself. He didn't know how long the group would be able to continue, he said flatly.

But Saturday Townshend was once again a captivating figure on stage. The composer of "Tommy" and most of the Who's other important works punctuated his aggressive, yet tailored guitar playing with leaps that carried him so high he often had to struggle to regain his balance when he landed. In the past, Townshend had begun to land a bit too neatly to be convincing. Now, he was doing three, four or five jumps in a row. And, there was a smile on his face.

Audience Energy Builds

Responding to the band's obvious enthusiasm, the energy level of the audience continued to build during the show until it reached a peak during some of the instrumental passages of "Tommy." When the concert ended, the audience cheered for nearly 15 minutes. But the band, exhausted, didn't return for an encore.

The main reason, reportedly, the Who played Winterland rather than one of the larger Bay Area arenas was to make up for drummer Keith Moon's collapse on stage during the group's last local appearance in 1973 at the Cow Palace. But, it turned out, the band did itself a favor, too, by playing the smaller hall.

The lesson of Saturday's show was clear. Because fans will follow their favorite rock bands to virtually any size venue, groups can make the most money by finding the largest arenas or stadiums possible. They can also justify such moves on the grounds that the larger facilities allow all the group's fans to see the band live.

But occasional visits to halls like Winterland—or the Santa Monica Civic—help put the bands themselves back in touch with the urgency and inspiration that first gave purpose to their music. The Who, in short, could have walked away with more dollars by playing the Cow Palace again last weekend, but they came away with something even more precious from Winterland.