The Who could not have been more imposing had they cruised up centre aisle on a Great Lakes steamer. Even jammed with 20,000 people, Maple Leaf Gardens wasn't quite big enough for them.

Peter Townshend, Roger Daltrey, Keith Moon and John Entwhistle are the four musicians to whom all heavy metal rockers pay homage every time they pick up a guitar. They wrote the encyclopedia of hard rock, starting long before it was fashionable. They were playing uncompromising, heavy-duty material years before Jimmy Page discovered his fuzz-box, and made raunch an art form dozens of bands are limply trying to cash in on.

And they're still at it, as hard, spirited and fresh as they were 10 years ago when Townshend regularly sacrificed his expensive guitars to finish their savage performances. No other band has the capability to carry on a rough-tough-performance of such nerve-shattering power, constantly building the excitement. Not even the Rolling Stones four years ago did for the crowd what The Who did last night.

Heavy rock music usually carries with it shoddy musicianship, sludgy timing and an absence of dynamics. Possibly it's because The Who have been playing for more than 10 years, and started at a time when musicianship, timing and dynamics were important, but for whatever reason, they have ironed out all those problems without sacrificing a gram of power.

After a fast-moving, frenetic set by Mother's Finest, a group that has yet to sort out a lot of confusing sound problems, and a quick equipment change, The Who entered, cart-wheeling across the stage, happy to be back in Toronto and confident in the knowledge that they had the audience wrapped around their formidable fingers. After a satisfying airing of some hits old and new, including I Can't Explain, Townshend's first composition for the band, and their gritty, almost overpowering Magic Bus, they moved into a selection of tunes from Tommy, the most ambitious rock undertaking ever recorded.

Tommy is what gave The Who their place in rock mythology. It was a rock opera, with not a dull tune through its entire 70 to 80 minute span. It had mystery, sociology and an unsettling anxiety to it that added new dimensions of expression to a laboring idiom.

The songs have lost none of their effect. After seven years, they are performed with majesty and a powerful fervor. Those songs, like those of the Beatles and the Stones, are the anthems of a generation. The generation responded as if it was hearing its life story.

Roger Daltrey may have the most sensational voice in the history of rock. It is clear, unaffected and cuts to the core of the music. Townshend's guitar work is still basic, threatening and flashy. Keith Moon's drumming is as athletic as the pentathlon: constant movement and crashing downbeats are his trademark. Entwhistle remains a superb bass player who constructs lines as complex as any guitarist could produce.

A tremendous relief it is to discover that the old legends can still kick it around better than the heirs-presumptive.