OAKLAND — Goodbyes don’t have to be sad.

And at The Who’s Saturday afternoon concert at the Oakland Coliseum Stadium — part of their purported farewell tour — there were no signs of melancholy. If, indeed, the accomplished band of four is calling it quits, more than 60,000 fans here sent them off with a celebratory bang.

The Who, of course, is one of the few surviving bands from the so-

Music Review

called British Invasion of the 1960s. Gone — for one reason or other — are the Beatles, Yardbirds, Animals and assorted other lads from the United Kingdom who took America by storm during those tempestuous years. The Who joins the Rolling Stones and the Kinks as the few rare acts to outlive the era.

In some ways, watching The Who perform was like peering at a grainy ’60s freeze frame. Surly vocalist Roger Daltry, always the band’s sexy beefcake, still struts cocksure and wields the microphone like a lariat. Bassist John Entwistle maintains his detached stage presence while crisply thumping out the underpinning of The Who’s driving sound.

Drummer Kenny Jones, an extremely talented musician, played as relentlessly as cranking pistons. But on a psychic level, some fans still discern a void behind The Who’s drum kit. Eccentric Keith Moon, who joined a long list of rock ’n’ roll drug casualties in 1978, is still missed by ardent Who followers. A banner draped from the second deck — “God Bless Keith Moon” — attested to the imprint the volatile musician left on some fans.

For this tour, which is estimated to draw 2 million fans and $35 million, The Who also added keyboard player Tim Gorman. Adding a tasty overlay to several sides, Gorman was the band’s only extra player.

But the biggest reason why The Who generated a feeling of ’60s nostalgia and repeated flashbacks was lead guitarist Pete Townshend. Apparently rejuvenated after protracted bouts with alcohol and a pharmacy of various drugs, Townshend was in exhilarating form. Townshend, regarded as one of rock’s few literati, played with the fervor displayed on The Who’s first American tour in 1967. He was absolutely dynamite.

Townshend punched out those heavy, fuzzy power chords like a jackhammer, revving up for each stroke of the strings as if preparing to deliver a punch. And when he wasn’t walloping the crowd with guitar licks, Townshend drove it to frenzy with his patented jump splits. He vibrated with vitality.

But there were obvious departures from The Who of old. They have long abandoned their expensive trademark of busting up guitars and sound equipment (call it maturity?). There wasn’t a hint of destruction in their 24-song, two hour and 15 minute set. They played with control, polish and savvy — the residue of 18 roller-coaster years in rock music. Their style was effortless.

Still, The Who has retained the high energy its fans thrive on. They are still explosive, able to latch onto a Beach Boys-like harmony, then suddenly zoom to the stratosphere on the wings of Townshend’s guitar without a blink, sweeping the crowd right along with them.

THE CROWD. It was a story in itself. Many among the crowd were either unborn or toddlers when The Who recorded its first and most enduring hit, “My Generation.” Still, the anthems of teen rebellion struck the gum-chewing set right in the solar plexus. Protest standards like “My Generation,” “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” and “Baba O’Riley” — with Townshend proclaiming the rock scene a “teen-age wasteland” — brought the white eclectic crowd to its feet. Clenched fists jutted skyward.