RALEIGH — When Roger Daltrey sang, "The world looks just the same, and history ain't changed," on stage at Carter-Finley Stadium Thursday night, the words carried a meaning unimaginable when the song was released in 1971.

Concert Review

In 1989, Won't Get Fooled Again speaks more to the bizarre spectacle of a band a good decade-and-a-half past its prime still drawing crowds like it was the most happening thing on the face of the planet. In its time, the tune spoke eloquently of the frustration and disgust felt by a keen observer watching the '60s descend into the '70s (much like less well-remembered tunes of the era such as Van Morrison's Saint Dominic's Preview and Paul Simon's American Tune), but today the only dialogue it creates is an ironic commentary on the uncritical idolatry of an audience stuck in a time warp.

If the Baby Boomers don't want to grow up, for a substantial fee "The Who"—a group of session musicians fronted by three of the original band's members—is perfectly willing to provide a stylized approximation of their memories. "Look! There's Pete Townshend doing windmills! Ooh! Aah!" "Listen! There's Roger Daltrey screaming at the end of Won't Get Fooled Again! Ooh! Aah!"

That's one version of The Who's show Thursday night, epitomized by the fawning pre-concert commentary on WRDU-106 FM, one of many conservative "classic rock" stations guilty of fossilizing what, in its time, was radical music: a three-hour extravaganza of classics, obscurities, and scattered solo material.

That's not the only version, though. There's also the version in which one of the most honest, intelligent, exciting bands in rock 'n' roll history—a group that dealt with adolescent angst in the '60s as expertly as it chronicled the mixed emotions of growing old in rock during the '70s—showed thousands of people that aging doesn't mean growing out of music normally associated youth per se. In Raleigh, a band of still-capable rock veterans played up their 25th anniversary with a show full of thunder and fire, demonstrating a remarkable stylistic diversity made possible by the enlarged band while proving that their voices and instrumental abilities have survived mostly intact.

Where that leaves me, then, is in the heart of a dilemma. As a fan, I enjoyed hearing some great songs from a band I'd never had the opportunity to see before. (Even though some songs, such as My Generation and the aforementioned Won't Get Fooled Again, have been so overexposed and overpraised as to lose their meaning entirely; becoming monolithic monuments unto themselves that long since failed to communicate anything immediate to band or audience). After all, this is the band that salvaged my high school years from the horrors of Journey and R.E.O. Speedwagon. As a critic, however, I can't help but be disturbed by the spectacle of a young crowd pledging such undying allegiance to a band that doesn't need the feedback nearly so much as do such worthy inheritors as, say, Living Colour or The Replacements.

If the Baby Boomers had had this kind of attitude in the '80s, I'm afraid it would have been Chuck Berry or Jerry Lee Lewis onstage at Carter-Finley, and bands such as The Who and The Rolling Stones—playing there in September—never would have had the support to develop to the caliber they achieved. I'm not saying The Who should be tossed on the slag heap, but it is painfully obvious that unrestricted ticket prices from the old guard and highly restricted playlists from radio programmers have kept some of this decade's worthiest acts (Prince, The Replacements, Run-D.M.C., Sonic Youth) from receiving the kind of give-and-take that might give the present more of the kind of music that's revered from the past.

Which, at last, brings us to the concert, which, after all, was in fact a music show and not a critical debate. The additional musicians—longtime cohort John "Rabbit" Bundrick on keyboards, a five-man horn section, three backup singers and a percussionist to supplement a fine session drummer—played The Who's music with aplomb. Straightforward rockers such as Substitute and Summertime Blues rocked as hard as they ever did, approaching the energy level of the Keith Moon era. More complex numbers, including 5:15 and solo Townshend material such as A Little is Enough and Face the Face (dedicated to "the two black people in the audience"), benefited from but were not overwhelmed by the big-band arrangements.

Advance warnings aside, Townshend played electric guitar most of the time, adding a stunning blues solo to a fine cover of Hey Joe as performed by Jimi Hendrix. John Entwistle still plucks the bass strings like he is fingering spaghetti, offering the most incredibly nimble solo I've ever heard from that instrument in My Generation. A trim Daltrey ran in place all night, and neither his stadium-level vocals nor the choirboy harmonies of Townshend and Entwistle have been lost to age. It sounded great.

The material was a well-balanced mix between the obvious AOR "classic" songs, smatterings of Tommy and iQuadrophenia, less obvious material such as Boris the Spider and Sister Disco, and a healthy serving of Townshend solo songs, most from his best record, 1980's Empty Glass. Fortunately, the song choices as a whole reflected a more adventurous stance than The Who's last "farewell" tour in 1982.

Near the end of the show, Daltrey's microphone flew off and nearly hit the drummer during one of his vintage lariat-style cord spins. "That's the first time that's happened," he said. That first aside, Townshend made the assertion that this show would not be the last.

"We'll see you next time," he announced. If it's the same old band in a new, less nostalgic climate, then here's to the future of rock 'n' roll.