And keyboard player John "Rabbit" Bundrick, essentially a shadow member of the band for more than 20 years, performed with his usual understated and excellent style.

But it was left to Townshend to keep the show, which ran more than 2½ hours, from disintegrating into an embarrassing nostalgia concert that would ruin the band's credibility among its strongest (or richest) fans. Naturally enough, Townshend rose to the occasion.

He set the mood early, speaking to the audience about returning to a venue that he had always associated with warmth and good deeds through his participation in Neil Young's annual Bridge School concerts, which benefit severely disabled children.

"It seems weird bringing The Who's brutalism to this lovely place," Townshend said, "but you wanted it, so here it is."

All of the best songs on this night were the ones that tapped into Townshend's seemingly bottomless pit of pain and rage. "5:15" and "The Real Me" from "Quadrophenia." "Won't Get Fooled Again" and "Baba O'Ri-ey" from "Who's Next." Even "Who Are You," one of the only good Who songs past a certain period, was delivered with fiery intensity on the strength of Townshend's furious guitar playing.

Clearly, Townshend has abandoned all hope of rescuing what's left of his hearing. Whereas he has played before from behind the safety of a plexiglass barrier to protect his damaged ears, on Monday he more often stood directly in front of his amplifiers, coaxing whatever screaming feedback most fit his interpretation of a given tune. He did own the best spot in the house, because his playing was phenomenal.

Townshend's internal conflicts were on display for everyone to see Monday night. While he is clearly and justifiably proud of his songs, it is also evident that the idea of standing up there as a middle aged man singing songs rooted in adolescent angst seems somehow out of place. While Daltrey doesn't know or care that he looks like a clown up there, Townshend is terrified of the prospect.

At one point, he argued with someone in the front row, offering to pay for the person's ticket out of his own pocket so he or she "could go see Kenny G." Another time, he asked for the house lights to be turned up so he could see if people were standing. Spotting someone in a wheelchair, he said, revealingly, "I can see that you are crippled. Aren't we all, aren't we all?"

Which is why, on this night, the most powerful song, the one that truly captured the mood, was "Behind Blue Eyes." With a lovely melody and pretty harmonies, "Behind Blue Eyes" had the aging couples in the crowd hugging each other and swaying to what may be the angriest and most brutal song ostensibly written of love ever recorded.

It is classic Townshend, totally subversive — he dares the listener to really hear the song, to listen, when Daltrey sings that, "My love is vengeance that's never free."

There is the aging rocker's love-hate relationship with his fans. Townshend fears being a fraud, yet loves and desires the adulation. And, at least on nights like this one, he goes out and earns every bit of it, as angry as he may be.