Singer Roger Daltrey is one of two surviving elements of the original lineup of the Who.

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who also plays with ’90s Brit rock phenoms Oasis, gave the signature Who sound the crashing, rolling, detonating rhythmic explosions it needs.

Bassist Pino Palladino handled Entwistle’s bass parts admirably. Starkey and Palladino first played the songbook in the backup band on a 1994 “Daltrey Sings Townshend” solo tour, during the long Who hiatus. Townshend’s much younger brother, Simon Townshend, sang Entwistle’s high harmonies and added some rhythm guitar. J.J. Blair filled in for keyboardist John Bundrick, whose wife was gravely ill in England.

The flashy video screen ran conceptual videos that commented on the songs — all those shots of young Moon and Entwistle behind the inevitable opener, “I Can’t Explain,” did lend the proceedings a certain somber tone at the start. The broad lighting scheme democratized the band, and spotlights bounced, irritatingly, into the eyes of the audience all night, making it difficult to watch the stage.

The band played the new album’s six-song “mini-rock opera,” “Wire and Glass,” whose story is so complex that Townshend has posted the novella on which it is based on his Web page (the Who is very Web conscious — live recordings from every show on the current tour will be sold for charity on the band’s site). In concert, the songs just zipped by, inconsequential, harmless and obscure.

Some of the other songs from “Endless Wire” — the pseudo-folkie “A Man in a Purple Dress” or “Black Widow’s Eyes” — have some heft, but they are instant trivialities in the Who’s distinguished catalog. The dud album is no embarrassment, just strangely without character. But Townshend’s solo writing has been spotty at best over the years since the Who, and the burden of trying to resurrect that heavy Who aura must have weighed on him.

With the Who, Townshend is mired in music he made as a youth in the spirit of collaboration with three very disparate accomplices. The combination made some great rock music — as great as it gets. But now as a tribal elder, he appears caught between his desire to forge ahead and his debt to the past. He refuses to be simply an oldies act, reliving past glories, but his latest work is remote from the body of great work he created in those magic years with the Who.

E-mail Joel Selvin at jselvin @ sf chronicle.com.