“Hope I die before I get old.”

Each time weathered rock legends The Who rev up the act for their latest tour—that could be their last—critics invariably trot out that hook from My Generation, the 1965 song that put the group on the map (and was recently named the 11th greatest rock song ever by Rolling Stone on its top 500 list).

Pete Townshend wrote the lyric when he was 20, and today he is—no longer 20. And now, see, Townshend is old, so is the band, and neither got their wish. Ironic? (Actually, no.)

Just half of the original band will take the stage at Copps Coliseum tonight—maniacal drummer Keith Moon having checked out in 1978, and sublime bassist John Entwistle in 2002.

Townshend and singer Roger Daltrey now play with a supporting cast, but on their most recent tour played the final song each night as a duo, just a lone guitar and a voice, as if underscoring the tattered road travelled.

News of the latest tour is reason for cynics to get in a lather about how rockers in their 60s should hang it up. But nothing will be further from the thoughts of those of us at Copps bitten by the Who bug long ago, who will treat the show as a gift to enjoy while it lasts, each song taking us back. And for me, one number will bring a special memory.

I first heard The Who the way I heard most music growing up in the 1970s in London, Ont., by proxy, across the hallway upstairs from my big brother’s stereo; a lumbering receiver/turntable system with wood cabinet speakers big enough to double as coffee tables. I had little choice sharing his stages of interest—the Beatles first, and on to the Rolling Stones and The Who. My brother moved on somewhat; I kind of stuck right there and have not really budged much since.

What was it about the band?

There was The Who’s power, certainly, arguably the first heavy metal band before there was such a category, coupled with nuanced lyrics that conveyed introspection, philosophy, humour and angst through Townshend’s sometimes tortured lens. Still, as great as the music was, I read how The Who had to be experienced live, that this was where the band truly took off, with Townshend’s leaping and windmill power chords, Daltrey winging his microphone cord like a lasso—physical, ear-shattering performances. (They were once declared the loudest band ever in the Guinness Book of World Records.)

The thing is, I was hooked on The Who around 1980, when I was 13, yet they had existed since 1964, Moon was dead, and they were already considered old in the rock world.

Anyway, still, I simply had to see them live, even if it were merely on video. It’s hard to believe in the age of YouTubing and concert DVDs, but there was a time when it was all but impossible to witness even a glimpse of your favourite rock band live, unless you attended a concert. Back then, one day, I heard that a documentary on The Who called The Kids Are Alright (named after one of their early songs) was playing at a repertory movie house downtown called The New Yorker. And it was showing for just one more night. I had to go, my brother had seen it when it came out years earlier and raved about the concert footage.

I tried to get a buddy to go with me but he couldn’t make it. So I went alone, and revelled in it from start to finish, Moon’s exploding drums, shattered guitars and especially the penultimate moment at the movie’s finale, the band’s showstopper Won’t Get Fooled Again—the hypnotic keyboard solo, blue lasers, Moon pounding on the drums and Townshend sliding across the breadth of the stage as Daltrey unleashes his primal scream. No DVD, no Internet, no rewinding—it was there and gone in a flash. It simply enriched the myth for me. It was my greatest Who moment, until a fall night in 1984.

I was in Grade 12 at Lucas high school in London, and at 17, was considered quiet and shy. But a friend of mine signed four of us up to perform at an “air guitar” lipsynch contest at a school dance as The Who. I was terrified. But I did it, playing the part of the lead singer, Daltrey. We performed Baba O’Reilly and it brought the gym down. I was transformed by the heat of that moment, and not from even a drop of liquor (the same couldn’t be said of my bandmates who were understandably quite drunk). There I was, singing lyrics aloud I had known by heart for years (yet mercifully drowned out by the real music), girls at the lip of the stage screaming and grabbing at my pant legs (also, no doubt, quite drunk), in the spotlight, swinging the mike cord, punching the air, wearing the mask of the heroic front man. The Greatest. Night. Ever.

I did finally see The Who in person as a grown-up, in Toronto in 1992 at Exhibition Stadium, our seats way at the back of the place, we could barely see them and loved it all the same. And then again in Toronto, at the ACC a few years ago, and then London’s John Labatt Centre; these last two times—shades of my pilgrimage to the old New Yorker to see the Kids Are Alright—I went alone. And now, at Copps Coliseum, I will once again attend by myself, on the floor, up close. A bit odd to go alone, but my excuse is that I would see no other act solo like this. I simply don’t need anyone with me.

The Who? Old? Shadow of their former greatness? The band still plays a fantastic show, but of course they are well beyond their prime. But then that was true nearly 30 years ago when I first heard the geezers. (Although for the record, at 64, Daltrey is still in better shape than most of the guys half his age who would snicker at his creakiness.)

Now I’m older, and so is The Who, and it’s hard to wrap your head around it all other than to say, for a number of reasons, they don’t want to let go. And neither do we.

And so, tonight in Hamilton, when Townshend hammers on his guitar during Baba O’Reilly and Daltrey stares into the crowd, raises his arm and sings the words near the end of the song: “Let’s get together/Before we get much older,” I will be in other places and times, and will feel a shiver. And those kids onstage, those remaining, anyway, will be all right—older, but for at least one more night, just like the rest of us, very much not yet dead.

jwells@thespec.com 905-526-3515

HAMILTON SPECTATOR FILE PHOTO

Pete Townshend windmills ferociously at his guitar in Philadelphia in 2006.

Seats remain available for The Who at Copps

Plenty of tickets are still available for tonight’s concert by The Who at Copps Coliseum. As of yesterday, more than 11,000 tickets had been sold, leaving about 800 available.

Most of those seats are either in the second bowl or at the side of the stage.

HECFI CEO Duncan Gillespie noted, however, that often the concert promoter releases better-quality seats on the day of the show.

“At the last minute, you can sometimes get lucky,” Gillespie said yesterday.

Tickets are $69.50, $99.50 and $147.50, available at the Copps Coliseum box office or at ticketmaster.ca and 905-527-7666.

The Who, fronted by 64-year-old Roger Daltrey and 63-year-old Pete Townshend, last played the area in December 2006 when they sold out the Air Canada Centre in Toronto.