Who loves The Who? Everybody loves The Who, that’s who. Six billion Chinese people love The Who. That Turkish family that walks on all fours loves The Who. Kim Jong-un loves The Who. The ape at the zoo loves The Who. Okay, I suppose there are lots of people who don’t love The Who, but I don’t understand them. Why, I would even go so far as to say there’s something terribly, terribly wrong with them.
Then again, how much do I really love The Who? I have no use for Tommy, dislike everything after 1973’s Quadrophenia, and have never really listened to their early stuff beyond what’s on the 1971 compilation Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy. And don’t even get me started on the post-Keith Moon Who. Face Dances? Why, I have half a mind to dance on your face, Mr. Peter Dennis Blanford Townshend, for reanimating the corpse of a band that died with its heart and soul, Keith Moon.
So, unlike our friends the quadruped Ulas Family from Turkey, I suppose I’m ambivalent about The Who. But I have no mixed feelings about Who’s Next, the band’s 1971 masterpiece. From its cover of the foursome at Easington Colliery, having apparently just finished pissing on a concrete “monolith” emerging from a slag heap, to “Baba O’Riley” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again”—two of the greatest rock songs ever written—it’s a gas, especially when you toss in such odd birds as the hilarious “My Wife” and the cool and amusing “Going Mobile.” It may include some songs I flat-out dislike, but I don’t care. It’s still the best thing to come along since sliced Altamont.
Back story in telegraphic form: Formed in 1964 and briefly called The High Numbers… Mods vs. rockers and gratuitous guitar smashing… “My Generation” and rock opera Tommy… drummer Keith Moon drives limo into swimming pool… shirtless Roger Daltrey swings mic in great arcing loops… John Entwistle, bass genius, as great as Jack Bruce… Pete Townshend’s windmill guitar and famous boiler suit, STOP.
As for Who’s Next, it famously began life as yet another Townshend concept album, to be called Lifehouse. But Townshend couldn’t put the pieces together, teetered on the verge of a suicidal nervous breakdown, and finally gave up, taking the tattered remnants of his dream into the studio in March 1971, where he diddled around with the VCS3 and ARP synthesizer, adding some newfangled color to the Who’s usual palette. And lo and behold, Townshend’s failure—never put down failure, it’s every human’s destiny—became The Who’s greatest triumph.
All great albums should start on a high note, and I can think of few higher notes than “Baba O’Riley,” the oddly titled (why not just “Teenage Wasteland”?) shot heard ‘round the world. An anthem to teen stoners everywhere, “Baba O’Riley” begins with that great droning synthesizer riff and some simple piano by Townshend, then Moon’s inimitable drum bashing commences and Daltrey sings those great words, “I don’t need to fight/To prove I’m right/I’ve no need to be forgiven, yeah yeah yeah yeah.” Then come some smashing power chords by Townshend, and Daltrey sings, “Don’t cry/Don’t raise your eye/It’s only a teenage wasteland.” Has there ever been anything greater? Yes, the short guitar solo that leads up to Daltrey’s singing, “Teenage Wasteland” over and over, then “They’re all wasted!” Which thrilled me to the bone when I was a young stoner and still does. As does the ending, when Dave Arbus’ violin (Moon’s idea) comes in and is joined by Moon’s drums, and together they pick up speed until you’re deaf, dumb, and blind.
The rocking “Bargain” has always been my vote for bargain bin cut on the LP, because the melody doesn’t inspire me and the song’s slow midsection (sung insipidly by Townshend) leaves me cold. This despite Moon’s great drumming, Daltrey’s impassioned vocals (“To win you I’d stand naked, stoned and stabbed”), and the song’s interesting outro, which features drums, guitar, and that synthesizer, which emits some mighty cool “Woos!” As for “Love Ain’t For Keeping,” it’s pretty and features some really nice acoustic guitar work by Townshend, including a totally swell solo. There’s really not much to it; it’s short and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes, but I smoked too much pot and completely forgot the lyrics.
“My Wife” is a brilliant and funny rocker sung by Entwistle (who also plays piano and the great horns) about a guy terrified of the wrath of his surlier half. It opens with some primal drumming and great piano, then Entwistle tells his tale of woe: “My life’s in jeopardy/Murdered in cold blood is what I’m gonna be/I ain’t been home since Friday night/And now my wife is coming after me.” He wants “police protection” and “a bodyguard/A black belt Judo expert with a machine gun.” As the song goes on Moon grows increasingly animated, until those big horns come in and deliver mighty shivering blasts. And later Entwistle shouts, “Yeaaah!” amidst more horn blasts, then, “She’s comin’!” over and over until the fadeout. I’ve been married twice, and this may be the only song ever written that tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about marriage, which my late old man tried to warn me against, saying, “It’s not a word, it’s a sentence.”
“The Song Is Over” starts on a pretty and simple note, with studio ace Nicky Hopkins’ piano and a little guitar and Townshend singing all schmaltzy about how “Our love is over” and “I’ve got to sing out.” Then the song goes anthemic on your ass, with Daltrey singing and Moony bashing away until Townshend plays a short but nifty guitar solo, after which the tune gets all syrupy again, with Townshend hitting a high note while Hopkins plays nice and a synth whistles away. Then wham! It’s back to the bombast, with Townshend’s synth droning and whistling and Moon crashing away, until it reverts to just Nicky H.’s piano and Townshend crowing as if from a distance, “The song is over/The song is over” as Moony begins to pound away a mile a minute until song’s end. Honestly, I’ve always thought this tune was so much mush.
“Getting in Tune” is mush too, but mush I love, because the melody is lovely and I dig the way Daltrey sings, “Right in on you” and Townshend echoes, “Right in on you.” But what I really live for is the ending, when everything speeds up and Townshend plays some hair-up-his-ass guitar, Entwistle engages in some superb bass pyrotechnics and Moon thunders away at the skins like he’s only got seven years to live, which oddly enough is true.
“Going Mobile” is one fast and droll rocker about buying a giant recreational vehicle (or caravan as the Brits call it) so as to be able to brew your tea in the same vehicle in which you, daredevil that you are, can almost reach the speed limit. (It’s a case of “I can’t drive 55”—literally.) Townshend throws some nice irony into lines like “Keep me moving’/Over 50!” but it’s not until he cries, “Come on, move now!” and takes off on a long solo, using an envelope follower to give his guitar that percolating Folgers feel, that the song gets great. Then it slows, Townshend sings, “I don’t care about pollution/I’m an air-conditioned gypsy,” and back comes the coffee-maker guitar to take the song out.
As for “Behind Blue Eyes,” I’ve long been good and sick of it, the slow opening section in particular, although I like the acoustic guitar and the way Daltrey literally barks, “And I blame you!” The second half, on the other hand, I love, making this The Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of songs. Townshend’s guitar playing is powerful, Daltrey delivers up the great, “And if I swallow anything evil/Stick your finger down my throat,” and Moon is Moon, shaking the foundations of existence with his positively inhuman drum pummel.
What can I say about “Won’t Get Fooled Again”? It’s a landmark, a watershed, and its opening synthesizer drone is mesmerizing, as are Townshend’s windmill power chords, all leading up to Townshend’s, “I’ll tip my hat to my new constitution/Take a bow for the new revolution,” then, “I’ll get on my knees and pray/We don’t get fooled again!” Meanwhile Moon drums up a miracle, Townshend plays a wonderful riff, and the second verse and chorus are followed by an instrumental passage featuring synth and power chords galore and hand claps and Moon’s drumming, until Daltrey returns to sing, “For I know that the hypnotized/Never lie” while Townshend hammers out power chords and Moon goes bombs away. Then comes a long instrumental passage during which Townshend goes ape on the axe and Moon plays heavy metal thunder until that droning synthesizer takes over, playing for eons until Moon delivers up one of the most devastating drum lashings I’ve ever heard and Daltrey follows it with the greatest scream in rock history, bar none, then snarls cynically, for this is a song about the hopelessness of political change, “Meet the new boss/Same as the old boss” before synth, power chords, and drums bring the song to its knees.
And there you have it. As I said before, while I may only love about half the songs on Who’s Next, I still consider it one of the few absolutely indispensible albums in rock. It’s the shit, the real deal, hard rock at its most transcendental, moving, and hair-raising. The opening and ending cuts alone guarantee that. What a single they would have made! The greatest single ever!
And it kills me that it was all downhill after Quadrophenia, due in large part to Moon’s disintegration. Robbie Robertson knew it was time to get out of hedonistic Malibu the morning he saw a fully dressed but unconscious Moon being washed in and out by the Pacific surf. And there was the famous 1973 incident when Moony toppled unconscious from his drum kit and Townshend had to pull 19-year-old Scot Halpin from the audience to take his place.
It’s sad but also funny, unlike the way Townshend has repeatedly brought back that sewed-together Frankenstein he calls The Who to sully the legacy of a band that at its best was better than anybody, period and full stop.
Long Live Rock! Be it dead or alive.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
