The Who at Blaisdell Arena -- August 3, 2004
The concert was fucking excellent. Roger and Pete looked very fit and alert, and Roger's voice sounds just like it did when he was 21. Pete's musicianship, of course, is the same as always. They were absolutely fabulous, a religious experience, the spirit of drama shimmering down the backdrop black velvet curtain and oozing over all, Dionysos in excelsis.
I was dead center in the very back row of the floor, which is precisely where Roger was looking at throughout the set when he was singing-- They can't see shit from the stage because of the lights, but still it gives you this feeling that you're getting a private performance. (I was similarly positioned in front of Julian Casablancas when The Strokes were here and will try for this seat or standing place always-- It's amazingly fun.) Plus, two young half-naked self-appointed male cheerleaders were directly in front of us, pogoing up and down and helicoptering their t-shirts, which gave me and the girl next to me, who was quite tiny and had to stand on her seat to see above them, an excellent excuse to stand throughout the concert, as, since Security wasn't making the two enthused guys sit down, it was obvious we had to stand as well or we couldn't see anything. I much prefer to stand at shows than sit. People kept standing up and also dancing in the aisles. And holding up cell phone cameras and frowning critically at the tiny pictures.
Stage was small and stark-- just the musicians and their equipment, black stage monitors and black Peavey amps. Very sharp. Lighting was very nice-- They had all the usual melting color changes as well as the odd moment of plain golden straight stage light, and toward the end they had a circle of lights which radiated alternate gold and red stripes--kind of like the Japanese flag--in rotating patterns out over the audience as well as behind the performers, and this evoked the lovely sensation of translucent, glimmering tents. And they did other things with the lights to give similar ephemeral and surreal effects. In the break before the encore, the light was all blue, while the galleries were dim-lit rusty orange with consequent dripping maroon shadows, as people moved, and it gave the impression of sitting in the Roman Colosseum or in a Greek ampitheatre or in ruins.
The music was spot on, just wonderful. When he got shy, Roger did seriously manic mic-swinging--fuck Eskimo yo-yos--and Pete is still very much into windmills and jumping on stage monitors. Roger was quite lovely, clearly happy to be performing, putting really genuine energy into every song, and lingering on the stage after the encore when all the others and a rather ironic (sign language version of "Lovely evening--thank you for coming--all things must come to an end--Get over it") Pete had left the stage, loking rather dazed and happy and charmed with the audience. (Remember, this is the same bloke of whom Pete said 40 years ago: "The singer's a Shepherd's Bush geezer who thinks everything's a disaster if everyone's not drooling with joy." Or words to that effect.) Roger at least gave the engaging, polite impression of: "I would really like to stay here and sing more for you, but we are tired." Though I think the emotion was genuine. He stated at one point during the show that the last time he was here he was 23 years old, and that the band had just missed us on their last tour back from Australia-- He added, plaintively, "What were we thinking of?" To which Pete growled, glowering as though viewing the cogitations of last year's village idiot: "What were we thinking of." All the band seemed extremely pleased with Hawaii. When Pete introduced the band, Zak Starkey, the drummer, flashed completely correct shaka signs. At the end of the show, all the band standing in a line with their arms draped over each other, Pete looked at Zak and lifted his hand to him inquiringly with a discreet, incongrous arrangement of raised fingers, and Zak reached over gently and folded the correct fingers down and up. Pete frowned at his hand like, "So that fucking means something."
Pete is so amazingly witty and buzzing with intensity, and his introduction of the band was sheer sardonic poetry. One of the most incredibly beautiful moments in the show came during the Quadrophenia songs. Quadrophenia was upon release panned by the critics, who in essence described it as an expression of Pete's delusions of grandeur. Well, that solo moment in The Punk and the Godfather comes, when Pete is flooded in purple light and sings, clear as a bell, "The numbered seats in empty rows/It all belongs to me, you know," and at this moment in time that is a chilling, deliberate, humorous statement of fact. It sent chills down my spine. It also opened up flood gate revelations about aging. If anyone has issues about getting older, my prescribed medication would be to go and see Pete Townshend. He's so there, so lean, so essence remaining with the chaff discarded, like the spiritual embodied reality of the skinny physical presence he was when he was 21. It's absolutely amazing. He's still very much the keen-eyed auteur-WWI infantry sergeant of the show who once yelled at Keith Moon, when Keith was nodding off during a Fillmore concert, "PLAY FASTER, YOU C*NT!" During the final encore, Listening to You, when for one moment Roger seemed to be about to drift off into an absent, perhaps mentally fatigued sea, Pete simply sang a bit louder and higher, and the sharp energy got Roger right back into it, like a kid driving a go-kart.
My most personal moment was when Pete hit the transcendental chord and they sang "I DON'T MIND..." getting started on The Kids are Alright. I frequently sing along with this song at home; it's one of the things, like The Vines' songs, that actually Makes Sense. I started singing along--very much on-key--with them there, and it was so incredible-- How many times during your life do you get to sing The Kids are Alright with Roger and Pete. It's like being in the best Dionysian church choir ever.
I was dead center in the very back row of the floor, which is precisely where Roger was looking at throughout the set when he was singing-- They can't see shit from the stage because of the lights, but still it gives you this feeling that you're getting a private performance. (I was similarly positioned in front of Julian Casablancas when The Strokes were here and will try for this seat or standing place always-- It's amazingly fun.) Plus, two young half-naked self-appointed male cheerleaders were directly in front of us, pogoing up and down and helicoptering their t-shirts, which gave me and the girl next to me, who was quite tiny and had to stand on her seat to see above them, an excellent excuse to stand throughout the concert, as, since Security wasn't making the two enthused guys sit down, it was obvious we had to stand as well or we couldn't see anything. I much prefer to stand at shows than sit. People kept standing up and also dancing in the aisles. And holding up cell phone cameras and frowning critically at the tiny pictures.
Stage was small and stark-- just the musicians and their equipment, black stage monitors and black Peavey amps. Very sharp. Lighting was very nice-- They had all the usual melting color changes as well as the odd moment of plain golden straight stage light, and toward the end they had a circle of lights which radiated alternate gold and red stripes--kind of like the Japanese flag--in rotating patterns out over the audience as well as behind the performers, and this evoked the lovely sensation of translucent, glimmering tents. And they did other things with the lights to give similar ephemeral and surreal effects. In the break before the encore, the light was all blue, while the galleries were dim-lit rusty orange with consequent dripping maroon shadows, as people moved, and it gave the impression of sitting in the Roman Colosseum or in a Greek ampitheatre or in ruins.
The music was spot on, just wonderful. When he got shy, Roger did seriously manic mic-swinging--fuck Eskimo yo-yos--and Pete is still very much into windmills and jumping on stage monitors. Roger was quite lovely, clearly happy to be performing, putting really genuine energy into every song, and lingering on the stage after the encore when all the others and a rather ironic (sign language version of "Lovely evening--thank you for coming--all things must come to an end--Get over it") Pete had left the stage, loking rather dazed and happy and charmed with the audience. (Remember, this is the same bloke of whom Pete said 40 years ago: "The singer's a Shepherd's Bush geezer who thinks everything's a disaster if everyone's not drooling with joy." Or words to that effect.) Roger at least gave the engaging, polite impression of: "I would really like to stay here and sing more for you, but we are tired." Though I think the emotion was genuine. He stated at one point during the show that the last time he was here he was 23 years old, and that the band had just missed us on their last tour back from Australia-- He added, plaintively, "What were we thinking of?" To which Pete growled, glowering as though viewing the cogitations of last year's village idiot: "What were we thinking of." All the band seemed extremely pleased with Hawaii. When Pete introduced the band, Zak Starkey, the drummer, flashed completely correct shaka signs. At the end of the show, all the band standing in a line with their arms draped over each other, Pete looked at Zak and lifted his hand to him inquiringly with a discreet, incongrous arrangement of raised fingers, and Zak reached over gently and folded the correct fingers down and up. Pete frowned at his hand like, "So that fucking means something."
Pete is so amazingly witty and buzzing with intensity, and his introduction of the band was sheer sardonic poetry. One of the most incredibly beautiful moments in the show came during the Quadrophenia songs. Quadrophenia was upon release panned by the critics, who in essence described it as an expression of Pete's delusions of grandeur. Well, that solo moment in The Punk and the Godfather comes, when Pete is flooded in purple light and sings, clear as a bell, "The numbered seats in empty rows/It all belongs to me, you know," and at this moment in time that is a chilling, deliberate, humorous statement of fact. It sent chills down my spine. It also opened up flood gate revelations about aging. If anyone has issues about getting older, my prescribed medication would be to go and see Pete Townshend. He's so there, so lean, so essence remaining with the chaff discarded, like the spiritual embodied reality of the skinny physical presence he was when he was 21. It's absolutely amazing. He's still very much the keen-eyed auteur-WWI infantry sergeant of the show who once yelled at Keith Moon, when Keith was nodding off during a Fillmore concert, "PLAY FASTER, YOU C*NT!" During the final encore, Listening to You, when for one moment Roger seemed to be about to drift off into an absent, perhaps mentally fatigued sea, Pete simply sang a bit louder and higher, and the sharp energy got Roger right back into it, like a kid driving a go-kart.
My most personal moment was when Pete hit the transcendental chord and they sang "I DON'T MIND..." getting started on The Kids are Alright. I frequently sing along with this song at home; it's one of the things, like The Vines' songs, that actually Makes Sense. I started singing along--very much on-key--with them there, and it was so incredible-- How many times during your life do you get to sing The Kids are Alright with Roger and Pete. It's like being in the best Dionysian church choir ever.
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