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Mike
Bennett:
September,
2002



The Who: My Generation [Deluxe Edition], A Case for Their Post-Tommy Material and Unrelated Matters

I picked up the ‘Deluxe Edition' of The Who's My Generation the day it came out. Finally, the band's debut is out in a remastered edition, which has all the songs from both the British and American releases of the album, plus a disc of bonus tracks. (Epic, take note – you bastards could have put all of the cuts from the U.S. and U.K. versions of the first Clash album on one disc, but you had to be greedy, didn't you – four extra songs, that's all it would have been). Granted, the bonus tracks are just enough to be too long to fit on one CD, justifying a higher price. But the disc, which original album producer Shel Talmy played a hand in remixing, sounds terrific.



There are many things about the reissue that make it worthwhile, but first and foremost, it may be the best recorded representation of Keith Moon at work. Until Glyn Johns finally got to produce the band, production pretty much was left to managers Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp, and they certainly did not pay attention to sound quality. As a result, The Who's debut sounds better than the next three studio albums that followed. Moon's contributions were the most marred by the poor production. That's not the case on the reissue. Every thump of bass drum, every surf music inspired drum pattern, and every crashing cymbal (and there's plenty of those) sounds more vital than ever.

When I was in high school, The Who was my favorite of the classic British bands. My first exposure to the band was via Tommy. That is, the soundtrack to the Ken Russell movie. Thankfully, my mom would not let me go to the movie, or else I may have developed a hatred for cinema. As I got into my teens, I knew the 10 or so Who songs that were played on AOR and Top 40 radio and I'd devoured my friend Mike Redlich's copy of Who Are You. Of course it was cool – they said ‘fuck' on it!
The summer before my sophomore year, I picked up a paperback biography of the band penned by John Swenson. Based on what I know now, it was a pretty tame chronicle, but the book thoroughly whet my appetite for buying some Who albums. While I was interested in the stories of Lifehouse/Who's Next and Quadrophenia, what really captured my interest was the saga of the early years. At age 14, I still had not heard "My Generation" or any of the other early Who hits. Swenson's descriptions captivated me. The two things that struck me the most – the description of the band marching around the studio during the recording of "Cobwebs and Strange", Lambert and Stamp hoping that would give the recording the effect of sounds moving in and out, and the entirety of The Who Sell Out. I got the album that Christmas (in the MCA double pack with Happy Jack (A Quick One)). The album was 10 times better than I could have imagined and still one of my all-time favorites.

And it's the centerpiece of a popular contrarian viewpoint from a certain segment of fans. The viewpoint? That about the time of Tommy, The Who went downhill. While my favorite music is the pop period of The Who, anyone who thinks the later Who was a much lesser band is just full of it.

One thing that is unique about The Who is that they released very little music in their early years, compared with their prolific contemporaries. It's a documented fact that Dave Clark Five released 114 long playing records in the U.S. in 1965. Or something like that. Meanwhile, The Who put out three long players and sundry singles and Eps from 1965 until the release of Live At Leeds, the heavy rocker that truly showed the change in the band's style.

Because, unlike bands such as The Beatles, The Kinks, The Hollies and The Rolling Stones, we don't have the sense of steady progression of The Who, maybe the changes just seem too jarring. Because those bands have at least three records that show them in relatively more primitive rock ‘n' roll form, the resulting career arcs aren't so drastic.

Look at My Generation. Compared to most British Invasion debuts, the album is very light on cover songs – two James Brown ballads and the blues standard "I'm a Man". Otherwise, it's pretty much Pete Townshend. And his songs range from bluesy numbers to the purest of pop. He had one eye on the charts and another on his roots. Heck, he even tried a country approach on "It's Not True". By the second album, Townshend wrote the extended form "A Quick One While He's Away", and went the extended route again (without mini-songs) on Sell Out's "Rael", which, by the way, included the instrumental theme that became the "Underture" of Tommy. While this was going on, Townshend was continuing a frenzy of stylistic experimentation.

Yet, the live band, as documented in the historic Leeds concert, was heavy duty blues. Really, Tommy was the crystallization of Townshend's intellectual musical leanings with the band's overall need to whomp major league ass. And this dictated most of the remainder of the band's career.

What is most irritating about the stance that everything from 1970 and on was sub-standard is that it seems to be more based on the band not staying in their experimental pop phase. That is, I've never heard what alternative course they should have taken. And when these critics take their shots, they claim the music was pretentious, which, it was, to an extent, and bombastic. This begs the question – when did The Who ever shy away from bombast? As I said earlier, I also prefer the earlier stuff, but those who can't see the threads that tie together the early music of The Who from the later music – like some of the sounds and chord changes Townshend always relied on – they're just ignoring the objective facts. And if you like the early Who, dislike the later Who, but love Towser's Empty Glass? Then you got some ‘splainin' to do. This concludes my ramblings about The Who.

UNRELATED MATTERS: In August, I attended a headlining performance by The Soundtrack Of Our Lives, who have just been picked up by Universal. A very good live act, but not as incredible as I had been led to believe. Their drummer is quite good, yet he could be more powerful. A few songs just didn't fully kick in. Still, they were entertaining and I do want to see them again.

And I'll always see Tommy Keene. The live performance of his magnum opus "The Final Hour" at Schuba's in Chicago was simply splendid. Not the overall best Keene show – the set was good, but the song selection was not up to the level a few past shows. Odd thing – due to technical problems, the set started late, which meant Keene and crew were butting up against Chicago's 2 a.m. curfew. After playing "Places That Are Gone" to the usual enthusiastic reception, someone from the club turned on the house lights. Tommy just kept going, and a club representative angrily rushed up to the stage. But Keene got to finish the tune. (Note: this was an unusual situation, the club guy had a legit concern, and Schuba's is a very cool place to see a show)

Finally – in the August 31, 2002 Chicago Tribune, a reviewer reported the latest bitter war in rock – that between veteran Dave Matthews Band fans and the young high school age followers who attend shows in the wake of the blandjammer's mass success. A fan who was attending her 100th show (which is the equivalent of wasting 1/3 of a year of your life) was just seething at the youngsters who don't appreciate the subtle nuances of a Matthews' performance – like his irritating mannered singing, generally bland compositions and propensity for aimless instrumental interludes that make them sound like a fourth-rate Shadowfax. It's like a fan of the Anna Nicole Smith show dissing the newbies who leaped on the bandwagon at the fourth episode. Anyway, reviewer Joshua Howes quizzed three self-proclaimed hardcore DMB fans to test their allegiance – this exchange was priceless:

Have you ever ended a relationship over a Dave (Matthews) dispute?

Fan # 1: For a month I wouldn't talk to a friend who insulted Dave.

Fan # 2: No.

Fan #3: Oh yes! I broke up with a guy who didn't like Dave.

That guy is the luckiest man in Chicago.

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