Happy 70th Birthday Pete.
In
1974 I was asked to write a profile of Pete Townshend for Melody Maker,
and to mark Pete reaching his 70th I am reproducing it below, in two
parts, today and tomorrow, virtually word for word. It was published on May 18,
a day before Pete’s 29th birthday.
Since
I researched and wrote this piece 41 years ago, Who scholarship has come in on
leaps and bounds. Nowadays there are several detailed books on The Who by authors
who have investigated their career in minute detail, many of them among the
best rock biographies and chronologies ever published. None of these existed
when I wrote this nor, of course, was there an internet to explore. As a result
there’s a few mistakes and sweeping statements that make me cringe today, but
there’s a certain naïve enthusiasm I quite like, and although I can’t remember
how, I must have gone to some trouble to find out all this information. I had
interviewed all four by this time, and asked questions about their early career
but I was in New York in 1974 and didn’t have access to the MM’s cuttings
library. The only Who book to have been published was Gary Herman’s pioneering biography
in 1971, which I still have, and I think I talked to Nik Cohn a bit too, also
Vicki Wickham and probably Peter Rudge.
A
month later I saw The Who play four nights at Madison Square Garden.
This shot was taken at Jacksonville, August 7, 1976, one of the batch if pictures taken at this show and sent to me by Mark Starcke.
It may well have been pure chance
that produced the most visually exciting guitarist in rock. If Pete Townshend
hadn’t been born with a big nose he might never have picked up a guitar in the
first place, and if he hadn’t accidentally bashed his fretboard against a low
ceiling in a club at Acton one night long, long ago he might never have
developed his peculiar – and totally original – style of playing.
It
was in the earliest days of The Who, when they were called the Detours, that
Townshend, imitating Keith Richards somewhat deliberately, spun his arm around
propeller fashion, knocked his guitar against the roof and smashed the
fretboard.
From that day onwards The Who was
born. They were the most violent, antisocial, debt-ridden band of the sixties.
Then they grew up, became superstars and millionaires but still have a genuine
claim to being the most exciting live act in the business
Townshend,
too, grew up. He watched and learned until it was time for him to become a
trendsetter himself. He led The Who through stormy waters and watched them
conquer the world.
He
became one of the most eloquent spokesmen on rock in general, a man whose views
are respected by all. He also found Meha Baba which transformed the fighting,
angry young man into a sensitive, mature adult and musician.
Few
can argue that, in the light of the day, Peter Townshend IS The Who. While his
three colleagues undeniably contribute a great deal to his amazing little rock
band from London’s Shepherds Bush, they would be the first to admit that
without Townshend’s guiding light there would be no Who.
It
was Keith Moon who told me, during a rare moment of seriousness, that Townshend
was in his opinion, a true genius. Moon spoke in hushed, revered tones and
meant exactly what he said.
Peter
Dennis Blandford Townshend was born on May 19, 1945, in Chiswick Hospital, in
West London. He attended Acton Grammar School and Ealing Arts College. He’s
said often enough that he was a skinny, ugly youth who couldn’t pull birds and
whose big nose made him a frequent subject of ridicule among his school mates. So
he turned to the guitar, possibly subconsciously thinking that guitarists in
groups could pull birds and joined the band that was later to become The Who.
At
this time Roger Daltrey was the undisputed leader, the lead guitarist and the
lead singer. Pete played rhythm guitar. Some say he always has.
First
they were The Detours, then The Who, then The High Numbers and back to The Who
again. Their first public appearance was in 1964 in Acton and their decision to
change their name back to The Who coincided with the arrival of their managers
Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp.
Lambert
was an out of work film producer and Stamp was the brother of actor Terry. Both
immediately realised the potential of The Who and immediately cashed in on the
mod craze that was beginning to envelop the London area. They stuck their Who
on at the Marquee Club on Tuesday nights, formed a fan club called the 100
Faces (a top mod was known as a “Face”) and encouraged the group to
self-destruct at the end of their act.
Townshend
would ram a Rickenbacker into his speaker cabinet, Moon would walk over his kit
and Daltrey – the sharpest looking “Face” of them all – would snap his fingers
and boast about the number of pills he’d taken that evening. Entwistle, of
course, would just stand there.
There
were records, too, all coming from the pen of Townshend who by this time had
become the star attraction. Their first hit ‘I Can’t Explain’ was a deliberate
rip-off from the Kinks’ chunky chord style. There was, in fact, a great deal of
ripping-off in the early Who. ‘The Kids Are Alright’ was a dead-ringer for the
Beatles, ‘A Legal Matter’ and, to a certain extent ‘Substitute’, were pure
Rolling Stones, and all the while arguments were going on within the group
because Keith Moon wanted them to harmonise like The Beach Boys and Roger
Daltrey was after a rhythm and blues/black soul sound.
But
Townshend steered a middle course and The Who became a competent if slightly
controversial, pop band. They made excellent singles, like ‘I Can See For Miles’
with a superbly delayed chorus line, and ‘Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere’ where
Townshend began experimenting with the on/off switch on his electric guitar,
and using feedback to good effect.
He
also wrote what was to become the anthem of the mods and one of the greatest
rock singles of the sixties, ‘My Generation’, still arguably the group’s most
potent number and an important contribution to rock culture. The classic line “Hope
I Die Before I Get Old” will stand forever.
Clues
as to Townshend’s further capabilities were slipping out as the group sought to
establish themselves firmly. Arguments will rage forever about who released the
first concept rock album, but long before Tommy was even
thought of The Who put out THE first rock opera, albeit a mini-opera, titled ‘A
Quick One’.
It
was the first time any band had recorded two or more songs linked together to
form a story, but its significance on rock’s future was totally missed at the
time. Concept albums had never been thought of before The Who put out their
third album, The Who Sell Out. On this all the tracks on the first
side were linked by commercials that sounded like pirate radio stations.
Another first for Townshend – again before the world woke up to the fact.
Commercial
radio, in fact, had a large hand in the growing acceptance of The Who. Lambert
and Stamp were quick to realise the promotional potential of the pirate radio
stations and they plagued the pirate deejays with Who singles.
There
was also Ready Steady Go!,
the ITV TV rock show hosted by Cathy McGowan on which The Who were frequent
guests and on which Townshend, looking mean and moody, would parade his Union
Jack jacket amidst “oohs” and “aahs” from the strictly mod studio audience.
For
all their local London and South East success and their clique following, The
Who lost money hand over fist. Various estimates as to their total red figures
run well into six figures, mostly because of guitar damage, and they had yet to
crack America where they toured with “bigger” English bands like Herman’s
Hermits and the Dave Clark Five*.
In
1968 the tide turned. Townshend found Meha Baba and began work on what was to
transform The Who into one of the biggest rock acts of all time. It also
revealed him as one of the greatest creative talents in rock as well as the
most visual instrumentalist.
This
was Tommy, previewed at generous volume in a live performance
before ecstatic critics at Ronnie Scott’s London jazz club later that year. Over
three-quarters of Tommy came out of Townshend, including the
electrifying ‘Pinball Wizard’ and the huge crescendo of ‘See Me, Feel Me’ which
still remains the best climax to any piece of rock music to this day.
And
while The Kinks had tried their hand at a rock opera a few months previously,
it was The Who and Townshend who scored supremely, simply because they could
put it over live with the most dynamic act in the world.
Townshend
had begun phase two of his career. Now he was utterly respected and, unlike in
previous years, considerably more approachable. He took Tommy on
the road where it was received with wild adulation and in 1969 he was generally
voted the most outstanding artist at the legendary Woodstock Festival.
He
had also perfected the group’s stage act to such a degree that, although
perhaps a little predictable, there was really no one to touch them on a live
stage.
There was motionless Entwistle,
lassooing Daltrey and flaying Moon. But standing majestically to stage right,
his tall skinny frame angling like rubber, was the most incredible gymnast of
them all.
Jumping,
spinning, writhing, splitting, vaulting, and leaping as if in a trance, a
spinning top whipped by the violence of the music he was playing, sometimes angry
sometimes laughing, but always making that block chord in time with the spin of
his right arm.
Tommy and that act brought financial rewards at
last. They paid off their debts, bought big houses and big cars and slowed down
considerably.
And
it was at this point in their career that Townshend’s great dilemma took
control. Having produced what was generally regarded as a masterpiece which
elevated the group to the attention of serious music observers everywhere, how
was he going to follow it up?
First
there was the Live At Leeds album, a particularly good live
set on which one track – the extended version of ‘My Generation’ – will stand
out as one of their best recorded works. But it was hardly a follow-up to Tommy,
more of a delaying tactic.
Part 2 tomorrow.
* DC5? Rubbish I know! Someone must
have told me this.
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