I saw The Who this past spring. It was a great show, they can still rock hard. Yet I walked out of the show a bit disappointed. It wasn't a general disappointment, they had lived up to all my expectations. It wasn't any sense of "they're getting too old to do this" or anything like that. No, I had a very specific complaint about their show, one which actually applies to a number of concerts I see these days. One which prevented me from totally enjoying the concert.
I have seen The Who three times now. The first time was at Madison Square Garden (NY) in 1979. (I never managed to see the full original band, with Keith Moon on drums. Came close a couple of times, but always missed out.) That one was, by far, the best show of the three, for reasons I'll come back to later.
The second time I saw them was ten years later, in San Diego. That one was, frankly, a disappointing show overall. It was their Tommy revival tour, and they did play a good sized chunk of that album, which was great. But they seemed to have a couple dozen extra people on stage to help them out. Pete Townshend (suffering badly from tinnitus at the time) only played acoustic guitar. He did get a couple of windmills in, but it just wasn't the same. The Whole thing felt almost like a Who tribute band. The songs were all there, but the sheer power of just four guys cranking it out was completely missing.
So I wasn't sure what to expect another 20 (almost) years after that. The band, of course, was down to two original members. But Zack Starkey (yes, Ringo's son) did a great Keith Moon imitation on the drums, and the other added members (included Pete's brother Simon on guitar) felt integral to the sound, not superfluous.
As I said, they rocked. They played a varied set—the old hits, some surprisingly strong new songs, some lesser known cuts. Townshend was back on electric guitar, pulling off shimmering solos (he has a style of throwing seemingly random notes into the darkness, which cohere as they fly by). Daltrey's voice was as strong as ever. The power was back.
They had an elaborate stage show as well. Or at least an elaborate video show to accompany the music. Three large video screens formed the backdrop to the stage. At times these screens showed close-ups of the band performing, but they were mostly used to provide a visual illustration of the music, ranging from early clips of the band to a purely psychedelic light show.
The show had all the ingredients of a great concert, yet I walked out disappointed. So what was the problem?
It started with those video screens. While they weren't a problem themselves, they made the show's weakness obvious. Most of the songs had a perfectly choreographed video accompaniment. It made for a nice show, but it meant they had to play every song exactly the same every night.
One thing I like in a concert is spontaneity. I like bands who play a different set list every night. Or, if they're going to work up a specific set, at least leave some room to play around, to extend a solo or a jam if it's going well. This use of video prevented any of that.
At the very least, a band can save the encore for a brief moment of spontaneity, for a chance to pull out a couple of old chestnuts not part of their regular set list. But The Who didn't even do that. Instead, they saved all their Tommy material for the encore, all with perfectly timed videos.
I realize that encores are no longer the spontaneous reward for an enthusiastic crowd they once were. But can't you at least pretend there's something unplanned about an encore? Nowadays, far too many bands consider the encore to be just another part of their normal set. I've seen bands where a quarter or more of their show was "encore."
This is one of my peeves about concerts these day—the absolute predictability of encores. This applies to the audiences as well as the bands. As long as the lights are out, the audience will continue to cheer (whether or not they really enjoyed the show). But turn the lights on, and they sheepishly head for the exits. What happened to demanding more from a band which blew you away?
The most spur of the moment, and in its own way, the most entertaining encore I have ever seen was provided by Public Image Limited (to digress just a bit). It was their very first U.S. show, in Boston, in the spring of 1980. It had already been a loose, even chaotic, concert. At one point, Keith Levene, the guitarist, stomped offstage, pissed off about something. John("ny Rotten") Lydon followed him, leaving bassist Jah Wobble and the drummer (whose identity I'm not sure of) to carry on alone. Which they did surprisingly well. Jah Wobble plays remarkably melodic bass lines, and he kept the crowd entertained, or at least kept us from rioting.
Levene and Lydon eventually returned, finished the show, and then left us all screaming for more. They did not come back, the lights came on, and everyone obediently headed for the exits. Then, when the crowd was halfway gone, they came back, and played their encore with all the houselights still on. They had, apparently, played everything they knew, because they played three songs again.
Then they refused to leave. Lydon called for the crowd to throw money, which they did. He wandered around the stage, scooping up the cash and stuffing it in the pockets of his oversized suit coat. Levene sat down at his synthesizer and began doodling away, while the roadies tore down the rest of the equipment around him.
Now, that was an encore.
So back to The Who in 1979. The night I saw them, they played "Young Man Blues" for an encore; not exactly a hit, but one of my favorite Who tunes. The next night (or so I heard) they played "Summertime Blues." That's what an encore should be for—give the audience a little extra treat.
I know it's absurd to judge a whole concert by an encore, but it is key to how I remember the concert. I'm pretty sure they played basically the same set every night, but at least it felt fresh. They played loose and open. The solos (and I do remember Townshend performing some amazing solos) were not timed to a video show.
They left room for spontaneity.
G. Murray Thomas writes and performs poetry because he can't sing. He can be found at myspace.com/gmurraythomas
