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amazing journey (the new who doc)

I'm so out of Whoville, I only found out about this film because I'm (somehow) on the mailing list for the Museum of Theater and Television. I missed the premiere there because I was laid off when the tickets went on sale, and, well, the whole being out of Whoville thing. The boyfriend found it in the VH1 listings and DVR'd it.

It's funny how I slip back into it, though. You know the story, you know the legends, you know the players, you know what's coming next. The boyfriend made a comment about something and I snapped, "That's because this is Roger's thing," without even thinking, as though - how could you NOT know that?

I wish it had been six hours. Nine. And I appreciated that we saw things we hadn't seen, and there was latitude for Pete to ramble, and enough footage of John (but not enough of Keith talking, and I say that realizing that Keith was not always the best interview, but, C'MON, this was Roger's thing so he could have gotten whatever he wanted, Roger who's been embargoing any story about Keith because HE wants to do it - sorry, digressing)

More than anything, I appreciated the segment on John, and the honesty, and the anger, and the sadness and the regret. It wasn't that long ago, and the wounds are still the tiniest bit raw, still.

By the end of it, I was committed to seeing them the next time they roll through, ticket prices be damned. Because - recent blog posts from Pete aside - the truth is that it's a question of IF they roll through again. I have always felt that I had my run, and it was good, and nothing was ever going to top that week in 1999 when I was in the first 10 rows of Shoreline for both nights of Bridge and then flew to Chicago not long after for one HOB show, which I said at the time was one of the best nights of my life and I'd still say that.

It's such a mix of emotions with this band, ones I've never been able to walk away from. I'm very zen about not seeing the Stones again (because, again, having had my run, I don't see the need to be greedy).
But Townshend and Daltrey don't get out from under your skin that easily.

my answer to "omg how could you not go see the who at msg this week!"

EXHIBIT #1 - note the *price*:

[after the jump, due to layout issues]

EXHIBIT #2 - note the scoreboard and general jubliation on the field:

Exhibit #2 also explains to a certain extent why this site has been so dormant. The truth is that I've been writing a baseball blog since April and it's taking up most of my time. It got a little popular completely unexpectedly. I'm deliberately not linking it here (or vice versa) because the anonymity has been delightful.

But, don't worry, I'll be back.

Petra Haden Sings The Who Sell Out

I became a die-hard Who fan at the age of 15. Did I say die-hard? More like obsessed, obsessive, consumed, in love with a rock band the way you can probably only be when you are discovering the world and your place in it for the first time.

Now, Mike Watt and d.boon (of the late, great Minutemen) were also die-hard Who fans from a young age, and had a friendship that was cemented, solidified through their shared love of and for music. d.boon died in an automobile accident in 1985, and Watt (he's just Watt) has continued fighting the good fight and continued making great music.

Petra Hayden Sings The Who Sell Out is the brainwave of Mike Watt, and was inspired by his friendship with d.boon and their shared Who obsession. Watt suggested the idea to Haden, who is a friend and colleague, and she took on the challenge. The result is what will definitely be one of the most remarkable albums of the year.

While obsessive fans of any band can sometimes be somewhat rigid and defensive of the music they love, Who fans are probably some of the worst offenders on that front. To many of them, there is no other music worth listening to, and no one, repeat, no one, can touch the Who's music. (As an example, for a better part of the 90's a large majority of Who fans were up in arms over Eddie Vedder "daring" to perform the Who's music and sing Pete Townshend's songs -- of course, somehow overlooking that he had been invited by Pete himself).

So Petra Haden is one brave woman, taking on the recreation of an entire Who album, solo. She doesn't even have brand recognition working in her favor. If she got one thing, the tiniest, most miniscule thing wrong with this record, she would be skewered alive.

But there is not one thing out of place on this record, and this is notable because there is no instrumentation whatsoever on the album. That's right, the entire record is performed completely acapella. Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out is absolutely a cover album in the classic sense; Haden tracked every single note, every thundering Entwistle bass note, every rollicking Keith Moon drum roll, every Townshendian crescendo, every classic Daltrey vocal warble. But the difference here, and what makes this album so remarkable, is that every vocal track, every sound effect, every instrument, is created using Haden's voice and only her voice, multi-tracked.

This record is nothing less than jaw-dropping brilliant. It's astounding. It's a truly remarkable, joyful musical performance, while also being the most original idea for a cover album, ever. That said, part of the album's brilliance is that the interpretation is blindingly original, but at the same time, not so inaccessible that it won't speak to a larger audience.

As Watt relates in the liner notes, Haden wasn't particularly familiar with the album, or with early Who. This is important, because it means that it wasn't her all-time favorite record and lifetime dream to cover it. She has no emotional attachment to the songs - which you would think would make it lifeless and dull, or at least lacking energy. But Petra Haden Sings The Who Sell Out is anything but that. Instead, there is this pervasive pure ebullience and joy that saturates the record. There is a freshness and a spirit to the performance, because she hadn't heard the record her entire life, it was all new to her.

Now, if you're familiar at all with The Who Sell Out, you know it's a pop art masterpiece, and one of its hallmarks are the radio jingles that appear in between songs, connective tissue if you will, trying to simulate what it was like listening to Radio Caroline or any of the other legendary pirate radio stations stationed off-shore in the 60's and vital to the British music scene. So it's not enough already that she's singing "I Can See For Miles" and "Armenia City In The Sky" and "Mary Anne With The Shakey Hands," Hayden includes every jingle - Rotosound strings, Heinz baked beans, Track Records - it's all here.

Every single song is fascinating, but the most overwhelming performances have to be "I Can See For Miles" (that droning Townshend chord-solo is there, too), "Armenia City In The Sky," and "Sunrise" - the latter perfectly suited to Haden's voice - and the top of the list is "Rael," Townshend's first attempt at rock opera - the "mini-opera," as it was referred to, with its intricate instrumentation, captured down to the last note and inflection.

The experience of listening to this record is beyond unique, especially if you are a fan and know the songs inside and out. (Watt alludes to this in the liner notes: "We knew that record inside and out and Petra caught that spirit, big time.") You discover that you know every single inflection and every tiny insignificant sonic detail, and find yourself singing along in your head to the various tracks - for example, "Our Love Was, Is" has an angelic counterpoint I don't think I ever consciously noticed before. Or the bass line in "I Can See For Miles" takes on a new dimension when it is sung and not strummed, not to mention the compositional components you never really heard separately from the rest. It feels like you are listening to the music upside-down, or in another language - you know it, but you suddenly don't. The rug of 'familiar' is pulled out from underneath you, and if you are lucky, it is like hearing and experiencing this album for the very first time all over again, except with the benefit of years of musical experience behind you. You have context and can appreciate it more than you did the first time you bought Sell Out, most likely that dreadful double-album reissue with the ugly American cover.

Oh, and the cover of the CD - of course, the cover - it's an exact tribute to the original UK pop art masterpiece, which featured each member of the Who in an advertisement for the products "advertised" on the album. Of course, Hayden duplicates them to exacting perfection. I just hope the experience wasn't so exact that Haden caught pneumonia from sitting in the tub of baked beans - which is what happened to Roger Daltrey during the original Sell Out album cover shoot.

(Remember what I said earlier about obsessed and obsessive.)

Finally, if you need an imprimatur in order to validate the record for you, here's a quote from Chairman Townshend himself: "I love it. It is exquisite."

No argument here.

===

[This review is also featured on Blogcritics.org]

Buy Petra Hayden Sings The Who Sell Out at Amazon.com

Download on iTunes:

the who, the gorge, 7-6-2002

I had mixed feelings about going to this show. Friends were saying, "Have a great time" and I would cut them off. It felt wrong to say "Have a great time" or to be excited about seeing Pete and Roger. Prior to John’s death, I didn’t own a ticket to this show, or any other for that matter. But after John died and they decided to continue the tour, I decided that I had to be there. If they could still get up onstage and play, then they needed and deserved my support. That didn't make the feeling any less weird. It was weird to not have that sense of excitement about going to a show, going to see the Who, but for it to be there hovering somewhere in the background. I was afraid that I would just cry the whole day, or at least the whole show. So I put on my waterproof mascara and vintage Quadrophenia shirt and headed out to eastern Washington with some friends.

When they walked onstage and launched into the “Substitute”/”Can't Explain”/”Anyway Anyhow Anywhere” trio, I felt that old familiar rush of happiness and excitement. I couldn't stop it. I thought they'd walk out and I'd just cry and cry for the entire show. And that didn't happen. During ”Anyway Anyhow Anywhere”, I looked toward what would have been John's side and then the tears started a little, but the music was too big, too great, too wonderful for that to last for long.

I thought this show was tremendous. Roger's voice is the strongest I've heard it in years, it almost never faltered. Pete's playing was focused and inspired, none of the meandering that he sometimes lapsed into in previous years. So much energy and power and presence and emotion.

To my surprise, I thoroughly enjoyed "Another Tricky Day". I had bought a 12th row seat from a friend, and then we commandeered 5th row seats, and by this point, I’d been moved to the end of that aisle, which – due to the weird seating configuration at the Gorge – is actually against the barrier. So I ended up right in front of Pino. In my mind's eye, I could see John standing there instead. I just tried not to think about it.

I watched "My Generation" from Shoreline on Pete's site and felt the gaping hole intensely. But being there is somehow different. Even when the Quadrophenia section of the set began with "5:15" I kind of held my breath, waiting to feel that glaring absence. No, it wasn't the same as if John was there, but it was still valid and powerful. "Sea And Sand" was amazing, even better than Quadrophenia 96, and "Love, Reign O'er Me" was unbelievable. I watched Roger's face intently and hoped that that was sweat running down his face and not tears, even though I was shedding enough at that moment for both of us. They follow that with "Behind Blue Eyes," Roger at the front of the stage, naked and exposed, honest as ever.

Every time it seemed that Roger was getting emotional, Pete would mug or make some face in his direction and that would lighten the mood - for all of us. What I love about the Who, unlike, say, the Stones, is that the interaction and emotion and friendship between the members is still very much there, very present. This is even more pronounced now. They need to lean on each other to get through it and they do. There was much love, much laughter, and much emotion of all kinds. Pete's face during many songs told it all.

The only low point in the set for me was “Eminence Front”. The bassline in that song is so crucial and Pino hasn't really found a way to fit into it yet. Pete had no focus and there was no groove, and part of me suspects he wasn't focused because he was emotional. I don't like "You Better You Bet" any more now than I ever have. But I had no issues with “Bargain” or “Relay” or “My Generation,” unlike other fans. This show was so loud and so overwhelming that it was impossible not to respond to it. And there I am in the front row, somehow, not believing that I am there, not believing that I am so close, just lost in the lights and the volume and the songs. I mean, utterly and completely lost, I let go of everything and just jumped in.

“My Generation”. Oh, my god. It was just so - punk rock. Thrashing, screaming, biting, intense as hell. I pogoed madly until my feet hurt. It's not the same without John, no. If they played it the way they had on previous tours, fairly straight ahead, it would have been different. But lighting that fuse and then going out there and taking no prisoners the way they are playing it now, it works. Even if you hold your breath when it comes to the bass solo.

“Won’t Get Fooled Again” and the guitar smash. The energy in WGFA was kind of odd, it wasn't that huge overwhelming anthem that it usually is, but it started picking up energy at the end, after the power scream. Pete started playing a solo, notes that sounded like tears falling on the stage. And he just dove into it emotionally, running up and balancing on the monitor, and then falling back, and then the band coming into another end. And then he's got the guitar up in starting position and I thought he was just joking - but then I held my breath as he went for it with down to the very marrow of his bones, and then held it up, pieces still shaking barely together, and smirked. And then we all laughed with him. "Don't all fight for it now..." he said, as they walked off the stage prior to the encore. They lingered for a bit, waving and making eye contact with the audience. That's when stupid me blows a kiss in Roger's direction, and he blows one back at me. It was the only way I knew to say thank you, say I'm sorry, say I'm with you.

There were jokes: Roger thanking the powers that be for controlling the wind (the Gorge being utterly and completely out of doors, at the edge of the Columbia River Gorge, hence the name) makes the sound a dodgy proposition at the best of times. But then he says, "speaking of wind.." and fans in the direction of his rear end. Pete laughs and says, "whoa... It's headed your way!" Yes, the Who making fart jokes.

The Tommy medley was, for me, even better than the Quadrophenia segment, and that's saying a lot. Roger smashing the hell out of those tambourines. And then "Listening To You," and I'm standing there with my arms raised, just singing and singing along as hard as I can. It was at the last part of "Listening To You" that I finally broke down and cried and cried and cried, while singing as hard as I could. I had the thought at that moment: this may be it. This may the last time you ever see this, feel this again. And that thought was unbearable, which just made me cry harder. This time, I wasn't trying to hide it. I just stood there and cried and didn't give a fuck what anyone around me might have thought.

This show is triumph and tribute, mourning and celebration. It was so much more than I expected, and absolutely everything that I needed - emotionally and musically. This was so the right decision for them to make. The songs are still the same songs you know and love, played for all that they're worth. They aren't going out there and phoning it in. There is nothing half-hearted about these performances. They are giving all they can give every night. And that is the best possible tribute they could have given John. Cancelling the tour wouldn't have done anything except placate people who think they have the right to tell Pete and Roger how they should mourn their friend. And they are mourning. I don't think there's a single moment when Pete and Roger aren't thinking of John up there. You can see it in their faces and at times it is utterly heart-wrenching.

As we were herded up the aisle by security, I'm kind of walking ahead of everyone else, looking up at the stars and that huge expanse of eastern Washington sky. And all of a sudden I start to yell: "hey! You! Why now! Why'd you have to take him now! Did you need a bass player *that* fucking badly! Why John! Why not - Geddy Lee, or something...." I didn’t mean to be funny, and I don't know where it came from. But I was standing there, looking at the sky, and screaming, railing at the cosmos.

As we continue to walk out, friends of mine are trying to talk me into going to another show, offering me tickets for Chicago or Irvine or Denver or MSG. And as tempting as it is, as much as I would love to see this again, it wouldn't be the same and I got everything I needed from the show last night. I said my goodbyes, I relived my memories, I felt every emotion I have ever felt at a Who concert. I don't need anything more.

We never get thunder in Seattle. We're in this weird "convergence zone" between two mountain ranges that stops it from getting through to us. Today, as I sit and write this, it is raining, and there is thunder rolling through. I'm finding it a lovely coincidence that it's happening the day after the Who played here.

Goodbye, John.

"on top of the sky is a place where you go..."

John Entwistle, also known as Thunderfingers, The Ox, The Quiet One, and Johnny Twinkle (hey, ask Daltrey about that one, I sure don't know), was found dead today of a heart attack at age 57. On the eve of a Who tour that was to begin tomorrow.

I am an unabashed, unapologetic Who fan. They are my band more than any other, ever, since the age of 14. One night in 1978, I went to see The Kids Are Alright and walked out forever changed. I own every record, including all the solo albums of all of the members. I know every damn song by heart, I still have posters on my walls and a sticker on my car. I wrote my senior thesis in high school on Tommy. One of my prized possessions, still, is the original "My Generation" single on the Brunswick label. My father, whose idea of a good radio station is 710 WINS talk radio, can tell you the first and last names of every member of the Who. My mother still cuts out articles about them for me. The Beatles taught me how to love music, but the Who taught me how to be a music fan. Their music inspired me and challenged me and consoled me and gave me strength and comfort. They were my band.

I have loved them and been furious with them, adored them and been mindblowingly frustrated with them. This dichotomy of emotion is, however, an inextricable part of being a Who fan. Townshend did not like or want mindless sheep in his audience. He relished the contentious relationship he had with us. And he never got soft, broke down, or went easy on the fans. He was impossible, mercurial, outspoken, direct, sarcastic, witty and charming, usually all in the same moment. His rants at the audience, both onstage and in interview, are legendary. And we wouldn't have had it any other way.

During the 1982 Who tour, some friends and I brazenly checked ourselves into the Who's hotel in New York. In a further display of shamelessness, we invited John Entwistle to a birthday party. My friends had made a cake with black frosting (okay, it ended up more like a dirty grey) and a plastic spiderweb on it. John invited us to his suite, where we sat up all night, drinking and talking. Now, this wasn't about what you may think this was about... None of us were the least bit interested in sleeping with him. It was the time to ask about the light up neck on the bass, and playing with Cheap Trick in Germany, and stories about Keith Moon.

Around 3am, after having enough gin and tonics in me that I managed to spill an entire glass into my purse (it was a running joke for years), I turned to John and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to do this, I'll never have a chance again," and asked him if I could see his trademark spider necklace up close. Without even blinking an eye, he beckoned me closer and held the necklace up so I could hold it in my hands and look at it. "I'd take it off, but it's a pain in the arse to get back on.." he said. He explained that there was a smaller spider that went with it, but that his girlfriend wears it now. (She was hanging out with us, but gave up after a few hours. I'm sure she was used to it...)

It was one of those stupid moments of teenage fandom that you hold in your heart with equal parts embarassment and sly satisfaction.

I gave up seeing them after they broke up for the first time in 1982. I had no interest in seeing retreads or greatest hits or nostalgia. And I didn't want to sit next to the two annoying drunk guys in baseball hats who yell "Magic Bus!" the entire show. While those guys were always there, once the Who stopped making new music, it seemed like the entire audience was full of people only there to relive their lost youth.

In 1994, Roger Daltrey had two shows at Carnegie Hall for his 50th birthday. This time, I was there. And although I was dubious, the first night, hearing the orchestra play the "Overture" from Tommy (Yeah, the one that Pete sold to a prescription drug company. Oops. Wait, I'll get to that) gave me goosebumps and the tears started running down my cheeks. There are just some things that never leave you, and I learned that night that the Who is one of those things for me.

In 1996, out of a clear blue sky, they decided to revive Quadrophenia in its entirety and take it on the road. They didn't get to successfully tour Quad when it came out in 1974. But this time, it was the whole album, beginning to end, from the ecstatic ocean wave whispers that open the record, to the heart-wrenching passion of “Love, Reign O'er Me' at the end. For the most part, they played it straight, with a few other singers (Billy Idol as the Bellboy, for example) to give Roger a chance to rest (and that was Keith Moon's song anyway).

It was, quite simply, brilliant. Forget the fact that I never thought I'd hear these songs live in my lifetime. Forget that i never dreamed I'd see the entire concept performed from start to finish, ever. Quadrophenia 96 was energetic and dynamic and full of fire. The songs were still incredible songs.

From that point, I was back on the bus. Not that I ever really left.

1999 and 2000 were great years to be a Who fan. They dropped what we referred to as “The Who On ice” concept, going out with just the three of them, plus Zak Starkey (yes, Ringo's kid) on drums, and John 'Rabbit' Bundrick, their old keyboard player. No horns. No percussionists. No guest singers. No movies, no sound effects, nothing to distract you from the music. It was that legendary wall of Who sound, and it made you remember why they were the greatest rock and roll band in the world.

Don't believe me?

Exhibit A, the Who at the House of Blues in Chicago, 1999. 1500 people. I'm one person from the stage. Have you ever seen The Kids Are Alright? You know that moment at the end, during "Won't Get Fooled Again," where they come out of the drum solo and the lasers, and then Roger hits the power scream and the supertroopers come on and there's Pete mid air, landing on his knees and sliding to the other side of the stage? Probably the greatest rock and roll moment ever captured on film? Well, the entire House of Blues show was like being in that moment. It was one of the best nights of my life.

When I got to work this morning, I did my usual check of the Ticketmaster site to see what was available for their Seattle show on July 6. Believe it or not, I did not yet have a ticket for this tour, and my plan had been to not see them this time. This decision was agonizing, but when it came time to 'put the money down,' I couldn't do it. I could not hand Pete Townshend $192.50 [before Ticketmaster taxes]. I just could not do it. It just felt wrong. I would have felt better handing that cash to a struggling band to buy equipment than giving it to Pete et. al. this time.

I'd already dealt with my anger seeing "Bargain," the most spiritual song Townshend has ever written, being used to sell cars. I'd gotten over my fury over Pete giving the best anthem of counterculture rebellion, "Won't Get Fooled Again" [which was just as valid in the last few years as it was when he wrote it over 30 years ago] to Nissan. But giving the "Overture" from Tommy, a piece of music so ethereal and evocative and almost holy that it still gives me goosebumps, to a prescription drug company... That made me lose it. Movies, okay, sure. TV shows... borderline, but not a complete and total perversion. Yes, it's his art to do with what he wishes, but it seemed to go against everything the Who ever meant for these songs to be exploited like that. Pete's explanation was that it was the only way for him to expose his music to a new audience. (Pete. Anyone who buys a record based on what they hear in a commercial is not going to resonate with the rest of the Who's catalog. These are people who treat music as a trivial commodity at best.)

But $192.50 for the Seattle show made me see red. $250 for side stage, first level seats at Madison Square Garden made me apoplectic. There was no way i could justify this to myself. There was just no way. So I didn't buy a ticket. Each and every day I had a conversation about this with someone. "You're breaking up with Pete??!" said one friend, horribly concerned. Even with today's news, I still feel like I made the right decision. I was keeping my relationship with this band honest.

And now John is dead. While I'm sure Pete and Roger will go on somehow, as far as I am concerned, there is no more Who. Tonight I sat in a funky bar in downtown Seattle with a friend, and we toasted John with tall glasses of Guinness and smoked cigarettes, while the bartender played “My Generation” and all of Who Are You, in order. Our cheer that went up when the thrashing chords of "My Generation" started earned us quiet knowing looks of respect, while the scenesters around us chatted animatedly, seemingly oblivious. As I sat there, head in hands, dejected and as close to catatonic as I'll ever get, I almost envied them their detachment.

Almost, but not quite. Because I would not trade my love, hate, fury, adoration - my sheer utter passion for the Who - for anything in the world.

pt at la jolla, 6/22-23

I was just thirty-four years old and I was still wandering in a haze....

I am still a little horrified that I spent $500 on concert tickets this past weekend. Or maybe I'm more horrified that I had $500 available to spend on concert tickets. (Just call me a rich yuppie software asshole wannabe. Ed Vedder will be coming over any second now to perform his weekly rendition of "Soon Forget" as punishment for my sins.)

But it was Pete. And I missed too much Pete because of being, well, not here. I missed the PsychoD shows, I missed the Supper Club, I missed the infamous Berkeley Community Theater shows (Vedder reference #2: according to friends Who [sic] were there that night, Ed was sitting front row center with his brand new DAT recorder that he couldn't get to work, and was asking people for help. "Sure, not that I've ever seen one of these before, but I think you press that button there..." I later found out that those shows were the first time that Ed and Pete met.), I missed HOB '97. And of course I missed 89 and the Tommy revival and "The Who On Ice" but I would have missed those on principle even if I'd been in the country.

So, Pete. Solo. Alone. No annoying keyboard player or percussionist. Very expensive tickets. Open-toed shoes. I even packed (but chickened out on wearing) a skirt. There will be no pogoing tonight. It was, admittedly, not very rock and roll, at all. Not sure how I felt about that, either.

Night one was more about disbelief. I'd waited so long to see Pete like this. It was this lovely little cozy theater with cushy seats and lots of leg room, perfect acoustics (I mean perfect). Pete was effusive and warm and engaging and full of witty banter and stories. This is why we have something called "Storytellers," but we have it because there are people like Pete Townshend who actually have something to say. Someone like, oh, say, Dave Matthews has nothing to say. Unfortunately, the whole thing was ruined once it became a concept and a promotional vehicle. Most of the people on that show would do well to shut up for another 5 or 10 years and then maybe they'd have something worthwhile to blather on about for an hour and a half.

Pete gave it all to us. He played, he sang, he took us on these seemingly stream-of-conscious journeys that always came back to the starting point. He talked about his son asking him for help with guitar chords and what does Pete's son want to learn? Some "Blink one-eight-two" song. (He told the story again night two, and even went so far as to say, "Can I show you how to play it? Well, I wrote it....")

The songs in the set were fairly standard, you could probably have guessed them in advance. "Pinball Wizard," "Let My Love Open The Door," "Sheraton Gibson," "Won't Get Fooled Again". And then the ones I wouldn't have guessed: "Slit Skirts," "The Sea Refuses No River," "Eminence Front". "The Sea Refuses No River" especially, Pete whinged for 15 minutes before actually playing it, unfurling this lengthy piece of sheet music on top of his grand piano, putting it off as long as possible, telling us how bad he is on piano, that he plays so well at home but live and in front of people he just sucks. Was it perfect? No. But it was "The Sea Refuses No River," introduced as a song from when he was doing heroin and being miserable, and the fact that I got to see it at all, ever, speaks for itself. And I think it's a song that he probably should be stumbling over. Pete talked about that now he's kind of surprised that he was able to create at all those years, let alone anything good. It was moving because of its imperfection.

I don't know why I thought I should have some kind of Divine right to the blues...

I have never seen Pete do "Slit Skirts" live. I realize that espousing Chinese Eyes as any kind of touchstone probably opens up a whole Pandora's box of what that says about me. I also do find some of the songs on there fairly dreadful ("Communication" anyone??). But "Slit Skirts," "The Sea Refuses No River," and "Somebody Saved Me" have always been my trilogy of hope from that record. I think I always identified with the despair and desperation and, finally, resilience that those songs hold. Those songs were (we know now) Pete at what was probably his rock bottom.

But, again, "Slit Skirts". It too, like "The Sea Refuses No River," had its bumps and its jolts and mixed up lyrics. But Pete covers the errors up like a master, and it was only the truly faithful who really noticed. The theatre crowd had no idea.

Night one seemed rougher, and night two was, I think, more musically proficient - but only in spots. There were some pretty big lyrical gaffes in songs like "Tattoo," which surprised me.

Pete seemed very touched by the death of John Lee Hooker the day before the first night's show. Night two he came out for the encore with this lovely Ephiphone (which looks like the one he's holding in one of the Chinese Eyes singles covers) and played "Driftin'," a blues classic, as well as the Mose Allison version of "Eyesight to the Blind". It was during those very loyal and deeply feeling songs that I realized that Chinese Eyes was, in itself, Pete's version of a blues album. Okay, it was rich white rock star takes heroin, gets estranged from his wife, and makes himself miserable, but hell, Eric Clapton's made a career out of that. (Ouch!)

The first night was over in the blink of an eye, which to me is always the sign of a really great show. I don't want to sound clichéd but for me that first night was magic. It didn't seem real.

Night two : a last minute upgrade from sixth-row aisle seats - a Playhouse representative explaining that some "special guests" needed our seats. Sure, we'll move. So we are now 6th row DEAD CENTER, we are in the $1,000 seats. I guess the expensive seats were the first few rows, and then the center further up. Now I feel out of place. I'm not going to say that these people weren't fans, but it was just ODD. Luckily, the people sitting right next to us were huge fans, and were incredibly enthusiastic about the whole thing.

Our seats were perfect. They were better than the first few rows. They were just about level with the stage and only six rows up. It was really kind of overwhelming, Pete so close and so unadorned, without six security guards between us and the stage.

This show was different, somehow, in how I reacted to it. It wasn't as overwhelming for me. The folks next to us were experiencing the show as I experienced it on Friday, while it's a little less intense on my side. I'm able to listen more carefully, notice small details. For me, the gift of this show is in the small insights and the details. I know he talked a lot - people were complaining about this before the show - but I expected him to talk a lot and I dunno, I would have been disappointed if he didn't address us often and at great length.

Back to the whole contradiction thing. It saddened me that many of the diehard Who fans I'd expect to see weren't in La Jolla this weekend because of the ticket price. As the House of Blues shows have proved, high ticket price does not equal true fandom. And there were parts of the show where I sat and wondered how much these shows meant to everyone in the audience and why they were there. Night one we sat next to a young teenage kid and his dad, and my first thought was, "is he here for himself or for you?" (We had that discussion on the Springsteen list during the reunion tour, people bringing their kids, putting them in really hard to get floor seats, using their kids as props to get Bruce's attention at the backstage entrance.) But I was delighted when this young lad sprung to his feet applauding madly after "Eminence Front," completely unprompted by dad. He was a fan. I don't know if the father was - if he was then he must have just been glowing inside to share this with his kid.

To play devil's advocate, Pete was introduced by Des MacAnuff as a "raconteur" and I wonder if he didn't really TRY to be Pete Townshend because that's what he was there to do. On the other hand, age may have mellowed him a bit, but he's still Pete, and he's just not very good at forcing things. I remember how awful he looked at the Daltrey Sings Townshend shows. He didn't want to be there, didn't plan to be there, so Roger changes the name of the show to "Daltrey Sings Townshend" and suddenly Pete has no choice. He shows up, looking 10 years older than he does now, and sings an odd arrangement of a PsychoD song that it took about a dozen diehards at least a minute to recognize. (Whispering in the second row: "What is this?" "I don't know, what IS this?" "I think it's from Psychoderelict, but I don't recognize it at all...")

I don't know. Maybe I'm tired of being cynical. Maybe it's just too much work. I'd much rather evaluate these shows on what they meant to me, and my immediate, pure, emotional reaction to them, rather than try to focus on the faults. Maybe because I got to experience these shows, instead of having to chronicle them. I don't know. More like, maybe it's because of all the years I didn't have an option to see Pete. I still feel a level of guilt at spending the money, but then again I remember all the various times in my life when I didn't have any money at all to spend on a normal rock show. I missed too much back then.

The errors and the roughness didn't bother me all that much. To me, they were an indication of how uncontrived the evening was. In the end, I walked out feeling like I'd spent two evenings in Pete's living room. I felt like I'd seen something incredibly special. I felt rich and happy - not rich in a monetary sense, but rich in all the years I have as a fan of the Who and of Pete's music. Just really fucking lucky.