The Who: two ancient music stalwarts still rocking, and still resplendent

Since their enthralling 60s and 70s glory days, when they were arguably the greatest live rock band in the world, The Who have become both a reduced and expanded musical experience.

“Some people think the Who should be called Who’s Left,” Pete Townshend joked, glancing over at his only original surviving bandmate.

“It should be What’s Left,” grunted Roger Daltrey, fiddling with his earpiece. Jokes about Daltrey’s hearing and what bits of the septuagenarian rockers are still physically functioning have become standard fare at Who concerts.

Craven Park rugby league stadium in Hull was only half full, which seemed almost insulting given who was playing, but it certainly did not dampen the mood. With signs of considerable alcohol consumption, a crowd of around 5,000 ignored stewards, broke through seating divisions, and swarmed the pitch to dance and sing with belligerent gusto.

Many looked old enough to have been in the audience when The Who played Hull City Hall in 1970 (the same tour that produced the legendary Live at Leeds album). Back then, The Who were an explosive heavy-rock quartet who played as if in gladiatorial combat, ripping Townshend’s cerebral songs apart in a howling maelstrom of electric fury that usually ended with drummer Keith Moon destroying his kit and Townshend smashing his guitar, while blistering bassist John Entwistle looked on in silent amusement and athletic singer Daltrey in seething disgust.

“I often think back to when it was just Rog, me, Keith and John,” mused Townshend. “If we were all still alive today – which wouldn’t be likely knowing Keith Moon – we’d all be f---ing deaf. We were really, really loud. I don’t think Roger ever heard himself sing. So now we play for Roger to sing, cause he’s sounding great.”

The art of the Who has always been based around tension between hooligan and aesthetic impulses, but since the deaths of Moon in 1978 and Entwistle in 2002, it has tipped definitively towards the latter. For this latest tour, they were augmented by a nine-piece band and full orchestra (on this occasion, the Heart of England Philharmonic) conducted by a duelling combination of music coordinator Keith Levenson and Townshend deploying his guitar like a baton.

It is a set up that allows Townshend to explore his most visionary ambitions, in a set bookended by lengthy extracts from groundbreaking “rock operas” Tommy and Quadrophenia. To hear the orchestrations mesh on such complex pieces as We’re Not Gonna Take It and The Rock is revelatory, while Love, Reign O’er Me reached towering heights of emotional power (with some roaringly fantastic singing from Daltrey).

But during a mid section with a core five-piece, we got a thrilling glimpse of The Who of yore. Townshend mischievously asked who present was younger than him. “Cos I was born in 1945, and Roger was born the year before, I recently discovered we don’t qualify as boomers,” he explained. “The baby boom generation starts in 1946. We’re pre-boomers.” He looked across the expectant crowd. “So it’s not our fault the world’s f---ed up,” grinned Townshend. “It’s all you f---ing boomers!” That was a cue for an apocalyptic blast through My Generation, two ancient rock stalwarts still hoping to die before they get old, still squeezing every last drop out of long lives in music.

Touring nationwide until Aug 28; thewho.com

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