About four years ago on explaining to a friend I was about to see The Who for the umpteenth time, he enquired: ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how much were the tickets?’
Partly as a joke, although more likely to establish my credibility as a long time Who-watcher, my reply was on the lines of: ‘Put it this way, they were more than the £2.50 my mum and dad paid for my ticket when I saw them for the first time in 1975.’
That conversation came to mind when turning my mind back 45 years, recalling a gangly, impressionable youth who early in the middle year of the decade became fascinated by The Who.
Immersion in their music and story developed into near-obsession through the summer of 1975 – hence the most heightened state of animation my young life had so far known when it was announced they were undertaking an 11-date UK tour in support of the forthcoming ‘The Who By Numbers‘ album, the run of shows beginning in early October.
After all this time it is hard to pin down anything with true certainty, but as a sequence of events the following sounds plausible. Enraptured on hearing the acoustic/electric opening, Soho/Brighton and deaf, dumb and blind boy connotations of ‘Pinball Wizard,’ pocket money was saved in order to buy the 1965-70 Who singles compilation ‘Meaty Beaty Big & Bouncy.’
Followed quickly by purchases of ‘Live at Leeds‘ and ‘Who’ Next,’ September brought birthday presents in the form of ‘Tommy‘ and ‘Quadrophenia.’
Listening to these bewildering, exciting, thought-provoking albums was to become aware just how vital rock music was as a means of expression (no doubt thinking at the age of 15 I was the first person to ever draw this conclusion). The Who before all others convinced me rock was not simply young lads dressed in tartan off-cuts or wearing Teddy Boy garb.
Then of course there were the four members of The Who; Roger Daltrey, the strident, striding front man, propulsive madcap drummer Keith Moon, virtuoso bass player John Entwistle and dynamic guitarist Pete Townshend, whose articulations through resonant songs and comments to the music press made it clear he was no orthodox, one-dimensional rock star.
Dramatist, theorist, whether on albums or in interview Townshend was always at pains to state how much this all mattered, his conviction going straight to the heart of this receptive teenager.
Had I become enthralled by ELO or smitten by Supertramp, as did some of my friends, how different I wonder would my perception of popular music be all these years later?
It is hard to imagine any other group making me take rock so seriously, therefore in all likelihood I would have spent more time humming songs than looking for meaning in them (rarely have I found myself singing a Who song in the way I would something by Rod Stewart or Van Morrison). Chances are I would have been less opinionated, more responsive to artists just out to please their fans rather than change the world – and not described as ‘intense‘ so often.
Not that I recall doubting my allegiance to The Who as 1975 was unfolding, this connection receiving endorsement from a member of staff at the youth club I had begun attending (a Who-show veteran of four years which seemed an eternity at the time).
His head spinning for weeks by virtue of all my Who-related questions, despite the ear-splitting volume I was aware they played at, his eardrums would have been safer at a Who show – although, as I was shortly to discover, perhaps not.
What happened next appears through a blur of images, memories processed in fast-forward mode. No sooner was there excited talk of attending a show, the youth club had arranged tickets and transport for staff and youths wanting to go, the notion of being at Bingley Hall, Stafford on Friday 3 October for the opening show of the tour, enveloping my every thought – acquiescence (plus payment of the ticket and coach fare) received from my mum and dad, as it was not a school night.
The next defining memory occurred on the morning of the show. When it came out where I was going a teacher asked me, ‘why are you going to see those old men?’ he most likely a follower of young bands such as Genesis or Queen.
With a journey of roughly an hour to the venue, every pause at traffic lights or stop for road works brought fear of being late and not hearing ‘Substitute,’ ‘I Can’t Explain‘ or ‘Baba O’Riley.’ But the biggest threat to missing the show had come from The Who themselves, a feud between Townshend and Daltrey conducted through the music press brought widespread speculation the group were about to split – eleven years into their career The Who still behaving like that family in the street who aired dirty linen in public and best left alone to get on with it.
Judging by the queues already forming in the gathering autumnal darkness, there appeared little likelihood of The Who not showing up – fears of missing the start allayed with over an hour to spare before the scheduled 7.30 pm start.
On first impression the venue was far bigger than I expected and from photographs of The Who playing live, the stage smaller. Rather than a concert theatre in the traditional sense, Bingley Hall was a vast indoor agricultural market into which portable seating was brought for rock gigs.
From a row thirty or so back from the front, it was clear to see Keith Moon’s huge kit sitting silent and still on a podium a yard above the stage, a throne awaiting the drum master.
In attempting to create the impression of this being just another live show, when in fact it was my first, I nodded approvingly through an energetic set by support act the Steve Gibbons Band (of the sort I would see them give a number of times in the coming years, including another opening for The Who), only to blow my cover when their stint ended.
Recalling the previous night and playing ‘Live at Leeds‘ at high volume while my parents and siblings were out in order to attune my ears (something referred to my mum by a neighbour a couple of days later), my inexperience revealed itself when I asked the person beside me if The Who ‘play louder than that.’
He smiled.
Our next contact was a touch on my elbow – house lights going down, stage hit with spotlights, tell-tale signs to the initiated the reigning champions of live rock were about to enter the ring.
Previously I had heard the roar of 100,000 people when two teams took the field for a Wembley cup final, but 8,000 raised voices acclaiming The Who was the loudest noise I had ever experienced – until, after a couple of minor adjustments, Townshend sent the opening chords of ‘Substitute‘ searing through the arena.
The drums sounded like the blast of canons firing, the bass an indoor thunderstorm, Daltrey making himself heard above the cacophony with a vocal power that on first sight looked impossible for someone shorter in the flesh than he appeared in photographs.
The unrelenting assault continued through ‘I Can’t Explain,’ ‘Squeeze Box‘ (the only song song played from the recently released ‘Who By Numbers‘ LP), ‘Heaven and Hell,‘ ‘Tattoo,’ ‘Baba O’Riley‘ and ‘Behind Blue Eyes‘ – that Townshend introduced by directing some gentle jibes at Moon.
With release of the film version earlier in the year, songs from ‘Tommy‘ dominated the middle third of the performance, each greeted rapturously on returning to their true home of a Who live performance – and when ‘See Me, Feel Me‘ climaxed with the hall bathed in light, the two men standing directly ahead of me raised the arm of the other as if they had been truly seen and truly healed.
Everything I had anticipated about a Who show, the leaps, windmills, cascading bass lines, drum thumping, mic twirling, volume and power had come to pass, but accentuated a hundred times.
Yet even while a tidal wave of acclaim for the ‘Tommy‘ segment was still breaking against the stage, a selection from ‘Quadrophenia,’ beginning with ‘Drowned,’ had already begun.
During his mid-song vocal passage in ‘The Punk and the Godfather‘ however, Townshend stopped for a feisty exchange with Moon before the song was resumed at the point it was paused – the guitarist explaining his hesitancy was down to sound problems, apologising to Moon before they powered on. An extended ‘My Generation‘ segued into ‘Join Together,’ a rendition of ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again‘ made the recorded version sound relaxed in comparison, The Who returning to ‘Quadrophenia‘ in closing with a surging ‘5.15.’
Before leaving the stage Entwistle, Daltrey, Moon and Townshend gathered in front of the drums and in slipping an arm around the shoulder of the one standing next to them, took a collective bow – the waving and back-slaps as they departed met with a mixture of prolonged hands over head applause and bewildered headshaking from an audience coming to terms with what they had just witnessed.
As for me, I hadn’t the words to describe what in hindsight was the euphoria I felt, although given the state of partial deafness of everyone around me (myself included), it is unlikely anyone would have heard what I said anyway.
But not only could I now add seeing them live to my Who credentials, something else happened in Bingley Hall that night – namely, the first significant event of my life I had attended without either of my parents. This transition from youth to young adult became instantly apparent as back on the coach I resisted opening the sandwiches (not taken into the show I hasten to add) my mum had made for the return journey, through fear of making attendance at a rock gig seem like a school trip.
While the exhilaration lasted for weeks, my hearing still showed signs of impairment the following afternoon. Watching the football results on television my dad entered the room to ask if I was ‘broadcasting to the whole street.’ For a long time afterwards, I equated seeing The Who as my formative live rock experience with that of seeing Olivier perform on a first visit to the theatre.
Some years later when browsing at a record fayre, there in a pallet of bootleg concert tapes was – The Who: Bingley Hall, 3/10/1975. Duly purchased, but not played, it was put in an envelope containing the notebook which I filled with observations in the weeks after the show.
On finally listening to it recently, memories came flooding back. The roar announcing their arrival on stage I have not exaggerated, although it does appear that here and there a background vocal is out of place, the ‘Quadrophenia‘ section is at times disjointed (although that may be the tape) with things also going awry during the second verse of ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again.’
he’ll be talking about this for years.’
THE WHO: 1975
All of which may account for the Friday evening Bingley Hall show being remembered by some as suffering from ‘first night of the tour‘ syndrome – The Who, having resolved certain issues, by all accounts in ‘astounding‘ form when they returned the following night.
But even allowing for the glitches, the music on the Friday tape still soars – and when the four facets come together creating that fifth element which is the sound of The Who, they enter a stratosphere nobody else at the time could go anywhere near.
Prior to the 1975 UK tour, in an interview with Roy Carr of the New Musical Express, primarily to promote ‘The Who By Numbers,’ Pete Townshend spoke of the contradictions of being a rock star at 30, bemoaned the state of rock music – and the current state of The Who.
Taking potshots at Daltrey and Moon, he also lamented how ‘Tommy‘ had become an albatross around his neck.
But with the contrariness that has since become his want goes on to state:
‘Sometimes I really do believe that we’re the only rock band on the face of this planet that knows what rock and roll is all about.’
I believed him then – and 45 years later still do.
This article was first published on 1/10/2020.
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