With the news that The Who’s microphone-swinging singer Roger Daltrey, now 81, has handed over the reins of curating the annual week of Teenage Cancer Trust gigs at the Royal Albert Hall to the The Cure’s Robert Smith, there was a worrying sense that perhaps, to borrow a line from their old muckers in mid-’60s beat-pop, The Rolling Stones, this could be the last time – was tonight The Who’s final hurrah?
More regularly active than many of their classic-rock peers, Daltrey and his ever-fractious partner Pete Townshend have reconvened their post-millennial line-up most years during Daltrey’s TCT tenture – a reason both useful and charitable to crank out their old hits.
All the old mods were out in force for the occasion, many with kids and even grandkids in tow. Among the “ace faces” also in the house were Hollywood star Bill Murray (in one of the boxes, but apparently air-guitaring along like everybody else), movie soundtrack composer Hans Zimmer, actor Sadie Frost, hypnotist Paul McKenna, former BBC Radio 2 DJ Ken Bruce and EastEnders’ Tracy Ann Oberman.
In front of such an auspicious 6,000 crowd, Townshend, 79, appeared to be having a senior moment early on, after windmilling at his guitar like a young ’un during a giddy run of bangers such as I Can’t Explain, Substitute, Who Are You and The Kids Are Alright. Despite having played a first show here only last Thursday, he seemed blindsided by the two banks of seating behind him, either side of the Royal Albert’s famous church organ.
“Are those real people up there,” he wondered, gathering himself for an ironic chuckle, “or are they cardboard cut-outs? Did they pay extra to get such a shitty view?”
“They should definitely pay extra to look at my arse,” sniffed Daltrey.
At times, The Who’s unstoppable creative core bantered like an octogenarian double act, The Pete & Rog Show, and they made no effort to hide their age and infirmities. Townshend, in charcoal-grey oldster’s suit and black skull cap, revealed that he’d had a knee replaced a month ago, and, taking a seat to play an acoustic guitar, admitted that he struggled to breathe when standing too long.
Even with their firebrand guitarist in a sitting position, however, the seven-man line-up did serious damage: Pete’s “breather” took in a killer one-two of The Seeker, followed by Behind Blue Eyes – his Who songwriting at its questing best, rendered with full-blooded groove and feeling.
In yellow pyjamas and peroxide thatch, drummer Zak Starkey powered them onwards with more than just Starr quality – Ringo’s son has satisfactorily stood in for the late Keith Moon for some three decades now, and, himself now 59, shows no sign of flagging zeal. Now that it’s confirmed he won’t be resuming his *other gig this summer, with Oasis, does that mean The Who may yet tour again?
As they rolled on into the more free-flowing style of rock-opera tunes like 5:15, Love, Reign O’er Me, See Me, Feel Me/Listening To You and the synth-burbling Baba O’Riley, Daltrey, still hanging onto his bubble curls and tinted lenses, brought the house down, his voice soaring, unbelievably unspoiled by time’s onward march.
Townshend self-effacingly muttered about how “we continue on into the fucking geriatric phase, just by not dying”, but this most noncompliant group from the classic-rock era, who of course towards the end sang My Generation’s famous line, “I hope I die before I get old”, were here making an exemplary fist of raging against the dying of the light.
They scaled back the virtuoso soloing, and simply delivered a bunch of their best songs, concisely, like a rapid-fire living jukebox, with bonus comic asides. At the end, a sketchily rehearsed The Song Is Over fell apart midway through and, as they exited, Townshend jokingly motioned a rollercoaster’s up-and-down passage. For the rest of us, it was two hours of unrelenting joy.
