(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)
Song: “You Better You
Bet”
Album: Face Dances
Release Date: March,
1981
Hang around Boston long enough and you’re
bound to run into Peter Wolf. The former
WBCN disc jockey and one-time lead singer for the J. Geils band is ubiquitous;
a man of the streets. And he stands out,
usually dressed head to toe in black, including his long dark hair and derby
hat. On the three or four occasions that
I’ve seen Wolf in the Hub, he was alone, which had me thinking then (and now)
that he was observing, taking in the hustle and bustle, with the hopes it would
all set off a creative spark. Despite
the fact that he came across as amiable and approachable, however, I let him be,
aside from a nod and smile of recognition.
I did not want to interrupt wherever he was in that mental process.
The Who have always come across in this open-door
manner, particularly Keith Moon and Pete Townshend. Many stories and anecdotes have been written
about their accessibility. Moon, who was
regularly out and about, would more often than not have an entourage with him,
but still had a reputation as approachable.
As for Townshend, he’s typically been viewed (and reviewed) as more
erratic in regards to his public appearances (which he also utilizes for
inspiration). But there was a period in
the late 70s and early 80s where he was an uptown London fixture, frequently
alone and relatively easy to connect with if you were in the right place at the
right time. This was also the case when
he was on the road with the Who during this stretch. Unlike Peter Wolf, however, Pete Townshend’s forays
in those days were more along the lines of the desperate and binging variety.
Accessibility (or lack thereof) is part of
the human condition. We all put up walls
throughout our lives, in both the literal and figurative sense. There are big walls and small walls and any
size wall in between, masking this, that, or the other thing; a fundamental
need to maintain some level of privacy. This
is normal, to a degree. It’s more
telling when those walls are either built so high as to make us virtually
unrecognizable or alternatively, stripped down to the point where we are
willing to bare our soul without inhibition, or at least somewhere close to
it. There are numerous reasons that can
lead to these extremes, mostly of traumatic nature. One of these is the process of grieving.
When Keith Moon died tragically in 1978 of a drug overdose (more
specifically - and ironically - an overdose of anti-drug medication to combat
his addictions) his bandmates struggled mightily. Moon was a one of a kind drummer and a force
of nature. He was also renowned for his endearing
qualities. John Entwistle,
Pete Townshend, and Roger Daltrey - three dramatically different (and strong) personalities
with dramatically different convictions - all had one indisputable thing in
common: A love for Keith Moon. Moon brought out the friend in John, the fun
in Pete and the fidelity in Roger. His
death was a major blow to the band and despite a common will to carry on; their
extremely unique and fragile chemistry had been tainted. It would take but a handful
of years for it to all play out, but the die had been cast: Keith Moon’s death
was the beginning of the end for the Who as a mass-appeal creative entity (although
they would continue to have their magical moments on stage).
For the young Who fan (I was still a
teenager at the time), it was fascinating in a solemn sort of way to see how
the grieving process played out on record.
Public figures can be revealing when it comes to our own private lives,
particularly in times of personal crisis.
Yet, until Roger Daltrey sang “Under a Raging Moon” on his 1985 solo
album of the same name, there was nothing overt about Moon’s death in Who-related
lyrics. But it was there in a big way if
you were willing to read the tea leaves, starting with Pete Townshend’s Empty Glass album in 1980, and carrying
through several other efforts, including the first post-Moon Who album, Face Dances. This was the period that gained Townshend the
reputation as being at his prolific best when he was struggling.
Face Dances was Pete Townshend’s last concerted effort at making
a quality Who album, perhaps done partly out of foolish pride to prove to the
world that he and the rest of the band (including newcomer Kenny Jones) could
do it without Keith Moon. On the album
we get to hear how each band member grieves.
John Entwistle’s
lyrics are angry. Pete Townshend’s lyrics
are harum-scarum. Roger Daltrey comes
across as gravely concerned, like a doting parent (particularly for Townshend,
who was on a fast track to join Moon in the hereafter). Daltrey ordinarily had final say on what
songs would end up on a Who album and some of the Townshend songs (and in turn
lyrics) he chooses to include (and in turn sing) on Face Dances were atypical of him (for example “Cache Cache”, is about
a homeless evening for Pete Townshend where he ends up sleeping in a London zoo
– not standard Daltrey fare). Roger Daltrey
was, for all intents and purposes, compromising; likely in an attempt to
empathize with Townshend’s grieving plight. He seems and sounds anxious not to lose
another friend and bandmate.
Some of my favorite Who tracks are
on Face Dances, including “Don’t Let
Go the Coat” (at its core a spiritual longing), “Daily Records” (about the
absurdity of adult life as a rock star) and “Another Tricky Day” (an apropos
title after you take in the lyrics). There
is accessibility throughout this album, at least in the Townshend tracks. It’s almost as if he’s reaching out to the
fans: “I’m a schlep like you, and by the
way, I’ll be in your neck of the woods at some point. Look me up, and be prepared to get deep and
personal. No pussy-footin here. Oh, and we are pulling an all-nighter” This
is what Face Dances feels like when
you give it a good listen: Another
honest-days effort from this legendary band.
What if the Who had just ended it
with Keith Moon’s death, like Led Zeppelin did when John Bonham died? Well, it would have been an amazing
gesture. After all, they were on top of
the world in 1978 with the release of a masterful album (Who Are You), two movies (The
Kids are Alright and Quadrophenia)
and an ever-expanding fan base (even the punks loved them). A decision to call it quits would probably
have been better for their legacy. But
such a decision would have left many people longing, including that huge
contingent that were just starting to get into them (like myself) and I don’t
believe the Who wanted that. Some say it
was money or other egocentric reasons that they carried on, but I think it was
way more complex than that. First of all
the Who saw the charitable possibilities in what they had (in music circles, Pete
Townshend, like Neil Young, is very well known for his almsgiving). I also believe they had come to the
realization that this spectacle they had created was far bigger than themselves,
and who were they to tear it all down? Townshend
actually tried a few times, but out of what appears to be a sheer sense of duty
(and maybe even a calling, as is the case with Bob Dylan’s “Never Ending Tour”),
he could never leave it for good.
Another big piece of this “keep on
keepin’ on” effort was that the Who had reached a point where you got the sense
that this band needed their fans as much as their fans needed them. I can personally attest that this is the
case, as it has always been a palpable feeling I get when I attend Who concerts
(which is one of the factors that makes this band so fantastic). One particular Great Woods show in Mansfield
in July, 2000, I had one of those rare cathartic concert moments that resonated
in this way. It was during the performance
of the catchy first track on Face Dances,
“You Better You Bet” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AuVfIP9F2Y ). (Side Note: Friends and family who are not
all that familiar with the Who find it surprising when they come to the
realization that “You Better You Bet” is a Who song. I agree that it doesn’t really sound like the
Who in the ‘traditional’ sense).
I had always liked “You Better You
Bet”, but I had never loved it. Usually at a concert, be it any band, you
grin and bear it in regards to a “ho-hum” song; a chance to hit the restroom
perhaps. For whatever reason, I sat back and took it in. I’m telling you, it paid off. As Roger Daltrey sang “When I say I love you, you say you better” I suddenly got an
overwhelming sense that this was an appeal to the crowd. And not only that, but it was an appeal with
a specific purpose: A need by the Who to reach out to the fans to help properly
eulogize Keith Moon’s passing (and no, I was not in an altered state). Folks, let me tell you: THIS IS WHY YOU
ATTEND CONCERTS! …. when you can make a dramatic connection that hits you like
a ton of bricks!
Later, in a 2012 New Yorker article (“Pete Townshend’s War”) I got a glimpse
of this connection. In it, Townshend
laments “I never properly mourned for Keith”. Well I’m not sure about that: One of the spot-on obituaries of all time from
my perspective was from Townshend where he included the comment “we still have
his music”, which was huge considering 1) the fact that Keith Moon did not write
any of the Who’s music and yet Townshend was willing to concede his exceptional
effect and 2) the quantity of music the Who were able to produce with the manic
and ultimately fleeting Moon. However, I get his point. Pete Townshend did everything he could to
drown out Moon’s death. In the long run he finally succumbed to true grief. It took a gazillion real faces dancing
elatedly in front of him, but he finally faced it. So did Roger Daltrey for that matter, and
John Entwistle, as well as “the lot of us” fans. We did it together.
Face
Dances
actually had a title track which did not make it on to the final album (ending
up on Pete Townshend’s phenomenal 1982 solo album All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes). It’s a song about isolation, being alone with
no one to turn to. The “face dancing” is
Pete Townshend looking in a mirror, trying to reassure himself that he’s got
what it takes to make a difference with those close to him. I think that cathartic moment for me watching
the Who perform “You Better You Bet” was related: “Well, in times of trouble, let it be known
that your ceaseless touring and performing in front of large crowds is not in
vein because at least you got us dancing faces to turn to. You better you bet!”
Listening to Face Dances now, after years of leaving it on the shelf, it’s
interesting pondering over the dichotomy of how I heard it then and now. Back then when I was 19 years old, I was naïve
to the ways of the world in particular, and specifically what the Who were
dealing with at that time with Keith Moon’s passing. I only knew that I heard a tiny angle of the
truth, and when you hear quality in music, any music, you just know it. Now when I listen, I can relate to grieving,
as can everyone I send this blog series out to on a regular basis. This entry is in recognition to all those we
have lost and is also a reminder that when we face dance in the mirror, we are
not alone.
- Pete
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