Under the Big Top # 15: “Stoked”

(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)

Song: “After the Fire”
Album: Under a Raging Moon
Release Date: September, 1985

In the 1980s the Who still garnered significant mainstream attention.  Only problem was, they were not doing anything.  Between their 1982 “Farewell Tour” and 1989 “Reunion Tour”, the Who had for all intents and purposes disbanded.  In interviews around this period, when the subject of a reunion was inevitably broached, Pete Townshend would reply in very John Lennon-esque fashion, leaving little room for interpretation.  In other words, it appeared extremely unlikely we would ever see this band together again.

And so, fans of the Who had pretty much resigned themselves to the fact that it was indeed over.  However, there were degrees of resignation which could probably be graphed with a trend-line in the positive direction depending on how long someone was a follower, with the more recent fan base remaining the most hopeful.  I tend to break Who fandom up into three waves.  The first wave occurred strictly in England during the mid-60s, and was made up mostly of British Mods (see Big Top # 9: “A Symphony of Four”).  The second wave was anyone else old enough to have seen the band in their heyday with Keith Moon. 

I was thirteen years old during Moon’s last tour with the Who, putting me into the third wave; a wave which, regardless of having missed out on the “you should have seen them when” period, happened to be a pretty sizeable camp.  The reason for this latter-day resurgence was that by the late 70s, the Who had already reached legendary status.  Once that type of reputation kicks in, it does not matter if its heyday, post heyday or postmortem; you will continue to gain admirers.  Just ask the Mozart connoisseurs in our midst. 

It was primarily this third wave that had been yearning for more during that dormant 80s period (and which would eventually be one of the most compelling factors in the Who reuniting in ‘89).  The earlier waves had been spoiled, having been satiated with the belief that they had beared witness to the best the Who could ever offer.  But not the third wavers.  For us there remained much on the table.  Three of the four founding members of the Who were not only still alive, but thriving.  And unlike the Beatles, who by this time had lost their leader, the Who remained an extremely viable entity, which could only have been the case with the unique type of balance between members that this band had forged.  These factors at least allowed for the possibility of a reunion, and as long as that prospect existed, there was no quenching that third-waver thirst. 

This was the backdrop in 1985 when it was announced that the Who were reforming for a one-off to perform at Live Aid, the Bob Geldof-inspired concert for famine-relief in Africa, which would turn out to be the biggest live music event since Woodstock.  The simultaneous shows in London and Philadelphia (alternating sets would be simulcast on the big screen at each event as the respective stages were being prepped for the next local act) would include another earth-shaking reunion, Led Zeppelin, along with Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Queen, Keith Richards, Dire Straits, Elton John, Elvis Costello, U2, Sting, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, Eric Clapton, Joan Baez, Madonna, Santana, The Beach Boys, The Cars, The Pretenders, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and on and on.  How Geldof pulled this off remains a modern-day miracle. 

Madeline and Jeff, who receive these weekly entries, would make it to the Philly show.  Other friends and family took the event in at a variety of venues in large gatherings, Super Bowl style.  Me?  Well that could have been a very pathetic story, but ended up being an amazing correlation to the Who reunion that day.  What follows is a recap of my Live Aid day experience and the related events leading up to it.

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1985 was my first year out of college.  The latter part of 1984 had included an internship at the National Park Service Regional Office in Boston, which would turn out to be my initial baby steps to a professional career as a GIS Specialist at the U.S. Geological Survey.  After the internship, I continued working there for a short time, primarily in the Natural Resources Branch on the seventh floor.  Over the course of that year I became friends with a number of the long-timers, as well as a relative newcomer, Peggy, who was very serious about her work, and who turned out to be a great connection; guiding me in the direction of her mapping colleagues and their then fledgling GIS software.

I mention Peggy, because she was with me on that July 13 Live Aid day.  The summer of ’85 was a particularly bad year for forest fires in the western part of the country, and the two of us had volunteered to fly out and fight them.  Over the days prior, we had been put through a physical-endurance qualification process, along with many other Park Service employees in the region, which both of us passed.  This lead to a day of intense training, which included prescribed fires, at the Minuteman National Historic Park in Concord, Massachusetts on a scorching hot Saturday afternoon. 

I was in a quandary; although I was getting a lot out of the training and looking forward to heading west, I could not get out of my head what I was missing on TV and radio.  I had caught some of the early acts while driving to Concord from my Franklin home (including, I recall, a pretty cool Dire Straits rendition of their new song “Money for Nothing”, with special guest Sting, who also had joined them on the studio version) but as the day rolled on, I was missing the big-ticket-item moments. And now, here I was glancing at my watch late that afternoon: The Who were due up imminently as one of the closing acts to the London event. Peggy knew me well enough to see that I was torn.  She actually got a kick out of it, which was not helping matters any.  And so, on we went with the training, which had now come to a point where we all had to take turns wrapping ourselves in our fireproof blankets (which I still have) and roll though a brush fire.  I saw my slim opportunity and volunteered to go first. 

After literally wrapping it up, I slipped myself to the rear of the crowd and then, when attention was fully on the next fire roller, faded back a bit more and finally glided backward in the direction to my car, where I proceeded to jump in and turn on 104.1 WBCN, just in time for the Who’s set which was due to start in a few moments.  Again, it was dog-day hot. My car had no A/C.  The thought of cranking the volume, which was only possible if I rolled up the windows in order to avoid detection was…..out the window.  Glancing at the time and then the trainees and back again, I quickly built up enough wishful thinking to conclude that I should have enough time on my side to drive away and listen to the Who’s short set before the next phase of training.  I started my car, backed out of my spot and high-tailed it out of there. 

Immediately ruling out the possibility of finding a TV, I made a beeline for the highway just a mile or so up the road:  The faster I could drive the better. The Who began their performance with “My Generation” as I shifted the car into fifth gear and maneuvered into the fast lane, windows all the way down and radio cranked as high as was possible without distortion. The Who were back, if only for a snapshot in time.  Next on their set list was “Pinball Wizard”, after which I got off the highway and turned around to head back.  This was followed by “Love Reign O’er Me”, and finally “Won’t Get Fooled Again”.  I remember that last number well because a driver in the middle lane caught my eye as it started.  He was cranking the concert too.  The both of us fist pumped the air and cruised side by side for a good portion of the song until I spotted my exit and weaved over to the off ramp, my magic-bus of a ride winding its way to the end game; the parking lot of Minute Man National Park looming up ahead.    

I slipped back into the crowd in a reverse pattern to how I faded out not long before.  Once I realized all was copasetic I reveled a bit in the joy ride I had just taken and then focused on the training again.  The only person who actually noticed I was missing was Peggy who looked at me incredulously and whispered something to the effect of “did you just do what I think you just did”?  I told her I had no choice.  She chuckled.  At that moment I think she really got it.  I don’t mean so much that she got my fascination with the Who.  I think she got the somewhat risky choices that a free spirit has to make in such moments. 

Pete Townshend wrote a song for Live Aid, “After the Fire”, this week’s Big Top entry, which the Who were supposed to have performed at the event, but did not due to lack of rehearsal/preparation time.  Townshend revealed not long after that “After the Fire”, which contains the lyrics “After the fire, the fire still burns”, was about the famine in Africa (primarily Ethiopia), and that even though the proceeds from Live Aid would uplift the region, the poverty would still smolder, still burn, and it was up to all of us to remain tuned in after the hype had dissipated. 

As with all great songs, however, “After the Fire” can be interpreted in multiple ways.  Who fans could not miss the connection with this immediate-post-Who period for example.  An easy reason to come to this conclusion was that Pete Townshend gave “After the Fire” to Roger Daltrey to sing on his 1985 Under a Raging Moon album (all proceeds for the single also went to famine relief in Africa), which Daltrey recorded admirably, and which he would go on to perform live on his subsequent tour (a fantastic tour by the way, which Mac and I caught at the Orpheum Theater in Boston, and which I hope to elucidate more on at another time).   Later, Pete Townshend would also perform “After the Fire” on his “Deep End” mini-tour (discussed in Big Top entry # 13 > “Poetry in Fluid Motion”).  Both versions are included as links here (below) and I welcome anyone to weigh in on which version is better.  Do you like the Roger Daltrey MTV performance (with a touch of 1980s shtick) or the Pete Townshend ‘Deep End Live’ version (with slightly botched lyrics)?  Note: Nancy has already weighed in on the Townshend side of the ledger.

Roger Daltrey: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tg4jQAZ_cw
Pete Townshend: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I09C-owWw5s

Great songs can also allow for personal reflection, and due to my unique Live Aid experience, I will always have that interpretation to turn to.  In a way, I kind of lived out the song that day. After that fire training (ok, during it), I took to the highway and realized that the fire still did indeed burn within me.  This was a transition period in my life.  I was just getting familiar with the working world after 16 years of schooling.  I had no idea what loomed ahead, but I still knew what got me to that point in time.  The Who may have been the impetus to my deciding to shuffle off and seize the moment that summer afternoon.  However there was so much else behind that free-spirited decision, because it was far from an isolated event of this caliber in my life.  Mom and Dad surely played a major role, but there are so many factors to shaping who we are, be they family, friends, life experience, everything really.  Regardless, I’d like to think I still live that way to this day (although I must say, a lifetime of bucking the norm can make for some pretty circuitous – though never dodging or untruthful - parental discussions with my children let me tell you!).  

Turns  out Peggy and I never went west to fight fires, which ended up to be so big, that they called in members of the armed forces.  But the memory of that day lives on, so there must have been a reason for it to play out as it did.  Perhaps the reason was to explain it all here, allowing me to take in the meaning of it all a bit more.  Yeah, that works.  With that thought, I’ll call it an entry.

- Pete

Under the Big Top # 14: “Risk, Reward (& other reverberations)”

(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)

Song: “Amazing Journey”

Album: Tommy

Release Date: May, 1969

After years of high-octane stimulation, a fair contingent of increasingly paranoid hippies ‘dropped out’ and headed for the hills in the early 70’s, where, as Dennis Hopper once explained “at least you could see them coming”.  But those who stayed put, particularly the ones who remained in touch and aware (including a top tier of 60s musicians) had an opportunity to reap the good out of what their era had sewn, which included the music.  Where in the 60’s the music was simply another part of the scene however, in the 70’s the music was the scene.  Up and coming Rock ‘n’ roll bands and their fans had realized what had taken place the decade before, and although not part of it, had learned to appreciate it far more than those who were actually there (and as the old saying goes, if you remember the 60s you weren’t’ really there anyway).  The result was a mostly positive evolution of the music and the culture that surrounded it.  I was lucky to be a part of it.

I am the oldest (of six) in my family, but most of my friends growing up were on the other end of that spectrum, which turned out to be my window into that immediate past.  One of those good friends, Bruce, was the youngest of five, with a good age spread between his older siblings and him.  Bruce’s Dad was a professor at Dean College in Franklin Massachusetts.  He and his family lived in a large school-owned house on the edge of campus (which has since been converted to dorm rooms). Not long into our friendship, when visiting Bruce at his home during our formative years in the mid-70s, it became clear to me that he was growing up in a far different world than I.  Bruce’s brother and sisters had already moved on to university and beyond, leaving much of their memorabilia behind.  What they left in their bedrooms told, for me, a transformative story. 

The 3rd floor was the epicenter of this personal edification, with one very large room, another smaller, and attic space. As far as I could tell, the entire floor was now Bruce’s domain, and was rarely visited by his parents (Bruce’s Mom, with a heavy German accent, would greet me pleasantly at the back door, say something along the lines of “you know where he is” and send me on my way up the two flights of stairs).  Upon reaching the 3^rd level, I crossed a threshold into another world.  There were psychedelic posters on the walls; beads for doors; lava lamps and incense; an abundance of large patented pillows and ceiling carpets for décor; old Rolling Stone Magazines in heaps on the floors; and time-period paraphernalia and knickknacks of all sorts in the drawers and on the bureaus.  Let me put it this way: If the Rock ‘n’ roll Hall of Fame really wanted to do a showcase on 60’s Pop Culture, they would have extracted that 3rd story from Bruce’s home and placed it smack dab in the middle of the museum. Bruce treated it all with mostly a hands-off respect which rubbed off on me, as well as our other friends.

Along with all the memorabilia, Bruce’s siblings left behind a great stereo system with powerful speakers, and an amazing collection of records.  I cut my 60s-era Rock ‘n’ roll teeth on that music, which included albums by The Kinks, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead and Jimi Hendrix.  And it was not only the music of those albums I was taking in; it was the artwork and liner notes, the lyrics and images.  This was all heady stuff; an informal bohemian education to say the least.  Those visits to Bruce’s 3^rd floor sanctum, listening to that music, fueled my soul. 

This general experience, along with a handful of others, is why I still remember how I felt in those days, stepping out into the crisp evening air after dinner.  Often the night moves ahead of me would hold mystery and wonder. The electricity in the breeze was palpable; you could cut it with a knife.  Unbeknown to most of us experiencing this (not just in our crowd, but others my age who were lucky enough to connect this way, which is portrayed so classically in the opening scenes to Almost Famous), we were catching a fleeting snapshot in time; a passing of the torch so to speak, from 60s to 70s youth culture (some might call it counterculture).  That torch-passing influence would turn out to be significant, lasting, and most important act as a template to expand upon.

There were a handful of late 60s albums that set the stage for this transition.  One of them was the Who’s 1969 breakthrough Tommy; the 24-track ‘Rock Opera’ concept album about a “Deaf, Dumb and Blind Boy”.  To put this breakthrough in proper context one has to understand the risks the Who were taking leading up to the album’s release, which bordered on desperation. After four years of endless touring, pop singles and three studio albums, the band was still broke (equipment smashing was not helping matters any).   Pete Townshend (and later the rest of the band) immersed himself into the new concept, which due to the complex (and ever-evolving) nature of the story, came together very slowly.  Mounting studio-time expenses and a lack of touring were putting the band further and further in debt; so much so that it ultimately came down to the fact that a mediocre reception of Tommy would not get them anywhere near out of their financial hole.  What the Who needed (and got) was a resounding success. 

This all-eggs-in-one-basket investment was indeed a huge risk, but with huge risk can come huge reward, which drives at the heart of the matter in terms of this week’s talking points.  Tommy launched the Who into the top tier of Rock era acts (alone there with the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan) because it was so risky.  I don’t mean that the huge success of Tommy on its own did this.  I mean that by being such a risky venture, it allowed the Who, while under pressure, to see what their potential was, which they would go on to sustain for another 10 years.  Few of us take risk this far; the fear of failure is too great to overcome.  Factoring into this equation of risk is a boatload of investment, commitment, and faith, which were all there in the making of Tommy.  ** Side Note: If Pete Townshend has come across as being consistently satisfied with any single project in his entire career it is Tommy, and I think the risk of that project has a lot to do with it.

We could debate ad infinitum the merits of late-60s ‘free spirit’ society, personified in the hippies.  But one thing that cannot be argued is that this youth movement opened up previously taboo dialog on a host of topics, in direct contrast to the hush-hush post-war conservative period of the decades prior (for more on this, see Big Top # 5: “Of Wit and War”).   That open dialog, which remains in effect to this day, is exemplified in the Who’s Tommy.  Pete Townshend was no hippie; none of the Who were.  But Townshend tackles a whole range of deep subject matter on this album, linking him to the Woodstock era forevermore whether he likes it or not.  The subject matter on Tommy includes; the effect of war on a personal level (“Captain Walker didn’t come home, his unborn child will never know him”); the cost of keeping secrets (“you didn’t hear it, you didn’t see it”); visions (“Amazing Journey”); the perils of drug use (“The Acid Queen”); bullying (“Cousin Kevin”); transcendental consciousness (“sickness will surely take the mind where minds can’t  usually go”); child abuse (“Fiddle About”) psychosomatic trauma (“Go to the Mirror”) ; idolatry (“Welcome”); resistance to idolatry (“We’re not going to take it”); and finally, enlightenment, vocalized in the closing refrain (more on that below).

I have to admit that I’ve never quite connected with Tommy to the same degree that I have other Who albums, which is partially due to substandard production (although this week I listened for the first time to a remastered version which has been a treat, and a bit eye opening).  But I do see its place in history.  As has been documented often before, the most sustaining aspect to Tommy was how well it worked as a live act.  Because the Who resisted manager Kit Lambert’s suggestion for a backup symphony and other studio effects, relying strictly on their own talents as a 4-piece, the transition to performing Tommy live ended up being both seamless and astounding.  Related to this was that extended tracks like “Underture”, “Sparks” and “We’re Not Gonna Take It” played out magnificently as lengthy thought-provoking jams when performed live.  These jams gave the songs an opportunity to breath and the crowd an opportunity to think about the underlying concept.   On a good nite while touring the opera houses and other high-end performance centers of Europe and North America after Tommy’s release, it could be argued that the Who’s live performances were as fascinating of a spectacle as any event of our times. 

My first opportunity to see Tommy performed live was in 1989, the Who’s “Reunion Tour” (which I briefly discussed in the ending to last week’s blog entry).  There was much anticipation leading up to this tour, seeing as the Who had not gone on the road for over seven years.  My friends, siblings and I were at that ideal stage in our lives for all of this.  Sister Jen hosted a pre-concert gathering at her home in Franklin, not far from the Foxboro concert venue. Her home was besieged with revelers that day which, to put in context, was a weekday/workday afternoon.  Dad popped by on an errand from his home down the road.  I remember him trying to comprehend what was going on.  I explained as best I could: “Dad, this is a BIG event”.  It was.  I don’t think any of us truly realized how unique that moment was. Nothing quite like it had happened before and nothing like it would happen again.  I hope this write up allows anyone who was there to stop what they are doing for a moment and reflect. 

A viewing of the Who’s Woodstock performance in the movie The Kids Are Alright is enough to convince me of their mastery of Tommy on stage.  When I listen to the soundtrack, one part I find myself replaying over and over are those enlightenment lines at the end of the album:

“Listening to you, I get the music

Gazing at you, I get the heat

Following you, I climb the mountain

I get excitement at your feet

Right behind you, I see the millions

On you, I see the glory

From you, I get opinions

From you, I get the story”

One reason for this is that I love to listen to John Entwistle’s high-falsetto backing-vocal contribution (as mentioned before, he would lose this high-end range later in life) which I found myself trying to assist him with at shows (and fill in for him later after his passing).  But the big reason is simply how profoundly these versus can work when sung to an audience.  It’s that special relationship the Who have formed with their fans that truly comes out in the singing of these lines on stage.

I’ve had the opportunity to see Tommy performed live on several other occasions, including in 1993, when Nancy and I went to a fantastic musical adaptation of the rock opera at the Colonial Theater in Boston.  My take-home after that show was that this music can indeed cut across the great music-genre divide (there have been many adaptations of Tommy including opera, ballet, and symphony renditions, as well as a movie soundtrack, and even a bluegrass interpretation).  It’s a rare feat for any story-put-to-song to pull this off. 

I bounced around some this week on a choice for my Big Top song-of-the week entry.  The first song that hit me was “Christmas”, which is another one of those very underrated songs in the Who’s catalog, and which somehow always seems to slip through the cracks in terms of classic rock radio play during the Christmas season.  We hear the Kinks “Father Christmas” (which is my favorite), John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)”, Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” and many others, but never this Who song.  I also flirted with “Pinball Wizard”, which I’ve practiced myself on bass guitar, and “Sally Simpson”, which relates to some of the personal stories I’ve heard from folks I know who went to Woodstock.  Perhaps all of this will play out later.

I finally settled on “Amazing Journey” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqhoy98HldA), one of the opening numbers which helps set the ground rules for the storyline. During my 2012 Stepping Stone and 2014 Forever Young series, there were a handful of times where I got floored by a song that had never quite hit me as hard before that years focus on the given artist (the Rolling Stones and Neil Young respectively).  This was the first time this happened to me with the Who in this series, as for the most part, I’ve already been blown away by most of their music.  Keith Moon’s drumming is mind boggling in “Amazing Journey”, a cascading buildup to each bridge in the song.  As I listened to this song all week, which tries to explain what is going on inside the mind of Tommy, the “deaf, dumb and blind boy”, I thought of Pete Townshend’s connections with the teachings of Meher Baba who at an early point in his life simply stopped speaking, believing the act would ultimately strengthen his message.   In both cases, Tommy and Baba, the limitation was not physical.  This bit of insight gave me a bit more clairvoyance to the meaning of “Amazing Journey” and Tommy in general.

I’d like to close this entry with a shout-out to great friend Pat Shea, who for my 50^th birthday several years back painted a classic Tommy lyric, which we have up on our hallway wall here in our home in Pepperell (image attached).  Pat is a kindred soul, as he and I have engaged over the years in many an in-depth, open minded conversation, with no subject off the plate of possibility.  Perhaps Pat’s formative experiences in the hinterlands of Antigonish, Nova Scotia, were similar to the types of older-sibling experiences that Bruce introduced me to.  I’ll have to ask Pat when we connect again this summer on the beaches of Humarock.  Hopefully the ensuing discussion, which if history continues to hold weight would take place on the deck of Mac’s cottage home around the midnight hour, will spark some of those old electric night-air feelings all over again.

- Pete

Under the Big Top # 13: “Poetry in Fluid Motion”

(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)

Song: “The Sea Refuses No River”
Album: All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes
Release Date: June, 1982

At some point in my early college years, rivers gained a prominence in my eyes as outstanding natural features, which has remained the case ever since.  I’m sure it had a lot to do with driving the Mohawk Trail on my way to North Adams State College, nestled in the Berkshire Hills of western Massachusetts. The Trail stretch of the drive would take me first along the Millers River, which flows west into the Connecticut River and then, after crossing over a beautiful view of the Connecticut River itself on the impressive cantilever-arch-style French King Bridge, onward along the Deerfield River which flows east into the Connecticut River (early on, all of this confused me:  The Deerfield River and Millers River each have similar boulder-cobble channels, and so I thought it was all one river, but how could this be, since it was flowing with me at first and then against me?).  Those solo drives were contemplative ones, with the rivers playing a major role in my mood.  On the rare occasion when I take that Route 2 trek now, I go right back to that reflective frame of mind (which I wrote about in more detail in my earlier Stepping Stones series, # 14, which can be tracked on this blog site).

If you were to ask me in those collegiate years what it is about rivers that make them so captivating, I would not have been able to explain.  Today, it can still be difficult, but I know now that at least some of it is due to the fact that a river is a conduit in a constant state of flux.  I admit to being a creature of habit, but I’m not a traditionalist per se: I do welcome positive change in the world around me and I’m always ready to adapt.  Analogous to this belief system is that in the natural world, rivers epitomize change and adaptability.  For example, The Cuyahoga River in northeast Ohio, which actually caught fire several times in the 50s and 60s due to astounding amounts of pollution, has, with human intervention, recovered significantly.  The same can be said for the Nashua River here in my back yard, made infamous in the 50s for its multicolor appearance due to industrial dyes being dumped into the watercourse upstream.  River systems also allow for evolution at a faster rate than most any other natural system.  Recent research of fast moving stretches of the Congo River in Africa has revealed that the rapid velocity in the deep center channel (the thalweg) has isolated fish populations on the north and south banks, which over a relatively short amount of time has had scientists bearing witness to these populations diverging significantly in their genetic makeup from one another.  This is all pretty cool stuff, and inspiring for anyone who appreciates adaptation.

I’m a map guy, and long ago made the observation that these sinuous channels can be a bit deceiving as mapped blue-line features, particularly when compared to the depictions of other features such as roads, structures, wetlands, lakes and the terrain.  As with all the other features, the rivers are mapped as static; frozen in time.  But unlike the other features, the blue-line fails to capture the dynamism of rivers, which are ever flowing and have ranges of depth, with shallow riffles, deeper runs and even deeper pools, each of which supports unique niches of life adapted to the particular flow velocity in these microhabitats.  Rivers have flood and drought stages, and every stage in between.  Many river systems are a part of lengthy connected networks in large watersheds, strung together from small upland ‘headwater’ streams, through larger streams and rivers in the lower valleys, and eventually down to huge main stems that meander and finally empty into the ocean.  On their route to the sea, rivers networks are broken up intermittently by ponds and lakes which the network enters and exits.  Put it all together, and these river systems can be viewed much like the dendritic silhouette of a leafless tree, from twig to branch to limb to trunk, with the random knot (suggestive of water bodies) disrupting the idyllic pattern.  In the modern digital map world of GIS, where all these dynamic properties can be automated, rivers can be fascinating features to model. 

With that dendritic perspective, well-honed in my professional life, the real world of rivers is even more fascinating.  I’ve stood on the banks of many renowned rivers, as well as lesser known tributaries, and frequently visualize those locations, not so much from the perspective of the town they are in or the road they abut, but from their path-location on the landscape’s raindrop-to-sea network pattern (I know of at least several other friends receiving these Big Top entries who share this perspective).  On my water-quality-monitoring forays in my hometown of Pepperell, Massachusetts for example, I often form a mental image of the brook I visit as winding its way downstream before feeding the Nissitissit River, which in turn feeds the Nashua River, which feeds the Merrimack River, which feeds the Atlantic Ocean, with each confluence along the way a collection of other tributaries.  I’ve taken this perspective to the banks of the mighty Mississippi River, as well as the Yukon, Saguenay, Missouri, St. Lawrence, Colorado, Hudson, Connecticut, Saskatchewan, Ottawa, Kennebec, Snake, Alleghany, Rainy, Yellowstone, St. John, Potomac, Red, Niagara, Richelieu, Fraser, Delaware, Pembina, Boise, Arkansas, Susquehanna, Rio Grande, Platte, and Tennessee. 

Pete Townshend gets inspiration from rivers too.  Much of Tommy and Quadrophenia were fleshed out in his mind while sitting and contemplating on the banks of the River Thames in London.  Then there was “Keep Me Turning”, the subject song for Big Top entry # 6, with the opening lyrics “Rivers getting higher, no wood for the fire, they saw the messiah, but I guess I missed him again, that brings my score to a hundred and ten” (I’m surprised I did not mention these lyrics in that write up) as well as the other song discussed heavily in that entry, “Till the Rivers All Run Dry”.  And in 1982, Townshend took that river-network perspective described in my opening salvo to this write-up and made it a metaphor for all of us.  He did this in the exceptional song “The Sea Refuses No River” on his most poetic of albums All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes. **Side Note: You will have to research the strange album title for yourself, because it would be a rather lengthy distraction from my focus here if I had to try and explain.  The only thing I will add is that Pete Townshend once stated that if there was an award for worst album title in 1982, he would have won.

As with rivers, it can be hard for me to describe the effect that All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes had on me in the early 80s.  I’ll give it a go though.  First off, when I listened this week, three things jumped out right away that linked me to those 80s memories:  1) Pete Townshend knew and communicated the true meaning of love when he produced Chinese Eyes 2) Townshend was soul searching more than ever on this album and 3) Townshend revealed that he understood the image of a river system, which he evokes with grace in “The Sea Refuses No River”.

To the first point, love:  The ability to pen poetry, as Townshend did here, is predicated on knowing love.  The opening track “Stop Hurting People” is enough to convince me of this (with the great play-on-words ending “Without your match there is no flame”).  Pete Townshend had dabbled with love songs on a handful of occasions to that point in his career (yes, songs like “A Little Is Enough” and “Love Reign O’er Me” were a bit more than dabbling, but these were isolated moments on Empty Glass and Quadrophenia respectively).  On Chinese Eyes this emotion of love, if not routinely expressed in lyrics, is poetically all-encompassing, which was the first take-home message for me with this album not long after its release.  That poetic infusion into Townshend’s music hit me hard, and was very likely the key which opened my mind up to the music of Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen.  

To the second point, soul searching:  I’ll leave it to the following small-sample snippet of lyrics to give a flavor on that angle.  These lyrics are included, not so much as an admission that I am unable or unwilling to explain that soul searching of Pete Townshend’s myself, but rather as a personal need to fit them in somewhere in this series, seeing as All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes lyrics are some of my very favorite in the entire Townshend catalog:

“Just like the grub that wriggles to the top of the mass, I’m the first to get hooked” – from “Stardom in Acton”

“I was just thirty four years old and I was still wandering in a haze
Wondering why everyone I met seemed like they were lost in a daze” – from “Slit Skirts”

“I don’t know about guardian angels, all I know about is staying alive
I can’t shout about spiritual labels, when little ones die and big ones thrive” – from “Somebody Saved Me”

“Your eyes explain a story that never had a start
Your brow reveals the glory that’s hidden in your heart” – from “Face Dances Part Two”

“Only in the river can I claim a star to call my own
I’m newly born,
in uniform I’m up on the throne” – from “Uniforms” (Corp d’esprit)

“Tell me friend – why do you stand aloof from your own heart” – from “Stop Hurting People”

To my third point, well, many of the lyrics that could easily dominate my second point are contained in that singular prior-mentioned metaphorical song “The Sea Refuses No River”.  In it Pete Townshend sings of varied river -and inferred human- qualities; sewer channels that run lime and ‘scag’, rivers that are “stinking and rank, or red from the tank” and others that are pure as a spring.  He sings of muddy rivers, sulfurous streams, those swollen by storms, and still others inhibited by dams.  Townshend even brings us to an origin point of flow with rain filling gutters.  All is flowing, all connected.

The constant refrain, that being the title repeated again and again, is that the sea (God) denies none of them; an unmistakable spiritual outpouring that connotes a yearning for redemption.  Laced in are many other references to redemption.  All in all, “The Sea Refuses No River” is a rock and roll love song of the highest magnitude; a welcome mat at the base of a torrential flow of humanity.

My favorite lyric of them all is one I am still trying to wrap my mind around, even after all these years:

“The sea refuses no river
remember that when the beggar buys a round!”

I add the exclamation point because this is the way it comes across in song, even in comparison to the other passionately-sung lyrics. Townshend practically shouts that last message out (try as I may in my rides to work all week, I never quite nailed this exclamation to the degree that I would be ready to go public with it).  Although the meaning remains elusive, the compassionate feeling of those words when I listen never fails to move me.

If you want to hear what Pete Townshend can sound like with grade-A professional studio musicians, this is the album.  And if you want to hear how it could sound live, there are precious few options. But thankfully, Townshend did perform with a band he dubbed “Deep End” at several venues in England and France in 1985-86, with excerpts of these performances put to album and video (Deep End Live), which has that ephemeral Chinese Eyes aura about it (several musicians performed on both the album and mini tour, as well as Townshend’s White City album, which I will be writing about sooner or later).  It is from this mini-tour that we get to see “The Sea Refuses No River” performed live ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cX7v_-QVzS4 ) (and yes, that’s David Gilmour playing the lead guitar bridge).

Thinking about it this week, I may have gotten the germination of my professional-career-path inspiration from this song. I have many people to thank for greasing those skids, but now I just might have to add Pete Townshend to the list.   

I’ll end this entry on a humorous note.  When I listen to All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes, I often think of my friend Bouv who I was roommates with my senior year, and who absolutely loved this album (I also think of my brother, Fred who has a strong connection to the disc as well).  In the day, Bouv and I would put this record on the turntable, turn it way up, and proceed to sing along to it in its entirety.  Years later we were tailgating at the 1989 Who “Reunion Tour”, where many friends and family had joined us (easily the biggest crowd of friends I had ever gathered with for a show). Tickets had been purchased by a number of us, which had our crowd scattered throughout the stadium.  I knew up front that my good friend and colleague, Saiping, had ended up with a seat next to Bouv, on the other side of the stadium from Nancy and myself (she had purchased four and gave me two to sell).  To that point, Bouv and Saiping had never met and Bouv was unaware he was sitting next to another friend of mine, seeing as Saiping did not make our tailgate.  So when I bumped into Saiping on my way into the stadium, I thought I would have a little fun with this scenario.

Now, it should go without saying that there was no chance the Who were going to perform “The Sea Refuses No River” that nite (and if they had it would have propelled a small percentage of us, including Bouv, into the stratosphere):  All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes was more for the aficionados of Townshend’s music than for the casual Who fan.  Knowing all of this, I quickly described to Saiping what Bouv looked like and suggested that if she determined the right moment that she should get his attention, look him in the eyes, and say “the sea refuses no river”.  As the show lurched to its conclusion, Saiping found that moment and seized it.  Glancing back at her, Bouv, who was blown away for a moment, recovered and then shot back a reply that was both spontaneous and priceless: “The River is where I am.”

This is the line that closes the song.  It was a perfect response by Bouv and I believe it is the perfect phrase too to close this entry.

- Pete

Under the Big Top # 12: “A Wholesome Set of Thunderfingers”

(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)

Song: “Old Red Wine”
Album: Originally released on the compilation album Then and Now
Release Date: May, 2004

Funny how long stretches can go by without a certain type of occurrence happening in your life and then bang, within a short span of time it crops up on several occasions.  This was the case for me this week.  It was nothing earth shattering really, just the use of a simple word:  Wholesome.  The first time the word was used was in an old documentary that Nancy and I were watching on Sunday evening about the musical career of, not surprisingly…..The Carpenters.  At one point in the show the producer for their mid-70’s TV specials stated about their success “We all root for wholesome, don’t we?” 

Now, Nancy has always been a fan of wholesome, but my immediate reaction was “Do we?” Knowing already what I was going to write about this week, a chain reaction of thought on this notion had me quickly realizing that I now had a good lead off for this week’s entry; that being expressing my long-term negative reaction to this word, associating it in my mind to a personalized set of synonyms such as ‘bubble gum’, ‘contrived’ and ‘not real’.   I was then going to contrast ‘wholesome’ with the realness of rock and roll, exemplified in the principle subject of this week’s Big Top entry; Mr. John Entwistle.

As the week progressed though, I began to have second thoughts on my introductory premise (a top commandment of creative writing: Never act on your initial impulse).  My first-hit online search for a definition of wholesome was “suggestive of good health and wellbeing”.  This fit with that personal definition of mine, which was originally shaped by a handful of squeaky clean mass-appeal sensations from my youth.  But I had to admit to at least a qualitative openness to wholesomeness.  I mean yes, Donny Osmond and David Cassidy bothered the daylights out of me when I was a kid.  And I did see through the fabrication of a majority of family sitcoms in those formative years, to the degree that they contributed significantly to getting me out of the living room and into the night air with my buddies (sitcoms still drive me batty).  But I did like The Waltons. And I have enjoyed The Sound of Music on more than one occasion.  As for that rock and roll counterpoint, I realized as I thought it through that I never did find this image all that consistently alluring either.  Aerosmith and Van Halen have never done anything for me for example.  Neither has a plethora of heavy metal, country-rock, or other ‘classic hits’ bands, many of whom have made it a point to look and act the part of the anti-authority dreamer and schemer. 

As my thinking was evolving I then heard that word ‘wholesome’ a second time.  On this occasion, it was used by my Dad over breakfast on Thursday.  Dad was describing the abbot, priests, and monks at Saint Benedict’s Abbey in Harvard Massachusetts, along with their tranquil Nashua River Valley setting, where we had just gone to a Lenten Mass earlier that morning.  Dad’s use of the term sent me scrambling for that definition when I got to work (to that point, I had yet to look it up).  And there it was; a secondary meaning of the word, and a perfect fit for Dad’s use that morning: “Conducive to or promoting moral wellbeing”.  Well, that did it:  Wholesome was a noble term after all, and despite my lifelong rock-centric recoil from the word, seems actually worthy of striving for.  It appeared I was back to the old drawing board.  Then again, I do believe all this mental processing did me some good, starting with this blog entry. 

Harkening back to The Carpenters for a moment; despite their PR-fed ‘wholesome’ image, there was clearly real longing and depth-of-soul there.  You could see these elements in Karen Carpenter’s eyes from the beginning of that documentary all the way through to the parts that reflect on her untimely anorexia-induced death. Her smiles were certainly there; always sincere, but never radiant.  As for her brother, Richard, he had his struggles with Quaalude addiction, which he openly discussed.  Was the wholesomeness an illusion all along?  Well, I will say this:  The documentary made The Carpenters much more real than my younger image of them, which was great, and connected them more with that secondary definition Dad had opened me too (and yes, I do admit there is talent there too).   

John Entwistle will never be confused with the commercial PR play on wholesomeness, but he was oh so real as well.  Before I get into the superlatives, let’s get the crap out of the way first.  This musician, who I have seen perform more than any other, died in his sleep of a heart attack at the age of 57 in a Las Vegas casino hotel room the night before the Who were to launch their 2002 tour. A stripper/groupie was in bed with him when he died (she found him unresponsive that next morning).  Cocaine was determined a factor.  I remember vividly when I heard the news.  It was a hard pill to swallow.

Roger Daltrey, devastated, as he was after Keith Moon died 24 years earlier, made it a bit easier on fans by stating something to the effect of “I can think of worse ways to go”.  The Who soldiered on with the tour, scrambling to bring session bass man Pino Paladino on board as a last minute fill in (he is still with them).  I saw the 1^st show they performed after John Entwistle’s funeral, which was at Great Woods, Mansfield Massachusetts. The emotions were still visceral, with Pete Townshend pouring his heart out to the crowd on one occasion between songs.  He and Entwistle were childhood friends. There was an immense amount of shared history between the two (so too, with Daltrey).  I look back on that show as one very lengthy eulogy.

The last time I saw John Entwistle was the year before at Harborlights on Boston Harbor as part of the All-star-studded A Walk Down Abbey Road, a show that covered Beatles songs and those of the performers (a la Ringo’s tours).  Along with Entwistle, the musicians included Alan Parsons, the Wilson sisters (Heart) and Todd Rundgren.  The Ox (Entwistle) did not look good, which I commented to Nancy at the time.  He had aged and he looked haggard.  I was also aware that his hearing was pretty bad; even worse than Pete Townshend’s (there’s a common thread here, which has to do with standing in front of Guinness Book record-shattering speaker-stacked walls of sound). 

Along with reading and watching interviews of the band in the year’s prior to John Entwistle’s death, I had made other related observations too while attending the Who’s 2000 tour.  One great thing about the Who is that none of them have ever appeared to be significantly “in it for the money”.   Entwistle came close though during this period.  Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey and the rest of the band were trying to be creative again, fleshing out songs in lengthy jam sessions in an attempt to capture some new sounds.  The Ox came across as not tuned into this quest.  It had been hinted that he was only touring with the Who because he needed the money to support a lavish lifestyle.  And so, the feel at these shows was as if I were watching the Who, with special guest John Entwistle….here to show you his amazing skills through a repeat playing of old hits.  Entwistle was slipping, which was becoming painfully obvious to those of us who followed the band closely.

Some of Pete Townshend’s earliest public comments after John Entwistle’s death bordered on unsympathetic (which angered Entwistle’s Mother, Queenie, who had known Townshend since he was a young teen when he would jam with her son in their home).  I recall a similar reaction though by Terri Irwin, wife of “Crocodile Hunter” Steve Irwin, who for all intents and purposes called her husband an idiot (albeit lovingly) after he was fatally ‘stung’ by a sting ray in the chest while wading vulnerably over it.  Grieving can be an unpredictable process.

Ok, I hope I still have a few of you. Because from here on its all praise.

As mentioned earlier, I have seen John Entwistle perform more than any other musician.  This includes his solo tours, which I caught every time they made their way through the New England region.  I’ve seen him perform at the old Living Room in Providence, three times at the old Channel in Boston (once with the Rat Race Choir), at the old Sir Morgan’s Cove in Worcester (where I got to shake his hand and exchange pleasantries) at the old Mama Kin’s in Boston, and several other locales I can’t recall the names of (typing in these club names makes me realize just how many of them are now gone).  I’ve seen him perform with Roger Daltrey (“Daltrey Sings Townshend”) on Ringo’s All Star Tour and the aforementioned A Walk Down Abbey Road tour.  And of course, I got to see him with The Who on numerous occasions.  John Entwistle liked to tour, to the satisfaction of many of us.  I had the opportunity to enjoy his talents with many family and friends, including Nancy, Mac, Fred, Jen, Amy, Becca, Dave, Rochey, Bouv, Kurt, Muff, Rover, Callahan, Bruce, Pete, and a number of others. 

The Mama Kin’s show in 1996 was one of the best concerts I have ever seen.  Due to the great reviews of earlier shows, there was a heavy demand for tickets.  Mac and I could have scalped ours for a nice bit of pocket change.  There was no chance that happening.  We waltzed in through the wannabes outside, situated ourselves stage right and got blown away by a great Entwistle-penned Who-heavy set, which included “Heaven and Hell”, “Had Enough”, “Success Story”, “Trick of the Light”, “Boris the Spider” and “My Wife”.  The Ox’s “Thunderfingers” were in grand form that evening. 

John Entwistle was the Who’s anchor, the calm eye at the center of a raging storm.  Pete Townshend has often expressed an admiration for the Ox’s calm-under-pressure demeanor.  The video of “Join Together” which I included in the last entry (Big Top # 11) is telltale in this regard.  As the song progresses through the early stages, Moon then Daltrey and then Townshend wrap up their mouth harp contributions, leaving Entwistle to continue on his own for a short stretch.  When it comes time to add his bass to the mix (the 5th-gear moment of the song when Roger Daltrey sings “Do you reaaaally think I care, what you eat or what you wear….”), he casually saunters a few steps backward to gently place the harmonica down, just in the nick of time to make the switch.  In contrast later in the video, when Pete Townshend has to do the same thing (after switching back to harmonica for a stretch) he ends up tossing the instrument over his shoulder hastily in anticipation of his guitar lines.

John Entwistle can boast quite a discography, be it his own penned songs or those he contributed his considerable talents to for other Who music, but the song that really got my attention the past few days was actually written about him by Pete Townshend, after the Ox died.  It’s my Big Top entry for the week, “Old Red Wine” ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9zb8n5Opgg ) and it is an incredible song.  I interpret the lyrics as Townshend’s attempt at imagining Entwistle’s last day (or days), touring California’s wine vineyards and basking in the reflections of yesteryear.  In the song, Townshend mentions several great music venues in the State (“There’s the Bowl and the Fillmore, the Cow and the Greek”, likely referring to the Hollywood Bowl, Fillmore West, Cow Palace and Greek Theater respectively).  Entwistle died at the Hard Rock Café Hotel, and I believe he had signed off on some memorabilia that last evening.  Perhaps some of the memorabilia was from those spectacular Who shows of the past at the famous haunts just listed (actually one of the Cow Palace shows was when Keith Moon passed out mid show due to the intake of a handful of horse-tranquilizer pills, so likely not as spectacular).  “Old Red Wine’s” lyrics conclude with “Old Red Wine, well past its prime, gonna have to drink it with you, some other time”.   Then after an extended jam (where I often wonder if the Who engineered in an Entwistle riff, because man-o-man it sounds like him near the end) Daltrey closes by singing “Let it Breath!  Breath Life!” He’s likely referring to the wine, but, then again….

Regardless, this is one of the best tribute songs about a fallen friend that I have ever heard.

The night Entwistle died, Mac, Kurt and I went out to have a toast in his memory, and to reminisce about his shows.  It’s the only time I ever did something like that in relation to someone I never knew on a personal level.  One of the places we went to was Bukowski’s Tavern in Boston which at our bequest played Who music. Unlike other locales that evening, however, they went a few steps further, playing the entirety of the extended version of Live at Leeds at an appropriately ratcheted-up volume.  All in all it was a bittersweet evening filled with laughter and loss.

The Ox was a music man, pure and simple; probably more so than any musician I know of except perhaps Van Morrison and Paul McCartney.  Successful musicians travel, and being on the road can be a cruel way to make a living.  It has taken more than its fair share of talent.  Few are immune to its vices (Pete Seeger was one of those rare exceptions).  And yet, he was an exemplary, innovative bass player: The best really.  I firmly believe that you can’t be that good at something without a core of goodness, or better yet, wholesomeness (my new word!).  A few years after John Entwistle’s passing, Pete Townshend talked about getting in a cab and engaging in a conversation with the driver, who recognized Pete and told him that Entwistle was in the same Freemason lodge with him for 30 years. Townshend was shocked: Despite their life together as friends and bandmates, he never knew this.  Entwistle never told him, or anyone in the band for that matter (by the way, Pete Townshend is so eminently quotable when it comes to recognizing the ones he has lost, and there are many).

A colleague of mine who lives near Memphis Tennessee was recently joking that when she wants to get her husband flustered she tells him Elvis was nothing but a drug addict.  I laughed and then responded that we all have our heroes and villains and that each of us chooses to weed out the parts of a famous person’s story that does not fit our preconceived notions.  Mom for example was always a fan of Dean Martin and loved Glenn Campbell, despite each of their well-documented transgressions.  Who knows the full suite of reasons why we empathize with one persona and brush aside another?  What I do know is that I’ll be ready to go to wholesome bat for John Entwistle and The Who any day.

- Pete