(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)
Song: “Long Live Rock”
Album: Odds and Sods
Release Date: October,
1974
Last month
before the Boston Who concert (see Big Top # 11: “A Who Concert Review: The Last Who-rah”), Dave and I briefly discussed the Who’s first
four studio albums, My Generation, A
Quick One, The Who Sell Out and Tommy,
marveling at the rapid evolution of the band’s sound from album to album. Ours ears hear no repetition from disc to
disc, and no overlap (even Bob Dylan overlaps his music, although I think it’s
intentional). I’ve pondered our discussion
since then, and decided that this evolution of sound should also be projected through
their next four studio albums as well: Who’s Next, Quadrophenia, Who by Numbers
and Who Are You (and if someone
wanted to make the case for their ninth studio effort, Face Dances - at least parts of it - I’d hear them out). Which begs the question: What accounts for
this? After all, that’s quite a stretch
of albums and time (15 years) to continually evolve your sound.
Aside from
the fact that they were one of the all-time great bands, the answer lies on the
cutting room floor as well as in the intervals between albums. For every great song the Who released on
their studio albums, they either rejected another, or released it as a non-album
single. With the exception of Bob Dylan,
no other rock act I can think of did this to the degree that the Who did. The Rolling Stones did release the occasional
non-album single: “Dandelion”, “Honky
Tonk Woman” and “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” come to mind (and they did have an abundance of extra material for Exile on Main Street). So did the Beatles with songs like “Penny
Lane”, “All You Need Is Love” and “Strawberry Fields Forever”. But a vast majority of the songs of both these
band’s made it onto their studio albums, with a precious few left on the
shelf. Same goes for Neil Young, the
Kinks, R.E.M., U2, Elvis Costello and Bruce Springsteen.
Compare this
to the Who’s non-studio-album output: “Anyway Anyhow, Anywhere”, “I Can’t
Explain”, “The Kids Are Alright”, “I’m a Boy”, “Substitute”, “Disguises”, “Picture
of Lily”, “Magic Bus”, “Pure and Easy”, “Long Live Rock”, “The Seeker”, “Join
Together”, “Put the Money Down”, “Water”, “Faith in Something Bigger”, “Naked
Eye”, “Let’s See Action”, “Heaven and Hell”, “Relay”…..and on and on. This is a treasure trove of songs, upon which
the Who could have rested their laurels on alone. It is a significant and
unique aspect to this band’s story. ** Side
Note: This fact has also made it a bit harder for me to prepare for some of
these Big Top entries, seeing as many
of my thoughts come together by listening to album-oriented music. I’ve had to break from that routine this year
as I absolutely cannot ignore at least a handful of these singular gems for this
series (including this week’s choice), and the only way to do that is by listening
to compilation albums, which don’t have the potential for profundity that
studio albums have.
The 1974
compilation album Odds and Sods was
one of the first Who efforts to dive back into their scrap heap (one big reason
they did this was to thwart bootleg releases at the time). Odds
and Sods is a classic cross section of the band’s back-catalog to that
date. Prior to this album’s release,
none of the songs on it had seen the light of day. Some of the most memorable are “I’m the Face”
(an ode to Mods from 1964 when the band called themselves “The Detours”);
“Little Billy” (which would have been the perfect FDA advertisement against the
perils of smoking); “Postcard” (a John Entwistle real-life narrative about
touring, which has nice in-the-mix musical touches for each country - for
example the Oom-pah tuba effect for Germany); and “Pure and Easy” (amazingly
left off of Who’s Next).
Aside from this week, there were only
a couple of other times in my life where I really got into this album. One of them just happened to be right at the
time when I met my wife-to-be Nancy. Many
of you have heard the story, but for the sake of this entry it bears a nutshell
repeating:
If you have ever watched the half-baked
comedy, What’s up, Doc?, starring
Barbara Streisand, Ryan O’Neil, and multiple identical briefcases, you have a
good analogy as to how Nancy and I met.
College buddy Kurt had invited me to a Halloween Party in
Winchester. I decided last minute to go,
but had no idea what to go as. Mom came
up with the idea of a Mad Scientist, and helped me put together a makeshift,
elaborate costume. It was great. I packed the costume in a bag and tossed it
in the back seat of my car for the one hour drive north though Boston. Before leaving, Mom asked me to drop younger
brother Pat off at the school down the road, where he would be helping to scare
little kids in a Halloween maze. Pat’s
costume (a monster mask, yellow wig, and a ripped sheet) was packed in a bag
and tossed in the back seat next to my identical bag (you can guess where this
is going?). I drove down the road and
pulled up to the Pat’s Halloween event.
He grabbed his bag (or so he thought) and ran off.
After arriving at the party, and going
inside for a few pops, I said to Kurt, ‘get a load of my costume’. We headed back to my car and I opened the
bag. I was shocked. There was nothing in it but a yellow wig,
monster mask, and ripped sheet (until then, I was unaware of what Pat had in
his bag). I was high and dry and feeling
bad, knowing how much effort Mom had put into that costume (I was also
wondering what Pat did when he made the bag-switch discovery on his end, and later
found out he was utterly confused too).
Now, I was never the most forthcoming
of guys when it came to meeting ladies, but at that moment, all inhibitions
were out the window. I put Pat’s costume
on and transformed into a yellow-wigged alter ego of myself. Nancy was the innocent victim, unaware she was
sitting in my seat near the dance floor.
She was dressed up as an Indian girl, looking very pretty, and sitting
with one of her best friends, Madeline (who, like Kurt, remains close to us to
this day). I walked up to her and quite
out of character, insisted she dance with me.
We talked and danced the rest of the evening, yellow wig and all (Nancy
did not know my true hair color until our first date the following
weekend). The rest is history.
At one point
during that evening we drove to another venue together. I had Odds
and Sods in the tape player and unbeknownst to me, Nancy was doing a bit of
interpretation of my personality as she listened to the music. Her biggest take-home was the rarity “Now I’m
A Farmer”, which, not surprisingly, she had never heard before. Like many Who songs, there are varieties of meaning
in this song, but Nancy took the oft-repeated title-words literally. I’d already told her I was from the Rte 495
belt-town of Franklin (which Nancy also was not familiar with) and, like Kurt
when I first met him, she assumed it was just another name for ‘Hicksville’ (Winchester
and Woburn, Kurt and Nancy’s neighboring hometowns, are inside the Rte 128
belt, much closer to Boston, so from their perspective Franklin was in the
sticks. Indeed, Kurt used to introduce
me to his hometown friends thusly: “This is Pete from Frank-land, next town over
from PLAINville” ** which is all true by
the way; aside from the intentionally mispronounced twist on Franklin **).
“Now I’m a
Farmer” had apparently tipped the scales for Nancy. In other words, I must be a real country hick,
‘looking after the pigs’, along with my other farm chores. Two weeks later, when she made the drive out
to Franklin to meet my family, Nancy missed the Rte 495 exit, and kept heading West
on the Mass Pike a ways before finally pulling over at a rest area, calling
from a pay phone, and being guided to turn around. I believe she was subconsciously on her way
to the old Pioneer Valley tobacco-farming region on the Connecticut, Westfield and
Farmington Rivers.
Years later,
when we got married, I had another rare Odds
and Sods moment. Our excellent reception
band, (which it must be said for posterity, had learned an additional dozen
songs at our request) were winding down and, well knowing my taste for Who
music, put the great Odds and Sods
song “Long Live Rock” on their turntable.
Andy, the lead singer, handed me the microphone, and I proceeded to sing,
Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend offering backing vocals. All was fine and dandy until I went into
Daltrey mic-twirl mode. When I turned to
Andy he looked ashen, presumably consumed by the image of watching his lead-vocal
instrument colliding with the floor or ceiling; so I stopped.
It most
definitely was appropriate that the first songs Nancy heard on my car player
were Who songs. In the intervening years
(and since) my wife has had to endure more Who music than any spouse (of
considerable and diverse interest in music herself I must add) should probably have
to. This would include countless repeat
playing of their albums on our stereo; attending their concerts with me; cohosting
pay-per-view gatherings of Who shows at our first home in Waltham; listening to
my vocal interpretations on hikes and car rides (often replete with stage
imitations); watching their videos; or simply putting up with my general rock
and roll sensibilities. I must say, it
helps that Nancy has these sensibilities too, but being married to a guy who
can rattle off Rock & Roll memories the way I have in this blog series must
on occasion have the feel of rock-sensory-overload.
This past week
Nancy and I celebrated our 25th silver wedding anniversary. Seeing how great of a ride it has been, I can
only conclude that our mutual Rock & Roll experience has to have been a
positive contribution to our life together thus far. Along with the Who and all their solo
permutations, we have enjoyed many other incredible shows together, including
the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Arlo Guthrie, The
Band, Jonathan Richman, Rick Danko, Dave Davies, Charlie Watts, Southside
Johnny, Richard Thompson, Richie Havens, Pure Prairie League, Shawn Colvin, the
English Beat, and a great Roy Orbison tribute in Los Angeles with numerous
musicians, including Bob Dylan and the Byrds.
I am sure I am missing a ton. Last
night we added to that list, attending the Bob Dylan 75th birthday
tribute at the Bull Run in Shirley MA with a number of great friends. Needless to say we plan to continue this
trend in the years ahead.
With that
said, I think it apropos that I submit “Long Live Rock” as my 16th
Big Top entry (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6VSSSbY0Pc), if for the title alone (I considered “Now I’m a Farmer”, but
after gaging son Peter on it decided the song was….an acquired taste). I fell in love with this song all over again
this week. I believe it to be Pete
Townshend’s best lead-vocal effort on a Who recording. At the end of the bridge, Roger Daltrey sounds
very convincingly like he is giving a eulogy when he repeats “Rock is Dead” three times (Rock rebounds
later in the song). The lyrics tell the
story of a Who show in 1966, including events leading up
to it. The lyrics are tremendous,
including the opening “Down at the
Astoria the scene was changing; bingo and rock were pushing out X-rated” (music
and bingo replacing promiscuous theater at the old Astoria in Finsbury Park,
north London) and “People walk in
sideways pretending that they’re leaving” as well as “Jack is in the alley selling tickets made in Hong Kong”. For a video link, I searched high and low for
the end credits to The Kids Are Alright,
which runs this song in the background as we get to watch the Who backstage
after their final concert together with Keith Moon; mugging for the camera and
generally acting out the song’s lyrics.
I’ll just have to pop the movie in and enjoy that finale on my own. I recommend fellow Who fans to do the same,
as I always pick up on something new when I watch that movie.
In closing, I
would like to dedicate this entry to my lovely wife. Happy 25th Anniversary Nancy! May the music always be a magical ingredient
of our life together.
- Pete
Saturday, April 16, 2016
Saturday, April 9, 2016
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.
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
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.
--------------
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
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Under the Big Top # 14: “Risk, Reward (& other reverberations)”
(Personal reflections inspired by Who songs)
Song: “Amazing Journey”
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 3rd 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 3rd 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
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 3rd 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 3rd 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
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 50th 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.
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 50th 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
Saturday, March 26, 2016
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
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
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