Music is My Radar

OK, so I’m a week or so late in posting something about the Who’s performance at the Super Bowl halftime show, but, by way of an excuse, it’s helpful sometimes to have the benefit of a little perspective on the event in question, rather than rushing to join the post-mortem gangpile (or orgy).

(For those of you who live in a cave and didn’t see the Who play the halftime show at the Super Bowl last weekend, you have my respect.  And now you can watch the video here.)

Actually, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for all of us to watch the video again, if only to remind ourselves what happened.  I mean, it wasn’t particularly memorable for me, so let me pause for a minute and refamiliarize myself with the show.  BRB.

…

OK, done.  So here’s what I’ve got.

1. I hate medleys.  Seriously.  Hate.  Medleys.  Because really, summarizing the esteemed career of a 40+year-old band with God-only-knows how many record sales plus crap-tons of pop-culture significance is best done by taking the least-forgettable 30 seconds of their most popular songs and mashing them into a crescendo-less bowl of pudding, which one can imagine dribbling down the chin of Pete Townshend in a few short years.  No really, I’m not hating on ol’ Pete, for whatever part he played in this, but wouldn’t it have been better just to see them tear through two, maybe three songs, and be done with it?  Entire songs maybe?  Maybe throw a bone to the long-time fans and dig something out of the crates; say, “Pictures of Lily” or “The Kids are Alright.”  Actually, the latter would have been awesome, even better than hearing now-65 (!) Roger Daltry belt out “I hope I die before I get old.”  (Because that’s one wish that was never granted, buddy.)  But seriously, I really would have enjoyed hearing “The Kids are Alright,” “Baba O’Riley,” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again” and that’s it.  Pack it up and go home boys.  Way to show the kids how it’s done.
2. But instead we had a medley, and as much as I hate medleys … I mean, it was the Who.  THE.  WHO.  And I would seriously rather spend a month listening to nothing but solo albums from Who members (not a terribly esteemed collection that is) than listen to most of today’s bands that would cite the Who as an influence.  (And I’m speaking specifically of bands in the “modern rock” or “alternative” genres here and less so of the indie kids.  But then, not many indie kids openly worship the Who.)   Not trying to sound like an old fart; there is certainly some mighty fine music these days.  But there’s good music of today, and there’s the Who.  The Rolling Stones circa 1965 might have been the band voted most likely to shiv you in a dark alley, but the Who would have won least likely to give a shit what happened to you, bleeding out next to a dumpster or not.
3. That said, there is something to be said for calling it a day.  By that I mean knowing when it’s time to clock out and let history do its job.  Arguably, the Who could’ve/should’ve ended its claim as the best rock band in the world when Keith Moon, its drummer and alleged inspiration for Animal, died in 1978.  Other rock bands have called it quits under similar circumstances.  But instead they soldiered on, adding more fuel to the fire that it was Pete Townshend’s band from the get-go.  Sure, some of the early-80s Who material wasn’t too shabby.  But does anything on It’s Hard compare to the weakest moments of Who’s Next?  Hardly.  Admittedly, I can’t claim absolution from the post-Keith-Moon-Who-excitement.  In fact, I saw the Who perform in Atlanta during their 1989 “The Kids are Alright” tour, and I had a thoroughly amazing time at the show.  (Highlight: completing Roger Daltry’s stuttered line in “My Generation” by yelling “FUCK OFF!!!” after “why don’t they all just fffffffade away,” and being roundly cheered by those around me.  Lowlight: trying it again on the second verse and being ignored.  But that’s being 16 for you.)  But at least Pete Townshend could manage a decent windmill guitar attack back then, as opposed to Super Bowl Sunday, when you could practically seen him wince as he whipped his arm around.  No judgment here: the dude used to rip out fingernails on his fretboard in the name of being a rock-n-roll badass, and I can imagine that at 64, growing new nails is considerably more taxing than at 34.  But when your badass days are done … maybe you are too?
4. But hey, I come not to hate but to … appreciate?  Sorry.  That was strained.  There are a few things about the performance I really enjoyed.  First, the stage was pretty badass, if not just pretty.  Second, how awesome is it that two of the greatest bands of the 1960s were united (on some level) by Zak Starkey, the son of a somewhat famous drummer, filling in for Mr. Moon?  Very awesome.  Also, Zak was sporting some seriously  badass cymbals … watch the video again if you didn’t notice the first time around.  And as much as I hate to see the old lions slowly succumb to age and hearing loss, well … they’re still the Who.  Most of them, anyway.

Verdict?  Overall it was fine, although not particularly inspiring.  Here’s hoping they’re using their paychecks for something worthwhile, like this.  (Kidding of course.  Well … kind of.)