The Who, with ragged and reckless abandon, bid goodbye to Boston
By NICK TAVARES
STATIC and FEEDBACK Editor
There’s something uniquely thrilling to watch Pete Townshend just slash his way through a song, alternating between rhythmic chops and sudden bursts of finger-picking staccato, before handing the spotlight back to Roger Daltrey to belt out one of their hits with the vim and vigor of a man half his age.
This moment took place during “Who Are You,” and “The Real Me,” and “5:15,” and several more times throughout this night at Fenway Park. In front of a packed house, the Who burned through a two-hour set that ran from their earliest singles to latter-day triumphs. They sounded incredible. The audience was thrilled. And for whatever reason, I almost skipped all of this.
I've said “goodbye” to this band in my head several times at this point. Likely for the first time in 2012 when they brought the Quadrophenia tour to Boston, but certainly in 2017 when The Who Hits 50! tour finally came to Boston after a year-and-a-half delay. And their previous show at Fenway Park in 2019 with the orchestra in tow certainly felt like a goodbye. And if that wasn’t then end, then certainly their 2022 show back at the Garden had to be the last one.
But here we are, back at Fenway on a near-perfect day as summer winds down, and today feels different. There’s been some needless drama lately with the band, with Zak Starkey getting the boot from the drum throne in favor of Scott Devours. There have been less-than-flattering videos from recent performances, ticket prices have escalated dramatically (as they have across the concert industry), leading to lots of available seats online and, finally, two cancellations before this night due to an otherwise undisclosed illness.
Daltrey is 81. Townshend is 80. They seem to be pushing this as far as it will go. And if they’d dubbed other tours as a “farewell” jaunt before (1982, 2015-17, 2019, etc.), this one might be the one that lives up to that billing. And this is all to say that I was certainly dubious in my mindset heading into the show.
Have I mentioned how stupid a negative mindset like that can be? Because they killed it. We got a hit of it walking around the park and hearing a soundcheck of “The Seeker,” saying to my friend, “Man … Daltrey sounds good.” By the time openers The Joe Perry Project were ripping through their closing “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” Fenway Park was basically full, and it was a packed house when the band got on stage and Townshend ripped through the opening chords to “I Can’t Explain.”
Townshend, recently recovered from a knee replacement, was far more mobile and animated than he had been in either orchestra show I caught. Every time he got a chance to show off his chops, like on “Eminence Front” or the “The Seeker,” he was at full strength, a reminder of what a powerful guitarist he’s always been. Daltrey’s voice was arguably the best its been in a decade, benefitting from a few nights off and displaying a wide range, hitting the high notes and the growling thunder these songs need. On “Love, Reign O’er Me,” he let out a sudden scream towards the song’s coda that drew a gasp from the crowd, leading to a standing ovation from the audience.
Not to be outdone, the backing band played their asses off, particularly Devours, who kept time with an enthusiastic, uncaged fury — just all smiles and all frantic, wild drum fills. Jon Button’s bass was much higher in the mix than anyone in that spot since John Entwistle left us, and Simon Townshend played his role perfectly, filling in with every needed guitar flourish and sounding exactly like his older brother circa 1971 when he stepped up to sing “Going Mobile.”
And it wasn’t a perfect show, either, with little flubs here and there. A re-worked version of “Cry If You Want” seemed to still have some kinks that need to be ironed out, while Daltrey bailed halfway through the harmonica solo that ends live versions of “Baba O’Riley.” But they weren’t the mistakes of a band that didn’t care or were underrehearsed. They were endearing, and evocative of a band that was always so powerful live, but always living on the edge and on the verge of teetering off the tracks.
Daltrey even joked about how he hadn’t had to play that part in five years while they were touring with the orchestra, with the violinist carrying the load. Townshend was quick with a quip in return: “I want her back in the band.”
But this was in no way a sad or disheartening effort. This was the band, stripped down as far as they can reasonably be at this age, trying and succeeding to pay homage to the groundbreaking outfit that was arguably one of the greatest live bands of their generation.
I obviously never got to see the original band. Keith Moon died before I was born. I was a baby when they played their “last” show in Toronto in 1982. I missed John Entwistle by a few months when I first saw them in Mansfield. But they’ve been a constant for so long as I devoured every album and bootleg I could, and catching them at least once on every tour since 2002.
And every time I’ve seen them, I think I’ve been mentally saying goodbye to the band. Just quietly running the numbers, with every show I assumed that this might be the end. And every time, I’ve walked out of the building thinking, “if that was it, they were great.”
Tonight felt different. By the time the rest of the band filed off stage, leaving just Townshend seated with his jumbo acoustic guitar and Daltrey holding his mug of tea, closing appropriately with “Tea & Theatre,” I felt this swell of emotion. This tour, early as it is, has not been without its challenges, and in 60 years, this band has endured pretty much everything a band can experience. When Daltrey sang “We did it all, didn’t we?,” there was a noticeable sadness and a twinkle in his eye. And we all felt it in the audience.
I’ve been saying goodbye for so long, honestly longer than needed, but tonight they were saying goodbye to us. I’m grateful I could be there to get the message.
Email Nick Tavares at nick@staticandfeedback.com