The What and Why of The Who

Throughout most of a typical performance, the English rock quartet called The Who live up to their own modest billing: "A good, steady-going, down-to-earth pop group." Their beat is tight and jabbing, their guitar backings crisp. Their songs (Happy Jack, I Can See for Miles) aim to divert listeners rather than convert them. Un like current groups performing along the protest-and-prophecy axis, they do not come on like four hoarse men of the Apocalypse. Not at first.

As The Who launch into their wail ing finale, My Generation ("I hope I die before I get old"), strange things do begin to happen. Clunk! Lead Singer Roger Daltrey flings the microphone to the floor, wheels around and begins flailing at the drums played by Keith Moon. Crack! Peter Townshend breaks his guitar against the stage, jumps on it, then splinters it against a speaker cabinet. Crash! John Entwistle heaves his bass away and joins the others in a savage orgy of kicking and pushing at the loudspeakers, the drums and the mike stand.

Thanks to this sort of showmanship, The Who's recent 30-city U.S. tour was--well, a smashing success. But the display, as Peter Townshend admits, "is an act, and it really is meaningless." It is also troublesome, since it requires them constantly to prowl the pawnshops in search of cheap replacements for broken instruments. "We started using it," says Townshend, "as a lever to get the audiences to come, and then, we hoped, dig the rest of the music." Now the audiences are coming. The Who rank close behind the Beatles and the Rolling Stones as one of England's leading rock groups, and they are rapidly winning frenzied admirers in America as well. Still, the music seems overshadowed by the violence.

Breaking Up. From the beginning of their career, The Who have been known more for their nonmusical put-ons than their musical output. They were formed in 1964 when Townshend, the son of a dance-band saxophonist in suburban London, met the other three in school. Their early local successes were based on imitations of U.S. blues and rock 'n' roll performers (John Lee Hooker, Bo Diddley). Later, they pioneered in pop-art costumes, such as jackets made from Union Jacks. Then they began literally breaking things up--and probably inspired the guitar-burning antics of Singer Jimi Hendrix as well as the Yardbirds' memorable discotheque scene in the film Blow-Up.

So far, their most musical moments have been on records, particularly on their latest LP, The Who Sell Out. Cleverly framed in the breathless format of top-40 radio, this album mixes authentic station breaks, charmingly unpretentious songs (I Can't Reach You; Silas Stingy) and semi-satiric commercials (Heinz Baked Beans and Odorono, a deodorant). The album is The Who's imaginative antidote to the greatest danger they see in rock today: its solemnity.

The album also proves that the group has genuine musical impact even when deprived of its visual flair. Last week in London, the boys prepared to follow up The Who Sell Out with what they hope will be an equally inventive recording. They need to. It is the only way they will convince serious listeners that they can break through more than just their instruments.

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