"... they weren't afraid to do what they felt was right. They didn't pander to any record company requests or trends of the time. Their first two albums were revolutionary in their experimentation. At a time when harmony and melody were at a premium, [they] produced drones and primal rhythms. They weren't just an avant-garde band, they were at the very edge of the avant-garde and the intertwining of various art forms into their sphere was truly mold-breaking. The Velvets continued a counterculture mixed-media procession that started with Kerouac and Ginsberg, passed through Dylan, continued with Patti Smith ... their music stimulated the body while the lyrics stimulated the mind." (Rob Jovanovic)
"This was hard to suss out at the time, which is probably why people are still learning from it. It sounds intermittently crude, thin, and pretentious at first, but it never stops getting better ... nobody experimented more successfully than these folks." (Robert Christgau)
"The Velvets straddled the categories. They were nothing if not eclectic: their music and sensibility suggested influences as diverse as Bob Dylan and Andy Warhol, Pete Townshend and John Cage; they experimented with demented feedback and isolated pure notes and noise for noise's sake; they were partial to sweet, almost folky melodies; they played the electric viola on Desolation Row. But they were basically rock-and-roll artists, building their songs on a beat that was sometimes implied rather than heard; on simple, tough, pithy lyrics about their hard-edged urban demimonde; on rock-and-rolls oldest metaphor for modern city life - anarchic energy contained by a tight, repetitive structure. Some of The Velvets best songs - "Heroin" especially - redefined how rock-and-roll was supposed to sound; others - "I'm Waiting For The Man," "White Light/White Heat," Beginning To See The Light," "Rock & Roll" - used basic rock-and-roll patterns to redefine how the music was supposed to feel." (Ellen Willis)
In the summer of 1983, I bought 1969: The Velvet Underground Live at the local Recycled Records store. I remember saving my allowance money and riding the bus down to Palo Alto to pick it up. School was just out. I was 17.
I don't know what was in the air in the 80's that caused so many fellow music geeks my age to get hip to the Velvets. But there was something. Me, I got turned on by reading Ellen Willis' essay about them in the book Stranded.
Of course, at the time it was a different story. I didn't know anyone else who dug them. You certainly couldn't hear them on the radio. There were no books about them. There was no internet to look them up on. I didn't know at the time that a fanzine called What Goes On was being published ... by people not much older than myself.
All I knew was that 1969 was one of the most amazing albums I'd ever heard, quite different from anything else I was listening to at the time, and that it was practically the only album I wanted to listen to, all summer long. I say practically, because when I bought The Velvet Underground and Nico a couple months later, it nudged even 1969 aside. VU&N was unlike anything I had ever heard. Beautiful and slightly frightening ... words often bandied about but in this case, actually true.
Unbeknownst to me, the Velvets were turning on an entire generation, a decade+ after their dissolution. Even as Moe Tucker slaved away at Wal-Mart, and Sterling was student teaching, and Lou Reed was climbing back to respectability after a decade of making a clown of himself, and John Cale was cleaning up and changing his daughter's diapers, and Nico - wasn't cleaning up ... even as all that was happening, guys around my age were finding these then hard-to-find albums, and learning from them. And writing their own songs. And starting bands. Bands that would come to dominate the decade. Bands like REM and about five hundred or so (conservative estimate) others. The Velvets are the only band in the "classic rock" pantheon of the sixties who never get played on "classic rock" radio. But make no mistake. Baby boomers may gag, but the Velvets are every bit as important and influential as the Beatles/Stones/Dylan/Who/Kinks/Yardbirds/Led Zep/Dylan/Byrds/CCR/Black Sabbath/Hendrix/Doors and fill in the blanks. It just took 10+ years to sort it out. Today, in spite of their long-ago demise, broken only by the aborted 1993 tour, they are pretty well famous.
And deservedly so, because their music has aged even slightly better than their contemporaries. I think that's because underneath the startling noise and innovation, there's music of great beauty and great maturity. They dug deeper than just the adolescent angst and fury and confusion that fuels most great rock`n'roll. They also found heart. They were indeed the biggest, loudest, hairiest group of all.
The Who have been a fave for so long, and so deeply entrenched that I couldn't get them out of my fave list even when I tried. No amount of disparagement would work. They stayed. Like an unwanted house guest. And I had to learn to love them all over again.
The Who have long been a major part of the Rock Geek Pantheon. Nearly always near, if not at, the top. They were a big deal with the Stoner Rock crowd I knew in high school, too. Though always behind Led Zep (of course). And there were always the rebels who truly hated them, even then.
But that was the later Who. Roger with his long ringlets of hair. Townshend bearded and mystical. Their later, artier music. Not that said music wasn't very fine nor that it didn't rock. But that was not The Who I've come most to love.
In the beginning ... That's when they really mattered. That's what all the fuss is about. Roughly `65-`66 The Who were simply the toughest rock band of the British Invasion. They hit harder than even The Kinks and The Yardbirds, had more menace than The Animals and Them. They lacked The Stones sexuality and bluesology, The Yardbirds instrumental finesse (save for John Entwistle, the Hendrix of the electric bass), Eric Burdon's or Van Morrison's or Mick's vocal abilities - they made up for all such lack with sheer firepower. And their ambition was second only to The Beatles themselves. They've been cited as the godfathers of punk, but there's a difference - they hit as hard as any punk band, but they also had skills way beyond their thrashier disciples. Their pure fury came from white rock, but their discipline came from soul and r&b. Driven by a surf-style drummer, their music hit that much harder because they knew where and when to punch for maximum impact. There was no thrashing about. The Who were in control.
Moon was the key. His drums were overpowering - all over the kit. But he was also tight. He could seize the moment away from his compadres - as he does on "I Can't Explain" with six fast shots right after the vocal pause ("I know what it means but ---- [bangbangbang!bangbangbang!] I can't explain") and again on their versions "Leaving Here" and "I'm A Man", and their own "I Can See For Miles" and all over "Happy Jack" and many more.
Townshend was the key. The intellectual. The mystic. The artiste. The auteur. It was he who penned the songs, fantasias of youthful confusion, anger, joy, sex and thrills. And he drove it with furious open chording and lightning flashes of sped-up Link Wray and John Lee Hooker licks. His piledriving chords sounded enormous, titanic. His gawky frame and outsize schnozz made him visually striking - an angry nerd taking revenge on the world for every insult he'd ever received (at the hands of guys like Roger Daltrey) with a guitar and a sneer.
Daltrey was the key. Handsome, studly. His singing wasn't much more than a growl, a callow British bad boy trying to sound like Howlin' Wolf. But it wasn't so much that he was a great singer as it was that he was a great vocal actor. When he shouted "hope I die before I get old" it sounded like he meant it. He sounded like he was quite willing, and able, to fuck you up. And wouldn't hesitate to do so. And he was Townshend's number one weapon to wield against the world. Townshend could articulate aggressive fantasies. Rog could act them out.
Entwistle was the key. The musician. Taciturn. By turning the bass into a lead instrument, he (along with Moon) forced Townshend to power the rhythm section as much as the leads.
Each stage personality modulates Daltrey at the center. Daltrey projects the grimy heart of rock and roll more purely than Townshend ever could: he is a not-too-bright tough, not much of a singer, but absolutely cocky, swinging that mike, missing sometimes and who cares. Keith Moon has the same intensity, but he is playful instead of dangerous. Townshend, on the other hand, projects the danger at a more cerebral and self-conscious level. And John Entwistle is the burgher on the other side of every J.D.: he just stands there and earns his paycheck. (Christgau)
The center cannot hold. As Townshend's came to the fore as the writer and visionary, Art began to creep into The Who. They were never the same. But their rock and roll impulses continued to overpower Townshend's arty ones, and the music remained crushing ("I Can See For Miles").
Tommy changed everything. It put Townshend in the driver's seat and the band in the Top 40. They became stars. The music lost something but retained many glories.
After that they were rock stars. Townshend tortured himself over getting old (at 28!), over failing to create a mystical experience, over becoming wealthy, over trying to come up with some grand concept, rather than doing the obvious thing and just making more music. Poor Pete. He never understood that just writing and recording a single great song is important enough. I'd trade 100 Tommy's for one "I Can't Explain".
They soldiered on, salvaging the best songs from Townshend's incoherent "Lifehouse" project into their most ambitious album yet. They created another "rock opera" - one superior to the often limpid Tommy. But it wasn't as well received. Townshend struggled with alcoholism and depression. The Who By Numbers got a mixed response. They dropped the songs from their live show and their set list consisted almost entirely of older material. But they were a major concert draw and critics still loved them. Then Moon died. They replaced him with Kenny Jones, ex Face, and did a tour that showed there was still life in the old beast. But any promise of that quickly petered out, as Townshend succumbed more and more to his personal problems, and Jones seemed to lose his mojo after `79. Then the whole band lost theirs. Then they were gone. Then they were back. Trading on past glories every few years. Entwistle died. Their star continued to fall.
In 2006 I saw them again (first time was on the desultory `82 "farewell" tour). It was free. I didn't expect much more than a fun evening rocking out to some old faves. I got a surprise. Second songs of the night was "The Seeker"(!). Townshend was leaping and stepping out on guitar ala Live At Leeds. The new songs from Endless Wire were good, and sounded strong next to their classics. They ended with a mini-Tommy set ("Amazing Journey"!), and then a wistful "Tea and Theater", Roger and Pete alone, with a guitar. It was a perfect night.
The Who Sing My Generationis my favorite single Who album. This is the original version, in its American edition (missing "I'm A Man"). It is NOT the "deluxe edition" issued a few years ago, which is an abomination - the remix strips guitars and guts out of every song). Meaty Beaty Big and Bouncy collects their great 60's pre-Tommy singles, and is their best music. Live At Leeds is the classic live Who recording and possibly the all-time great live rock album, pure firepower - this is the kind of sound the Stooges and MC5 were reaching for. The bootleg of their 1968 Fillmore East stand is also well worth hearing.
Of the other 60's albums, The Who Sell Out is beloved by many, but I find it weak. The remastered edition includes a slew of outtakes that are better than what made the original album. It's predecessor, A Quick One is a good if spotty album with some real winners in the "My Generation" mode ("Run Run Run"). Tommyis famous as hell. Most of its pretty good but it loses serious steam after Tommy becomes a messiah, and the production is thin. Live at the Isle of Wight puts across most of if with a lot more firepower.
Of the later Who, Who's Nextis a great album that's been dulled a bit by overfamilarity. Quadropheniaholds up well, and is superior to Tommy. Most of what's best from the later albums can be found on the Thirty Years of Maximum R&B box. I like the recent Endless Wire album fairly well. A good Quadrophenia show from Philadelphiais well worth a listen. Also, while I had generally thought most Kenny Jones-era shows were weak, the Chicago show from 1979 is first-rate latter-day live Who.
Essential Viewing
The Kids Are Alright remains the definitive Who document, a fan-assembled scrapbook of potent live performances, TV appearances and promo films. Worth it for the Smother Brothers clip alone. Monterey Pop contains their stunning version of "My Generation" as well as many other non-Who highlights. Live At Kilburn 1977 captures Moon's next-to-last show. Originally shot for Kids and then rejected, Moon is actually in better form here. Quadrophenia doesn't even feature the band (except in a an archival clip), but adapts the album's story into coherent form and is fine, fine film in any case.
Of the many solo albums - Entwistle's Smash Your Head Against the Wall is very good; a kind of witty, clever 70's British heavy metal. Whistle Rhymes, Mad Dog and Rigor Mortis Sets In all have their moments as well. Roger's are mostly lightweight pop, but McVicar, the soundtrack to his 1979 film, is tough rock and "Waiting For A Friend" would stand up as a Who album track. Townshend's Who Came First has considerable charm, and Empty Glass is a solid rock album that stacks up better than most of their post-Quad work. My favorite though is Rough Mix, his 1977 collaboration with ex-Face Ronnie Lane. Townshend's cuts have a low-key, folkie feel, and are some of the most emotionally direct stuff he's ever done, and Ronnie Lane matches him every step of the way. Definitely my favorite Townshend solo album and my favorite Lane album as well.
Essential Reading
The Who by Gary Herman is one of the first serious rock biographies. Written not long after Tommy, it gives a good, if rather dry and academic, picture of the why the band was considered important in an era when rock music was just beginning to be taken seriously. The Who: Maximum R&B by Richard Barnes is a fairly superficial, though engaging, bio, but loaded with many rare, stunning photos - a must for the diehard Whoista. Before I Get Old by Dave Marsh remains the most comprehensive and thoughtful bio out there, though be prepared for a certain amount of Marsh righteousness towards the end (doesn't mean he was totally wrong). Won't Get Fooled Again by Riche Unterberger is a fascinating account of the "Lifehouse" debacle that led to the rest of the band's 70's career. Full Moon is an often hilarious and sometimes tragic account of life with The Loon by his paid companion, Dougal Butler. Moon: The Life and Death of A Rock Legend by Tony Fletcher is a more serious look at Moon's story. Finally, Townshend's own Who I Am is good read that offers Birdman's side of things, and a chance to feel good because, no matter how awful your adolescence was, it was still better than Pete's.
The son of a blues singer and apparently a fave of British rockers in the early 60's (his songs were covered by both The Beatles and Stones), Arthur Alexander never crossed over to white Amurrican kids. Too bad, as his stuff was very good - smooth, strong early 60's soul in the Sam Cooke style, with a strong country thread as well.
Along with Rick Hall, he helped start the Muscle Shoals recording studios - no small feat. And there he knocked off his first hit, "You Better Move On." After that he parted ways with Hall and switched labels to Dot, where he floundered before scoring some more hits such as "Anna."
Illness sidelined him for several years. He drifted around as a staff writer and made a few more, sometimes well-received, comeback attempts. He passed away in June 1993.
For only being together a couple years, there's no getting around that these guys were a BFD. They capitalized on the burgeoning era of musician (especially guitarist) worship. They laid out the blueprint for the power trio and (again, especially), what would become heavy metal (Led Zep owe far more to them than to the Yardbirds). They made Clapton a household name (a rock-listening household, anyway). Their rep is now soiled by a connection to pointless jamming and hot pickin' for hot pickin's sake. But their records were mostly damn good.
Formed mid-1966 as a vehicle for more improvisation; the goal was to break away from commercial restrictions (Clapton wanted to avoid "pop" songs) but also to blow past the restrictions of straight blues bands ala Graham Bond and John Mayall, from whence Baker and Bruce came. Cream made its unofficial debut at the Twisted Wheel on 29 July 1966. Its official debut came two nights later at the Sixth Annual Windsor Jazz & Blues Festival. Being new and with few original songs to its credit, Cream performed spirited blues reworkings that thrilled the large crowd and earned it a warm reception.
Allmusic: "At first Cream's focus was electrified and amped-up traditional blues, which dominated their first album, Fresh Cream, which made the British Top Ten in early 1967. Originals like "N.S.U." and "I Feel Free" gave notice that the band were capable of moving beyond the blues, and they truly found their voice on Disraeli Gears in late 1967, which consisted mostly of group-penned songs. Here they fashioned invigorating, sometimes beguiling hard-driving psychedelic pop, which included plenty of memorable melodies and effective harmonies along with the expected crunching riffs. "Strange Brew,""Dance the Night Away," "Tales of Brave Ulysses," and "S.W.L.A.B.R." are all among their best tracks, and the album broke the band big time in the States, reaching the Top Five. It also generated their first big U.S. hit single, "Sunshine of Your Love," which was based around one of the most popular hard rock riffs of the '60s."
Unfortunately, 1968's Wheels Of Fire saw them spinning out of control. Bruce and Baker had hated each other for years. The album threw good tracks of the Disraeli Gears sort crashing against extended acts of self-indulgence.
Wiki: From its creation, Cream were faced with some fundamental problems that would later lead to its dissolution in November 1968. The rivalry between Bruce and Baker created tensions in the band. Clapton also felt that the members of the band did not listen to each other enough. Equipment during these years had also got better; new Marshall amplifier stacks cranked out more power, and Jack Bruce pushed the volume levels higher, creating tension for Baker who would have trouble competing with roaring stacks. Clapton spoke of a concert during which he stopped playing and neither Baker nor Bruce noticed. Clapton has also commented that Cream's later gigs mainly consisted of its members showing off. Cream decided that they would break up in May 1968 during a tour of the US. Later, in July, an official announcement was made that the band would break up after a farewell tour of the United States and after playing two concerts in London. Cream finished their tour of the United States with a 4 November concert in Rhode Island and performed in the UK for the last time in London on 25 and 26 November. Bruce had three Marshall stacks on stage for the farewell shows but one acted only as a spare, and he only used one or two, depending on the song.
That was it. One final tour, another thrown-together collection of studio and live tracks, and a couple posthumous live albums. It was all over. The reunited briefly in 2005, but egos soon tore the band apart once again.
As Allmusic puts it, The Small Faces were the best English band never to hit it big in America -- but in England, the Small Faces were one of the most extraordinary and successful bands of the mid-'60s, serious competitors to the Who and potential rivals to the Rolling Stones.
Overshadowed by their peers, they were easily the equal of at least the Yardbirds and The Who in sheer firepower, and The Kinks for British whimsy.
Formed 1965, with Ronnie Lane and friend Kenny Jones, then adding former child actor Steve Marriot and finally keyboard player Ian MacLagen (because he looked right). The band's early song set included R&B/soul classics such as "Jump Back", James Brown's "Please Please Please", Smokey Robinson's "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" and Ben E. King's "Stand by Me". The band also performed Marriott/Lane original compositions, a fast and loud "Come on Children" and the "speed enhanced" song "E too D", in which Marriott would display his considerable vocal abilities in the style of his heroes and role models, Otis Redding and Bobby Bland. "E too D", which appears on their first album, Small Faces, is named after the guitar chord structure. On US compilation albums the track is titled "Running Wild". Marriot's voice was a standout - the impish lead singer/guitarist could shout like a soul belter, and could pull of slow ones as well as rave-ups. Keith Richards, Ozzy Osbourne, Steve Perry, and Paul Stanley are just some of those who've cited him as a favorite lead singer. The rest of the band had a pile-driving attack, spurred on by Jones' powerful drums and Lane's whomping bass.
They hooked up with manager Don Arden and signed to Decca, scoring a Top 20 hit out of the box with "What'cha Gonna Do About It," with a riff lifted from "Everybody Needs Somebody To Love." Several more hits happened, but the band made no money and ended up bitterly splitting from Arden and Decca. Andrew Loog Oldham scooped them up almost immediately and signed them to Immediate. Their recordings for Immediate showed the growing influence of the psychedelic scene, and their succeeding singles and albums became more whimsical and colorful, though still playing to their strengths. Even their fruitier psychedelic and music hall-ish numbers pack a fair amount of punch.
This culminated in their own charming flower-power artifact, Ogden's Nut Gone Flake in 1968. By then Marriott's ego and desire to return to a bluesy sound led to his departure. The band reformed as the Faces with Rod Stewart and Ron Wood taking over for Marriott, and went on to a fair amount of success in the states (where the Small Faces had never toured). After Stewart's defection they briefly reunited (sans Lane) for two disappointing albums before laying it to rest for good.
Marriott formed Humble Pie, Lane went on to a charming solo career, MacLagen played with everybody (but mainly the Stones) and Kenny Jones joined The Who.
Hard to believe a band this good, with such ties to The Who and Stones and numerous hit singles, is so little-known today.
"This was hard to suss out at the time, which is probably why people are still learning from it. It sounds intermittently crude, thin, and pretentious at first, but it never stops getting better ... nobody experimented more successfully than these folks." (Robert Christgau)
