May we all be forgiven.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: the who (Page 1 of 2)
Write this one off. 2020’s done, Enthusiasts. Moose out front should’ve told you. But next year, we’ll see each other again. Big crowds like the old days. We’ll hoot and dance together. Or shop, or fight the cops, whatever. Give up on this year. ’21’s gonna be a good year.
ZERO – Hi-hats in Keith Moon’s ludicrously large drum kit.
ONE – Instance of proper Rock Star potato salad (Roger).
TWO – Decent haircuts (Roger and Keith).
THREE – Parts to The Who’s harmony (Keith was not really singing, or just aping someone else’s note).
NINETEEN – Nervous breakdowns the Stones (specifically Mick) had upon realizing that The Who had stolen the show.
THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY – Fringes on Roger’s cowboy drag.
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY – Percent better Roger looks in that shit than David Crosby ever did.
INFINITE – Drugs Keith was on.
The Who strolled to the plate with a .750 average–only Keith Moon couldn’t sing–and so did Queen. The Beatles, too. (Don’t give me any of that Ringo revisionism.) Either three or four Grateful Deads could carry (mostly) a tune.
Were there any bands where everyone sang well enough to join in on the harmonies? Let’s see (and hear) your answers in the Comment Section.
“So, uh, one more button?”
You’re good.
“I’m thinking one more.”
Unnecessary.
“Lotsa stuff is unnecessary, but still happens. Brunch. Hockey. Mickey.”
True, but–
“I’m going for it.”
PING!
“Oh, that’s refreshing.”
Are we going to discuss your bangs?
“They’re kicky and fun.”
Or the fact that you’re standing next to John Entwistle?
“He’s kicky and fun, too.”
I don’t think he’s kicky.
“He’s, uh, British. They play soccer.”
You’re right, you’re right.
“Brazilians are the kickiest, I suppose. On the whole, Americans are a decidedly non-kicky people.”
True. Kicking is a shameful act in the States.
“Punting.”
Punting.
…
What were we talking about?
“You didn’t, uh, have a point in mind when you sat down.”
Did I do that again?
“You do that all the time.”
True.
The sun shines
And people forget
The spray flies as the speedboat glides
And people forget
Forget they’re hiding
The girls smile
And people forget
The snow packs as the skier tracks
People forget
Forget they’re hidingBehind an eminence front
Eminence front, it’s a put onCome and join the party
Dress to kill
Won’t you come and join the party
Dress to kill, dress to killDrinks flow
People forgetThat big wheel spins, the hair thins
People forget
Forget they’re hiding
The news slows
People forget
Their shares crash, hopes are dashed
People forget
Forget they’re hidingCome and join the party
Dress to kill
Won’t you come and join the party
Dress to kill, dress to killDress yourself to kill
This was the Day on the Green in ’76–well, one of the two days–and Garcia looks skinny, and though you can’t see it in this picture Bobby is wearing either jodhpurs or puttees. Some form of non-trouser pant.
But this is what Roger Daltrey looked like:
“What’s the matter, Weir? You’ve been pouting all day?”
“Well, Jer: you know how I’m usually the best-looking guy in the room?”
“Sure.”
“You see Daltrey?”
“Healthy specimen.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“It’s just two shows, Weir. Next week you’ll be competing with Billy and Phil again.”
“I guess.”
“Aw. C’mon, buddy. He ain’t that great.”
“Y’think?”
“I’m not generally one to look at another guy’s crotch, but where’s his potato salad?”
…
“I see none.”
“Like a Ken doll.”
“You always know what to say, Garcia.”
“You’re my guy, Bob.”
“Can I take my shirt off for our set, too?”
“I will whip you to death with my guitar cord if you remove your shirt, Bob.”
“Okay.”
“We’re not that kind of group.”
“We could be.”
“No, we couldn’t. Besides, if you take your shirt off, Billy’ll take his off.”
“That’s no good for anyone.”
“No.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QaVzv5aR6U
“It’s a put-on.”
That’s the fucking chorus. The chorus of this song is “It’s a fucking put-on.” They played this at the end of the Republican National Convention tonight. There’s no more satirizing what’s happening, and I think we’re all going to die.
(It’s still one of The Who’s best songs, though.)
Precarious?
“Yo?”
Did you do this?
“I consulted.”
What the fuck is it?
“The Who.”
Who?
“Right.”
What?
…
“I have work to do if you wanna play your little Abbot and Costello games.”
Sorry.
“The band. The Who. I know some of the guys in the crew over there, and they called me. Wanted a Wall.”
Did you tell them how bad an idea that was?
“Started to, but then they mentioned the money and I just shut the fuck up and built the limey bastards a Wall.”
I gotta be honest, man: it doesn’t look so hot. It looks like you took the Wall of Sound and played the Telephone game with the blueprints for a while, and then got high and stacked shit on top of other shit.
“About right. I told ’em that there was more to a Wall than just speakers and scaffolding. I mean: there’s math involved, for Christ’s sake. I don’t do the numbers, but someone has to.”
And what did they say?
“Tell you the truth, I can’t understand a word those people say.”
Sure.
“And if we’re continuing the honesty, the lights had a much higher priority than the sound.
I see that. And isn’t the point of the Wall to be behind the band?
“Listen: it was a trans-Atlantic phone call in 1975. Plus like I said: I cannot make heads or tails out of the sounds emanating from their teaholes. I understood ‘Hello, Precarious,’ and the next sentence was ‘Harble barble chuzza wuzza wacko jacko,’ and it got worse from there.”
Gotcha.
Little reminder that TotD (your Internet Pal) will be a guest on the Tales from the Golden Road show today at 4 pm EST, chatting with the great David Gans and the immortal Gary Lambert. (Gary Lambert is a Highlander.)
Channel 23 on your Sirius dial, and I do believe they offer a free trial if you just wanna dip in and out of the refreshing pool that is my mind.
Also, I’ll only be on for ten or fifteen minutes, so if you want to have a go at yourself to the sound of my voice, you should start immediately.
WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING NICE?
Congenital orneriness.
Make it up to the people.
That’s not a bad idea, actually. How about, in honor of the monster peak Trey and his backup band hit last night on Dew, we play possibly the greatest rock and roll peak/climax/skullmelter EVAR?
Which is?
The Who Live at Leeds sparing a smile for an old engine driver.
…
Yeah, okay: that’s the good shit.
Yeah.
© 2026 Thoughts On The Dead
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑
Recent Comments