Two members of the Who are now dead. Two Beatles. Two Stones (if you count
Ian Stewart, which you should). Two Beach Boys. Two Pretenders. Two Ramones.
Two Small Faces. It's as if someone's building a goddamn ark up there.
[Photo by Luke Turner of http://www.thevoid.co.uk/thewho/AbbeyRoad/]
I guess I shouldn't be shocked that a man dies of a heart attack at fifty-seven years old, especially one who has survived drinking bouts with Keith Moon and has lived the rock and roll life for over forty years. Hell, I remember when Janis and Jimi and Brian and Jim and Gram were all buying the farm at twenty-seven, which seemed a whole lot more appropriate for a rock and roll death. And wasn't this the band that proclaimed "hope I die before I get old" so many years ago? Life taunted me when I was younger, for those who survived the drugs and the alcohol and the gunshots grew older with me, and many continued to make meaningful music that brought laughter, tears, thoughtfulness, hope. We were all going to ride this one out together. Hell, if Iggy Pop and Keith Richards still walk the Earth, everyone should be safe. But damn it, my heroes are falling, and the inevitability of aging means it's only going to get worse. Today John Entwistle is dead. Tomorrow, Ray Davies? Brian Wilson? Paul McCartney? Roger? Pete? Who's Next?
John Entwistle was known for his stoic stance and dark sense of humor, but he was also an amazingly fluid bassist who played fills, counterpoints and second leads rather than simple octave support. It's no accident that he first started noodling around in trad jazz bands, where he first met Townshend, but when he moved into rock bands, his primary focus was volume. "I just wanted to be louder," he said, " I really get irritated when people could turn up their guitar amps and play louder than me. So I decided that I was going to play guitar." But his family's poor financial status always hampered his progress; he was never able to afford lessons or instruments. So he built his first instrument. And although he desired the flash and glamour of the role of lead guitarist, "I always preferred the sound of a bass - it excited me the most. But I wanted to make solo spots in a group. And you don't go from being a front man to a back man."
But soon he would find a way to combine both. Entwistle was in The Detours with Townshend on rhythm guitar and Daltrey on lead guitar; the singer was Colin Dawson. When The Detours opened for Johnny Kidd And The Pirates, a bonafide power trio, something clicked. Dawson was let go, Daltrey traded the guitar for a microphone, and Entwistle was able to explore new horizons on the bass guitar to fill out the sound. When Keith Moon was brought in as the final piece of the puzzle, the combination of his combustible drumming and Entwistle's thundering bass lines made rock history. (Listen to his frenetic work on "My Generation" as a prime example.) But besides being the musical anchor for one of rock's most explosive bands, his humorous songs like "Boris The Spider" and "My Wife" were a nice counterbalance to the pensive and thematic works of Pete Townshend.
In many ways, The Who stopped being The Who in 1978, the moment Keith Moon died. His amphetamine drum style so uniquely characterized the songs that putting anyone else in the drum throne seemed sacrilege. Kenney Jones, a contemporary of stellar pedigree (Faces big and Small) was given the thankless task of filling shoes that would never fit. His controlled percussive style, while technically precise, left people wanting more. Many thought The Who should have closed shop like Led Zeppelin did a short two years later, knowing that the concept of the band could never be the same with a mere mortal on the kit after losing John Bonham. I can only imagine what those people think now.
Many are aghast that they not only have decided to proceed with the tour, but that the announcement of the replacement bassist came less than 48 hours of Entwistle's passing. And, like Jones before him, Pino Palladino is more technician than thunder on the instrument. A quick sampling of friends and fellow writers found them equally divided on the issue. Torn between the horror of commercialism (insinuating that the Who have been only about money since the eighties) and the sentiment of "the show must go on" (hoping that this tour will be an exercise to honor Ox in a way that would be most appropriate). Like me, musician Kenny Howes was just dumfounded and almost speechless. "Heaven just got a lot louder," he wrote, and that simple statement so captured the loss that I asked his permission to quote it as the title of this article.
Of course, many thought that The Who, arguably (and once even documented as factually) "the world's loudest rock and roll band," were merely trading on their legacy anyway, for they continued to resurface for tours, events and (gasp!) Broadway musicals long after their long-winded Farewell Tour in the eighties. But unlike many of the older acts being exhumed for cash on summer festival tours, The Who could still pack a wallop. The catalogue of songs, for one, gives the band greater credibility than most of its contemporaries. And moments like their appearance at The Concert For New York City last fall were simultaneously anthemic and cathartic, reminding people that rock and roll could be an emotional experience at the right time, and in the right hands.
And maybe that's why continuing with the tour might be the right thing to do after all. As a fan, I'm deeply saddened by the loss of a man I've never met, but whose work has given me years of pleasure. I can't even imagine what emotions must be like in the Who camp. Nor can I imagine being Pete or Roger and taking the stage to perform my music, looking at a sea of faces who obviously share the pain of the loss, looking to their right and not seeing the man with the bass guitar seemingly rooted into the floorboards. But maybe, hopefully, band and audience need each other now more than ever. One last tour ... and the final tour, please. Tribute. Love. Grief. Respect. Closure.
I will celebrate the life and music of John Entwistle the same way I always have. I will grab a Who album, secure the glassware and the pets and turn the volume up until the house shakes from its foundation. That low rumble that splits the hardwood floor? That's Ox.
