Mr_Iko

Tommy has notable live performances both for Woodstock and the Isle of Wight. It's true that it's not the very first work of its kind: Townshend himself has admitted multiple times that he was inspired by S.F. Sorrow by the Pretty Things. But Tommy goes further, as for the first time he transcends the concept of a "song" as an end in itself, extending its meaning to a "system": no longer a collection of tracks that are atomically isolated, but a system that, through intertwined connections, portrays the life and feelings of a poor man as a whole. And how did the early fans receive this monument to rock? Well, believe it or not, it wasn't received "too" well! In fact, abandoning the Beat-Mod style to venture into different atmospheres, riding the wave of psychedelia with even "kitsch" attitudes was a shock for the "mods" who loved the energy of My Generation. It's no coincidence that, irked by the disillusionment of their fans and reluctant to accept the "theatricality" of the new Who, Townshend and company dedicated to all their loyal followers "Live at Leeds," the ultimate manifesto of live rock, with an incredible charge and energy poured precisely into the tracks taken from Tommy. Personally, I consider the Who and the Stooges the founding fathers (though completely unaware of it) of punk. Yes, true punk, believe it or not, originates from here. Tommy is undoubtedly an essential record, but you already knew that. Tommy is the beginning and the end of Rock with a capital R.

Not everyone knows, for example, that Tommy was born by chance. It wasn’t Townshend's (the brilliant creator of almost all of The Who's material, who had been smashing guitars a few years before a certain Jimi Hendrix) idea to create a rock opera from the outset. But he noticed during some sessions (along with bassist John Entwistle) that the four or five new songs he already had (the first to be released was Pinball Wizard, which reached number 4 in the UK) played in a certain order and with the same tonality strangely managed to generate a little story among them. Thus, he adapted material he had in mind to create a coherent plot and added a few pieces composed "ad hoc" to complete the whole. Tommy was not, therefore, born to be structured as a work like, for example, The Lamb Lies Down… by Genesis, but it “became in becoming.” So, imagine the artistic greatness of Townshend (just enchanted by the Eastern philosophies of “one and all”), capable of transforming, adapting, imagining, and transfiguring the notes to make them comprehensible as a whole, capable of turning one into a whole. Others don’t know that Tommy would never reach the top of the charts: in fact, it lingered at number two in the UK and number four in the USA. In Italy? Let's not even go there, come on…

One of the best writers in our small musical circle has followed the tracks of this bizarre subject, first an innocent child witnessing the alleged departure of his father, then his unintentional murder, followed by a blind and incapable victim suffering abuses from the whole world, as well as a pinball wizard, and then a new messiah, ultimately becoming, like all men, the embodiment of banality. I write these few lines while the traces of Tommy rush swiftly through the player and new emotions permeate my soul, as I associate the music with the lucid words of Kosmogabri. However… yes, forgive me, but I have a "however" (and perhaps more than one), so, with great embarrassment, I prepare to add some notions: let these additional pieces of information not be interpreted as corrections, but rather as a means to experience the work more fully and to provide some further food for thought on the historical significance of the work in question (and may the sweet Kosmo not take offense).

I do not hide that in my heart I have always nurtured the desire to write about Tommy. I have never fulfilled this desire until now because I did not find enough passion, that fervor I consider necessary to ignite the underlying emotion I feel with each listening of this album. Many times I have found myself playing with friends, pretending to be an astronaut tasked with bringing to extraterrestrials a small but peculiar idea of our world and guessing which albums would be necessary to convey the emotion a human can feel when listening to music: there is no doubt that I would have entrusted Ziggy Stardust and Tommy with the roles of ambassadors of our rock spirit. I also do not hide that I now feel relieved of the burden of describing what this rock opera means for music as a whole. Another subject has already taken it upon himself to summarize the importance and the pure essence of Tommy for me. I do not hide, moreover, that I am quite happy that this privilege has initially fallen to a bard who appropriately sings its praises.

Yes, okay, so? Honestly, I didn't catch the reason behind your last comment. Sorry.

ehhehehe! Cool! hehehe, that's cool!!! Coolest! heheheh!

Well, just like with Berlin, I'll think about it and let you know later: Tommy is one of the albums that "marked me"...

Want an example? Take the song "Satellite of Love," recorded for Transformer: this was originally written by Reed for Loaded by the VU. Bowie completely transformed it to include it in Transformer (which he co-produced), and with the arrangement by Mick Ronson and the choir reminiscent of "Memory of a Free Festival," he turned it into a small masterpiece. Don't make me laugh by putting the two in competition: there is no rivalry, and each one owes (for one reason or another) something to the other (even though Bowie is certainly a bit more in debt) and the fact that there should be no rivalry is also expressed by the observation that Bowie fans are also Reed fans and vice versa, and that their respective fan clubs get along just fine. Reed is a brawler; just look at the quarrels with Cale, for example (which also caused the failure of the VU reunion) or the back-and-forth with Laurie Anderson, and this contentiousness may have deprived all of us of some collaborations that would have surely produced further masterpieces. I believe that in the record collection of every rock lover, besides the already mentioned Transformer and Berlin, there must be the live album from the following year (1974), the incredible (one of the best concerts to be recorded, calling it epic is an understatement) Rock'n'Roll Animal, then the sentimental and melodic Coney Island Baby from '76, Sweet Hassle from '78, New York from '89, and the tribute to the recently deceased Andy Warhol, written with Cale, Songs for Drella from '90. Also, the latest The Raven grows on me the more I listen to it, a tribute work to Edgar Allan Poe. Listening to Reed is a must. Preferring him to Bowie is a crime.

Berlin is a great album. I can't say I prefer it to the previous Transformer (which is more glam while this one is more nihilistic and murky) because you can't prefer one masterpiece over another; it's not an intelligent operation. In fact, even Reed's first solo album, self-titled, developed with the help of two musicians from Yes, one of whom was definitely the guitarist Steve Howe (great!!!) and I don't remember the name of the other, wasn't bad; on the contrary, it's quite pleasant, although it went unnoticed and still today almost no one knows its content except for a couple of tracks taken from the experience with the VU. I really love Reed's metropolitan rock. In Berlin, the presence of artists like Jack Bruce, Stevie Winwood, and former Frost guitarist Dick Wagner creates a mix of old "velvety" flavors and exciting new scenarios. Of course, to assert that Reed is superior to Bowie seems a stretch. I wouldn't want to enter such a complicated discussion as the Bowie-Reed "duopoly," but the nonsense I've read in some comments forces me to remind you that there is no competition between the two, and if there were, it would be well known who would easily come out on top. I mean: Reed has the great quality of being able to "draw out" the best from every musician he hires and being a truly very personal singer-songwriter, but Bowie is the quintessential "total artist."

I had announced this "counter-revolutionary movement" aimed at dethroning Muse... how long ago? A year ago? A year and a half ago? Back then, I was treated as a heretic and reviled for the presumption with which I accused the Muse of being nothing more than rock mannerists cleverly controlled by their production. Do you know how many emails filled with slanderous insults I received? Do you know how many threats? And yet, I was merely anticipating all the criticisms that are now pouring in abundantly on this group, guilty of having too hastily settled on a voice that (I dissociate myself thunderously from EasyCure) has enormous potential (it’s warm and dynamic, even if it overly flaunts the falsetto) and a rhythm section that, although lacking the genius and technical skill of other bands, is certainly very reliable and capable of creating engaging rhythms. Yes, Muse, after the first Showbiz, which was fresh, sparkling, and intriguing, now suck, there’s no denying it. And now I laugh heartily while I spit in your face that I TOLD YOU SO A LONG, LONG TIME AGO, and I send back to you all the insults I have received. Big, big laughs.