The Who
Quadrophenia

LA RECENSIONE

It's August 15th, another dreadful summer holiday. As if existence weren't already sufficiently raw, various Lucignolos show us how those annoying VIPs amuse themselves.
In a sea of superficiality, we're dished out the latest party from that oily sycophant full of money.
I fool myself into believing that the whole world isn't like this; I have no idea, but I don't recognize myself in the images on television. I don't feel like a superficial person who only thinks about Nikes and Rich's pants. I don't want my generation to be identified solely by low-rise pants and iPods.
No, I have nothing in common with the teenagers featured in a report on Panorama months ago that pissed me off (with a 'k' to be current) and yet I'm a teenager too. Perhaps it's up to me, perhaps I'm the one out of context, am I just crazy?

In a desert of lobotomized teenagers, however, another misfit comes to mind: the protagonist of Quadrophenia.
I put on the record... I already feel better, what I hear is the frustration and apathy, what every teenager has probably thought at least once: the fears, the desire to belong to a group, the loneliness (our most faithful friend that never leaves us), the joy from the glimpse exchanged with the girl next door.
All these emotions that frame our useless existence are encapsulated in this magnificent album written in the '70s but without the nauseating pomposity of prog or the obtuse heaviness of hard rock.
Here the Who give one of their best performances: Roger interprets the songs magnificently, John plays divinely (see The Real Me) and is the author of the impetuous journey Doctor Jimmy, Moon isn't yet dumbed down by drugs and grants great prestige and sensitivity to his drumming, transforming it into an extraordinary war machine in every track.
Lastly but not least, there's Townshend, the enlightened author of all the lyrics and guitar, from punk fury (Sea and Sand), to sad and melancholic in the final act Love Reign on Me.
In a word, human, a shoulder (there's always a need for one) to cry on, neither experimental nor self-referential, not cold but warm like a hug and perhaps, even before the artists of the '90s, on the side of the losers or rather normal people: those who do a job they hate (The Dirty Jobs), those who think about suicide (I've Had Enough), those who have family problems (Cut My Hair).

Maybe I get it, I'm out of context but fortunately, in this world, I'm not alone in being so, and to get romantic, trends pass, existences dissolve like the bones of a dead man, but emotions remain.
Not a trend, not a brand, just a human act, listen to it—it'll do you good. I don't recommend any particular song; they're all beautiful, and this is a rock opera, so all the songs are essential.
Goodbye.