The Who
The Who by Numbers

In the world of rock, there is no shortage of cases where LPs are insufficiently appreciated upon release and only later rediscovered and reevaluated. The record I am about to analyze represents just such a case history. When it hit the market in October 1975, "The Who by Numbers" presented a band with a decade-long artistic journey dotted with high-level albums. In a certain sense, the musical zenith of the band is constituted by the double album "Quadrophenia," the rock opera centered on the life of Jimmy the mod (a character in which an entire generation can see itself reflected) and released in 1973.

From that moment on, issues began to emerge within the group's internal dynamics. Meanwhile, performing the entire "Quadrophenia" live (so rich in orchestral and electronic instrumentation) is not so simple, and the first discontent of Roger Daltrey, who laments having to give voice to certain mystical problems expressed in the lyrics by Pete Townshend, the sensitive and profound soul of the band, becomes evident. Furthermore, Keith Moon begins to experience significant health problems related to alcohol abuse (and more), so much so that during a concert in London in November 1973, he collapses, and as an extreme measure, Pete calls a willing 17-year-old percussion enthusiast on stage to complete the concert with the rest of The Who. In the meantime, amid theatrical reductions and musical films inspired by their first rock opera "Tommy," the four members of the band try to catch their breath a little (while each of them has already started a parallel solo activity, John Entwistle, in the indifference of his colleagues, prepares a gem like "Odds and Sods," a collection of The Who B-sides). In short, the internal cohesion of the band is not at its peak when they enter the recording studio for "The Who by Numbers." After three months of work, the result is not quite what one would expect from a band that has gone down in history for its bold demeanor and sharp tongue (they could be said to be the true ancestors of the punk movement, not at all concerned with pleasing everyone). The album, received coldly by critics, is characterized by intimate and twilight tones (in the typical mood that is felt in the grooves of albums by other artists like Bruce Springsteen's "Nebraska" released a few years later). The LP's sound is less grandiose than usual, as if The Who were less impulsive than usual, with a more restrained style but no less effective (perhaps the only flop in the track list is "Squeeze Box," a country-flavored track but only good as a 45-rpm hit). After all, we are still facing four technically impeccable rockers. Roger is less boisterous than usual (just listen to him in many passages of the previous "Quadrophenia" to get an idea) but remains a great class vocalist. Pete is still the mainstay of the quartet not only as an author of significant lyrics but also as an elegant guitarist (demonstrated in the opening track "Slip Kid"), while a bassist like John Entwistle guarantees solid rhythmic pulsations in the musical flow. And Keith Moon also rises to the occasion (at least he is still able to not totally collapse under the alcoholic yoke).

With a curious album cover (conceived graphically by the brilliant John Entwistle) inspired by the typical puzzle from Settimana Enigmistica "connect the numbered dots and see what image will appear," The Who return stylized in comic-book form but with a new tendency to convey feelings of melancholy and disillusionment toward themselves and the music business. While ten years earlier, The Who burst onto the rock scene as one of the musical spokespeople for youthful anger (well expressed in "My Generation"), now they express their discontentment in the face of life as rock stars and the surrounding environment. And, just to quote some significant tracks from the album, if once it was believed that music would be an effective means available to young people to try to change the world, now it is time to remind those young people, intolerant of the system and its old trumpet-wielding bards, that there are no easy ways to be free ("there's no easy way to be free" from "Slip Kid"). In the track I consider the most beautiful of the album, namely in "Success Story" written by the sharp John Entwistle, it tells how squalid it can be to be part of the rock system ("There's a rock and roll singer on the television who has quit with music and embraced religion, he has left everything and is trying to save his soul. I wait for the weekend, I have to find more nights: six for the taxman and one for the band, then back in the studio to record our new hit, 276 times, and you know this was once fun.").

It is obvious that there might also arise the temptation to seek comfort in alcohol as already suggested in the title "However Much I Booze," when Pete (but not only him) considers himself a liar, a paper clown, a failure, a frustrated individual who isolates himself from the world in the evening, sipping a bottle of good whiskey while fans and critics launch into learned analyses of music and lyrics recorded in his name, only to discover that not even the rock star can provide a solution to existential problems ("but it don't help me that you know this ain't no way out...").

And it's painful even when you wonder (especially if you are part of the rock stardom) who the real friends might be who accept you for who you truly are (as Roger Daltrey sings in great form in "How Many Friends"). And friends are certainly not the sycophants who stick to you just to be next to a celebrity for indirect benefits or for ulterior motives (see the record label bosses who slip well-crafted contracts to trap the unsuspecting artist or, worse yet, those self-proclaimed fans who even attempt to take the life of the rock star guilty from the start, as a certain Mark Chapman did with John Lennon a few years later).

But if this kind of life is so stressful, perhaps all of us (famous rock stars and ordinary mortals) should try to create a small oasis of serenity and begin to appreciate the small joys of life as in "Blue Red and Grey" when Townshend declares his love for every minute of the day (a bit like Voltaire's Candide, who after much wandering discovers that tending one's garden is fulfilling).

Overall, "The Who by Numbers" is the demonstration of the band's achieved maturity, now well established in the rock mainstream, after having shelved their revolutionary musical aspirations expressed in previous years. It will only be a matter of time (no more than two years) before new fermentations in rock and its surroundings: the punk wave around 1977 will disrupt the entire rock scene, and no one will be able to ignore it (not even the glorious dinosaurs called The Who...).