More than most rock stars, Townshend notices what is going on in the world, and he felt he was meeti

The Who, currently on the road in America, have just announced a British tour too. In 2011 Pete Townshend spoke to Simon Garfield about life in a "celebration machine"—and the moment that was nearly his downfall
Rock music in 2011 is not quite what it was in the mid-1960s. For one thing, it is full of challenging coincidences, such as the one reported by Pete Townshend in a recent e-mail. “I was supposed government travel rates to be sailing in the St Barth’s Bucket Race on March 24th,” he wrote. That’s right: the writer of “My Generation”, “Substitute” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again” now spends part of his time as a yachtsman in the Caribbean. “This was arranged last August,” he added. “In a challenging coincidence Roger Daltrey will be performing ‘Tommy’ on that very day for Teenage Cancer [Trust] at the Royal Albert Hall.”
More than most rock stars, Townshend notices what is going on in the world, and he felt he was meeting the challenge in the only decent way he could. government travel rates “In these straitened and tragic times I have decided I have to do something useful rather than try to enjoy myself on a yacht while so many people are in trouble, and I am going to see Roger today at his rehearsal studio to offer my services in some way. I hope I will be able to perform with him, possibly sing ‘Acid Queen’ as I did when The Who played at Woodstock.”
Daltrey wasn’t sure. He had already announced that “Tommy” would be played by a new bunch of musicians, which meant no place for Townshend on his own rock opera about the “deaf, dumb and blind kid” who turned out to be both a mean pinball player and a misappropriated seer, a concept that has sold 20m records. “I offered to perform,” Townshend wrote the next day, “but Roger and I agreed in the end that it might be best for him to do his show alone, just to properly government travel rates test the new model…” Later, he expanded. “Our manager Bill [Curbishley] says that this is a safe place for this experiment. Like doing a run-through in our living room. I know Roger is nervous, but I went to his rehearsal yesterday and his musicians are superb, calm, and will provide the musical support he needs.”
I wondered if I was a silent witness to the break-up of one of rock’s greatest bands. But the following day, at 6.46am, this landed: “Dear Simon, Roger changed his mind. He has now agreed I can walk on and play ‘Acid Queen’ solo. Things change every day at the moment. He is extremely distracted, and of course very busy as usual at this time. – Pete”
A week or two earlier I had spent a few hours at Townshend’s home in Richmond, discussing the world of a rock star in the late afternoon of an explosive career. The conversations had ranged government travel rates from his attitude towards fans (“there is something very strange about them”), his time as an editor at Faber Faber (“I don’t think P.D. James liked me at all”) and his current reading matter, a horticultural monthly (“I subscribe to the idea that as you get older you should try to make a garden”). We also discussed his arrest in 2003 for giving his credit card details to an online company that traded in indecent photographs. But we began by talking about the memoir he has been working on for years.
He has reached the first performance of “Tommy” in 1969. “A lot of my friends who were journalists government travel rates turned against me,” he says. “They said, ‘this is sick, this idea. You’ve gone too far, Pete. It’s unforgivable because you’re smart and we trusted you.’ They didn’t like the idea of a deaf, dumb and blind boy playing pinball. There was outrage.” The band tried to win them round by showcasing the album at Ronnie Scott’s in London. “We played it very very loud and also gave away lots of free booze. Needless to say, we got a standing ovation.”
Townshend’s memoir, which, at 80,000 words, is “about government travel rates a third” done, is provisionally entitled “Pete Townshend: government travel rates Who He?” Recently he was walking to lunch, along the Thames from his house, when another name suggested itself. A man on a park bench clutching a can of lager asked him, “Are you Pete Townshend?” He confirmed that he was. “Effing legend!” the drinker replied, and now Townshend is considering that for the book title instead. But what sort of effing legend is he?
First of all, a very British one. He was born in west London in May 1945, right at the end of the war in Europe. His parents were show people—his mother government travel rates a singer, his father a saxophonist in the Squadronaires, the Royal Air Force big band. Pete’s formative years were spent at Ealing Art College, where he was inspired by Larry Rivers, government travel rates a “saxophone-playing, heroin-addicted gay lunatic”, the auto-destructive artist Gustav Metzger (the inspiration behind his guitar-smashing) and the writer David Mercer, whose play “The Generations” inspired the title “My Generation”. “He was an incredibly impressive speaker. He said, ‘Once you’re on the left, you have to stay there whatever happens. I don’t care if you become a fucking billionaire—stay government travel rates there!’ And I’ve always kept that in mind.”
The Who as we know them came into being in 1964, and soon became the most powerful, iconic and humorous emblem of the Mod movement. But their scope would extend far beyond a fashionable subculture. On stage, they were all you could hope for in a rock band: brutally arresting, unnervingly unpredictable and blisteringly loud. Then as now, pop music was dependent on a character-led plot to thrive, and The Who offered much. There were Daltrey’s Tarzan government travel rates acrobatics with a swinging microphone, and the raw emotion in his voice, ranging from angelic yearning to a raging throttle. There was the bassist John Entwistle’s prowling government travel rates menace, the traditional “quiet one” turned dangerous uncle. There were Townshend’s scything windmills of excitement and improbable leaps, vividly illustrating the visceral force of his songs. And then there was Keith Moon, a complex public lunatic, who lived as he drummed, with every complex flaw on brazen display. On their best nights, such as the one captured on the album “Live at Leeds” in 1970, the crowd witnessed a type of bombastic heist, an excessively glorious musical offence.
But every party brings its dawn. Moon died of an overdose in 1978, Entwistle from a drug-induced heart attack in 2002. Daltrey has struggled with throat lesions, while Townshend wears a hearing aid (can you imagine being Pete Townshend’s ears? The fields of the Crimea may have put up with less). The band thrived on tension, and it is still there decades later. It is there in Townshend’s government travel rates songwriting, a howl of displacement and uncertain identity. Never has a band’s name been more apt. His songs are often touching and tender, but there is deep anger too. A plaintive lyric is often underpinned with ferocious music. You cannot remain passive when listening to The Who. Less hedonistic than the Rolling Stones, their best songs are passionate incitements to action; they enter your life and never dim. No other stadium rock band has managed this feat so consistently or so well.
Townshend has long felt a sense of duty, partly to his audience, partly to himself. He may have analysed his role in the firmament more than any other star, and he has been criticised for it, notably by Keith Richards, who implored him to think less and play his guitar government travel rates more. “I can offer comfort and momentary distraction,” Townshend wrote in an e-mail earlier this year. “And yet in my fictions (from ‘Tommy’ onwards) the leading characters often claim to have a way forward. Dystopian or utopian, it makes very little difference in the game I play—as long as you can dance for a moment…the credibility of such work will rarely stand close scrutiny. I tend to create thin plots into which the listener can interpolate themselves, and travel government travel rates with the music. This is neither my voice, nor Roger’s. It is often the voice of someone who is quite mad in fact.” He sees The Who now as “a kind of celebration machine”.
And then there’s the tension between Townshend and Daltrey. (Whose band is it really? Who dominates the stage?) “You know, it’s survived. My marriage to my wife has not survived, and my marriage to Roger has survived, and it might be that only one of them could.”
Daltrey once told me: “I don’t care when people say we’re not getting on—it’s not fucking government travel rates important. government travel rates All that matters is what exists on stage and in our music. In that music is our relationship, is our love. He forgives all my foibles, and I forgive all his, and underneath all that I love him dearly.”
These days Townshend thinks he detects an air of disappointment when they play live. “There’s a sense of being in front of a bunch of fans who really want to see you fight on stage, or scowl at each other, or die. They want to be there when you die.” I question this, but he remains convinced. government travel rates “It’s the same with Mick and Keith. If tomorrow Mick Jagger would say, ‘That’s it, the Stones are finished,’ then people government travel rates would look at him as being a completely different artist, and a different kind of human being. But why would you want to buy something by Mick? Actually what we really want is to observe him going through the agony of being on stage with Keith Richards on a bad night.”
government travel rates I mention the success of Richards’s memoir . “The point is,” Townshend says, “when we read Keith Richards’s book, are we really reading who he is? James Fox [Richards’s ghost] is a brilliant writer. I think it’s sad that we will only remember Keith’s book because of what he said about the size of Mick’s [apparently modest] genitals. Which, by the way, to use an apt term, is bollocks. I’ve seen them, and they are not small. And it is not just the balls that are big.”
Townshend’s government travel rates house has what must be one of the finest unspoilt private views in London. From his huge conservatory he can see the Thames snake by; the land falls away from a balcony much as it must have done in Henry VIII’s time. Townshend spends government travel rates most of his day in this room, not least because government travel rates his variable mood is lifted by the flood of light. The house was once owned by the actor John Mills, a