… sang Roger Daltrey, many moons ago (there’s a pun in there somewhere).
But, he didn’t die. And along with Pete Townsend – the other remaining survivor from the the original line up – he is taking what is arguably one of Britain’s greatest rock bands back on the road.
And having been a big fan of The Who since I was a teenager, I found myself excited at the prospect of finally attending one of their concerts.
The first song of theirs that I heard was Who Are You? back in the late seventies, and from that moment I was hooked.
But, amongst my circle of friends, I was musically alone. They were all into Motown, Reggae and the newly emerging New Romantics, whereas I preferred Rock and (some) Pop… and later on, Classical. So, we never went to any concerts – not that we could afford to, anyway (my first concert wasn’t until many years later).
But now, here is my chance to See For Miles And Miles and to scream along with everyone else to Boris The Spider. I’ll imagine myself as a Pinball Wizard and, along with others of My Generation, I’ll sing about how Mama’s Got A Squeezebox. You Better, You Bet I will.
It’ll be awesome. Even at seventy five quid a ticket.
Except, I really can’t be arsed with stuff like that now. Yeah, I still like the music, but the thought of having to stand amongst thousands of others, all jumping about, all sweaty and screaming, just fills me with dread.
I just can’t be bothered with all of that nowadays. I’d be right up for it, if we were all seated in nice comfy chairs, with a glass of beer and everyone was being quiet so we could all hear and enjoy the band. But somehow, I doubt that’s ever gonna happen.
Shit! I think I must have died before I got old.