Pete Townshend 14: Classic Quadrophenia and Truancy

Back in 1972, The Who’s Tommy album was re-recorded and staged in an orchestral arrangement with an all-star cast. By the time it was recorded a third time with a different cast for the film, Pete Townshend had already spent 18 months putting together the band’s second released opera, Quadrophenia. While it never had the mainstream profile that Tommy has perpetuated, no thanks in part to the first work’s eventual Broadway success, Quadrophenia is the album that resonates more with Who freaks, and likely reminds its author less of his own troubled childhood.

Still, there’s plenty of gold in those hills, and as the band learned once they started performing it again in the ‘90s, technology has enabled them to recreate the album live on stage. Now that he lives with a classical arranger, it was easy for Pete to spearhead an orchestral version of the album.

Pete Townshend’s Classic Quadrophenia (the composer having fallen to Paul McCartney’s tendency to put his own name within the title of a piece) is faithful to the original recording, except that there are no electric guitars, bass or drums. The elaborate synthesizer parts have been replicated and expanded by the orchestra and choir, and Jimmy’s lead vocal is tackled by one Alfie Boe, an operatic tenor (born the year the album first came out) who’s obviously studied Roger Daltrey’s parts closely. Pete himself sings the part of The Godfather, careful not to try the high note on “stutter”, while Phil Daniels, who played Jimmy in the film, appears twice in lines attributed to the dad. And Billy Idol, who was in the all-star performances in 1996, shows up four times as the Ace Face slash Bell Boy.

As the album was deemed “ineligible” for the classical charts, it will remain to be seen if this new incarnation will be anyone introduction to the music, and where that may lead. If you like the original, you won’t hate this, but you’ll likely play the original several times before even thinking about throwing this on.

Shortly thereafter, in advance of another threatened solo catalog overhaul, Pete released his second “hits” album, only two decades after the first one (and one decade after a double-disc anthology) and a period of time in which he released virtually no new solo material. Truancy runs chronologically and repeats about half of the original set, ignoring some fan favorites and the one “new” song included then. While some of the substitutions are debatable, any Pete album called “very best of” that doesn’t have “Slit Skirts” is false advertising, plain and simple. That said, the songs are pretty great, with the Scoop version of “You Came Back” a surprising inclusion. But the key selling point is the two new—yes, brand new—songs designed to entice the gullible. “Guantanamo” is further proof that he needn’t be political to be musically entertaining, and “How Can I Help You”, with its opening motif reminiscent of “Cut My Hair”, is suitably empathetic, and the kind of thing we wish he’d get off his duff and do more of already.

Pete Townshend Pete Townshend’s Classic Quadrophenia (2015)—3
Pete Townshend Truancy: The Very Best Of Pete Townshend (2015)—3½

Pete Townshend 13: Quadrophenia Demos

Following the overblown and heavily expensive Live At Leeds Super Deluxe Edition, Pete revived another old project for a similar expansion. Unlike the Lifehouse Chronicles box, which he sold through his own e-commerce site, Quadrophenia got the full support of one of the last remaining major labels. A Deluxe Edition presented the album bolstered by eleven of Pete’s demos, but real fans would be tempted to skip that for the so-called “Director’s Cut” version, which retailed for about $150. This doorstop of a box included the 1996 remaster of the album, a DVD of some 5.1 surround sound tracks to emulate how the original quadraphonic mix might have sounded, a 45 of the “5:15”/“Water” single with the French picture sleeve, a poster and a packet of replica documents (a la Leeds). Oh, and there was also an inch-thick LP-sized book of liner notes by Pete, and two CDs of original demos.

That right there was the kicker. We’d heard teasers from his tape cache on the Scoop albums, but a glimpse into the evolution of his last true masterpiece hadn’t gone beyond a couple of tracks, and only a smattering had made it out on bootleg. While marketed as a Who album, Quadrophenia: Director’s Cut offers up 25 of Pete’s demos chronicling the development of the concept, including several ideas that, in the long run, were wisely abandoned.

The sequence mirrors the final album, with some of those alternate threads placed within an approximate context. What’s more, many of the Who’s completed versions were built from Pete’s demos, so we can hear how much was in place to start with. As expected, many of the intricate synthesizer parts were carried over, while John and Keith were able to lend their respective bass and drums stamps in place of Pete’s guides. Similarly, John’s multiple horn parts are only hinted at on the demos.

As mentioned, Quadrophenia is more of a portrait than a story with plot, but that didn’t prevent Pete from trying to give Jimmy the Mod some history. Many of the discarded songs were intended to flesh him out somewhat, and they certainly would have slowed the album down had they stayed. Interestingly, the three “new songs” included on the film soundtrack LP made up that back story: “Get Out And Stay Out” is a simple sketch sung by Jimmy’s parents, “Four Faces” explores the split personality angle, and “Joker James” (written years before) showed his failure with women. Another romantic song, “You Came Back”, had been on Scoop with no info on when it was recorded, so this context gives it and entirely new perspective. “Get Inside” and “We Close Tonight” (the latter included on the expanded Odds & Sods with vocals by Keith and John) were supposed to depict Jimmy as a frustrated musician; luckily this was replaced by the confrontation of “The Punk And The Godfather”, which here is sung as a dialogue simply titled “Punk”.

The remaining “three sides” worth of songs follow as we’re used to them, with a few exceptions. “Anymore” is a soul-searching ballad replaced by the already-completed “Is It In My Head?”, and two unreleased instrumentals fill the spot where we’d expect to hear “5:15”. (There was never a demo for that song, as it evolved from a studio jam.) The book reveals “I’ve Had Enough” to be a dialogue between Jimmy and his father. Another dialogue comes in “Is It Me?”, which concerns the Ace Face turned “Bell Boy” and his father; the Broadway delivery doesn’t do justice to the theme, which was eventually only presented as part of “Doctor Jimmy”. “Drowned” appears fully formed from a March 1970 demo session. (In another revelation, “The Rock” was originally supposed to end the album, swapping places with “Love Reign O’er Me”, the loud finale of which was spliced from the original band take of “The Rock”.)

If there’s a quibble about these discs, it’s that several pieces are missing. Two tracks that appeared on Scoop aren’t here, and his liner notes make references to additional demos that would be available on Q-Cloud, an online repository of photos and documents related to the project. As of this writing, a message on the site declares that those extra demos “have had to be omitted.” (Pete always did have trouble talking before thinking.)

Quadrophenia was never a happy album, though generations of confused teenagers have been able to take strength from it. Listening to the elements of the Director’s Cut, we’re left feeling even more sorry for Jimmy, with so many of his conflicts spelled out instead of merely mentioned. Indeed, the process of writing and completing the album took its toll on Pete’s sanity and threatened the future of the band. But overriding all that is the wonder that a guy in his late-20s, armed only with instrumental ingenuity, a fertile imagination and the latest technology he could cram into a room in his house, could create something so universal all on his own.

Pete Townshend Quadrophenia: Director’s Cut—The Demos (2011)—4

Pete Townshend 12: Scoop 3

Pete was really getting into the whole online retail/direct marketing thing, putting out occasional live recordings from the late ‘90s along with other merchandise. He also used his website to post occasional audio and video files, sometimes as premieres and other times just there. In late 2001 he began posting a song-from-the-vaults a week that would be sold as a standalone CD called Twenty, but in the final week he abruptly reneged, and told us to enjoy them while we could. The site was soon shuttered for six months while he planned a Who tour and wrote a book. (Also, the behavior in the chat room bugged him.) But his Eel Pie site continued to distribute his music, eventually following through with the long-awaited appearance of the third official Scoop collection.

With nearly two hours of material—and twenty years of experiments to choose from—Scoop 3 has much more of an emphasis on his post-Who work than the earlier installments, though there are a couple of exceptions. “Can You See The Real Me” had been bootlegged for years, but his demo of “Sea & Sand” (also from Quadrophenia) is revelatory. “How Can You Do It Alone” is pretty close to the final version on Face Dances, but there’s absolutely no need to have the sketch of “Did You Steal My Money”. “It’s In Ya”, “Teresa” and an early version of “However Much I Booze” will interest Who fans, while his early-‘80s solo period is nicely complemented by a song still called “Tough Boys” and a pretty syrupy attempt at “All Lovers Are Deranged” that proves David Gilmour had the right idea about rocking it out.

The experiments from the White City period, such as “Commonwealth Boys” and the radio-friendly “Lonely Words”, are much more satisfying than the ideas from The Iron Man, and demonstrate that while he had an ear for commercialism, he ran from it. Many of the keyboard pieces unfortunately sound alike, though such acoustic guitar snippets as “Collings”, “Wistful” and “Marty Robbins” are all very satisfying. Other nice highlights include the orchestral heartbreaker “I Like It The Way It Is”, “I Am Afraid” on banjo that sounds identical to “This Land Is Your Land”, and an absolutely charming song for his son, “Squirm Squirm”.

Ultimately, Scoop 3 is for fanatics only. With so much music there’s a lot to get through, and a shame that it’s not all great. Also, the Twenty songs made for a more listenable set. Soon buried, they emerged on various bootlegs, and finally turned up back on the site for easy download in 2005. But by that time he had gotten repeatedly burned by putting himself so nakedly on display, proving again that the future he envisioned in Lifehouse wasn’t a rosy one. (A double-disc set called Scooped was released to mainstream retail around the same time, which compiled various tracks from all three Scoop sets, along with a multimedia portion featuring an unreleased video for “Ask Yourself”, probably filmed in 1985.)

Pete Townshend Scoop 3 (2001)—3

Pete Townshend 11: Lifehouse Chronicles

In the midst of the high Who profile during the reissue period, Pete closed out his dormant solo deal with a hits CD. The collection, which sported a very long official title, offered a wide selection, a new mix of “Let My Love Open The Door” that soon made a ton of movie soundtracks and a pleasant outtake from Psychoderelict.

Then, having predicted the Internet as far back as 1970, he leaped into the murky fray in 1999 with his own official website, which promised to offer regular interaction by way of what might eventually be called a blog, along with an online shop selling his solo work and various pending exclusive products. The first of these to be announced was a tantalizing one.

The story of Lifehouse had been retold and re-evaluated (even by the author) since its inception thirty years earlier. It started as a film, the futuristic story of a society ruined by pollution and tethered to technology to the point where personal interaction had all but disappeared. A way out of this hell was to be a concert (performed by the Who, naturally) where the few faithful who believed in the power of music as communion could be set free from the chains.

However, Pete’s ideas couldn’t always translate to the band and their management, but the music was incredible, eventually resulting in Who’s Next, one of the greatest albums of all time. Over the years, as the legend of Lifehouse as a great lost album grew, some attempts to complete the project were made and abandoned, surfacing in songs on The Who By Numbers and Who Are You, and much later alluded to on Psychoderelict. He never did make a movie out of it—why he didn’t just do an animated version seems a no-brainer today—but he did complete another revision of the script, incorporating ideas and allegories from such mutated concepts as White City (which included the protagonist’s conversations with a young version of himself) for a rather depressing radio play on the BBC.

To bring the project full circle, he also unveiled Lifehouse Chronicles, a six-CD box set containing the radio play on two discs, one disc of baroque orchestral pieces, another of remixes and experiments from the ‘90s, and the holy grail—two discs of his original demos of the songs dating back to 1970. Some had appeared on the Baba and Scoop albums, and others had snuck out on bootlegs. But there were some true surprises. “Teenage Wasteland” began as a song of its own before it evolved into what we now know as “Baba O’Riley”. That first version began slow and piano-based with a completely different melody before sliding into the familiar three-chord vamp when Sally takes his hand. “Love Ain’t For Keeping” is a harder rock version the Who would try to emulate before turning it into the acoustic version. “Greyhound Girl” is very pretty, whatever it has to do with the plot. “Mary” and “Pure And Easy”, like most of his demos, are longer than the version previously released. The ten-minute version of the “Baba O’Riley” backing track is simply intoxicating.

While Pete contended that this would be the definitive representation of the concept, it’s not. For one, the original Lifehouse screenplay from 1970 has never been revealed, so it’s unknown if it’s anywhere near as bleak as the eventual radio revision. It also makes it tough to figure out what the songs have to do with the plot, as they’re not presented in a thematic order, except for the beginning and the end. Completists looking for documentation as to, at the very least, what years Pete’s demos were recorded still had to guess what things like “Slip Kid” and “Sister Disco” had to do with the plot. (And while it wasn’t available in stores, an abridged version called Lifehouse Elements was, including the demo for “New Song”, which wasn’t on the box.)

But such quibbles are moot when presented with the sheer quality of the music in those demos. Perhaps the songs would be transformed into classics by the Who, but there’s something in the ache of Pete’s voice that makes the songs different from Roger’s bravado. On top of that, he’s a pretty decent drummer. The classical disc, if a bit pompous, makes for nice rainy day listening, complete with a new orchestral arrangement of that ten-minute “Baba O’Riley” demo.

To promote the set, he played two shows at London’s Sadler’s Wells Theater, accompanied by his usual live instrumental and vocal cohorts and an orchestra, closing with the one new song, “Can You Help The One You Really Love?” These were straight performances, mostly unhampered by exposition, and offered for sale on CD later in the year. (A shorter sampler of music was recorded and broadcast on VH1 Storytellers, which was a good place for it.)

With such an auspicious start for his website, fans were itching for more selections from his vaults, and for a time, he complied. But soon his attentions turned to other things, and his hope for a bright future via technology was tainted by the dangerous playground of the real Internet. Today, Lifehouse Chronicles is out of print, but the whole process was revisited in 2023 for the Super Deluxe Edition of Who’s Next, which included 15 of the demos heard here—some extended—and then some.

Pete Townshend The Best Of Pete Townshend: Coolwalkingsmoothtalkingstraightsmokingfirestoking (1996)—4
Pete Townshend Lifehouse Chronicles (2000)—3½
Pete Townshend Lifehouse Elements (2000)—4
Pete Townshend Live > Sadler’s Wells 2000 (2000)—3½

Pete Townshend 10: Psychoderelict

Having already written a novel, a book of short stories, a musical and a Broadway version of Tommy, Pete continued his quest to be king of all media with Psychoderelict, which emerged as a radio play of sorts. The script—complete with soap opera-level acting and one voice who sounded just enough like Roger Daltrey speaking—buried the music, while reviving ideas stemming from Lifehouse. (The advent of the Internet and virtual reality showed that Pete’s ideas were not only ahead of their time, but right on target and ready for mass consumption—almost.) There are some great musical moments scattered throughout the album, but the real fun came via a variety of instrumental demos with a 1971 copyright, serving to illustrate the concept album within the concept, which only whet our appetites for more of the same vintage.

“English Boy” was the lead track and only real hit, sidelined by the jazzy midsection, but those final guitar slashes moving into the piano truly show how much thought he’d put into it. It’s followed up by “Meher Baba M3”, one of three similarly-titled tracks from 1970 or so, albeit with modern-sounding drums added. “Let’s Get Pretentious” is somewhat self-defeating, but even casual listeners will recognize the core of “Who Are You” in “Meher Baba M4 (Signal Box)”. “Early Morning Dreams” is something of an advertisement for the grid discussed in the story, redeemed by wonderful Beach Boys-inspired bridges. “I Want That Thing” is a better rocker around the usual four chords, while “Outlive The Dinosaur” is right in line with the solo sound we’d come to expect from him, and a better statement of purpose than “Let’s Get Pretentious”. A link called “Flame (Demo)” doesn’t bode well for the complete version appearing later.

“Now And Then”, “I Am Afraid”, and “Don’t Try To Make Me Real” form an excellent trio of songs sadly interrupted by the constant dialogue. Things go downhill on “Predictable” (which is, unfortunately) and “Flame”, included as the “smash hit” performed by one of the characters and not featuring Pete at all. (This time the actors’ sniping is welcome.) “Meher Baba M5 (Vivaldi)” serves as a pleasant distraction, and “Fake It” is about half of another great song; the other half just doesn’t work. A reprise of “Now And Then” is used to further the plot, and a teaser of the “Baba O’Riley” demo coincides with the climax of Lifehouse, devilishly interrupted by a seven-minute reprise of “English Boy” as the credits roll.

We haven’t discussed the plot in between and overriding much of the music, mostly because it’s frankly flimsy at best and squirm-inducing overall. Over the years Pete has been more upfront about his childhood demons and subsequent neuroses, and has continued to use his artistry to exorcise them—so far to no avail. Nobody comes off well in the story, and what’s more, the scandal documented within seems to predict actual events down the road.

Perhaps Psychoderelict aimed too high, Pete’s ideas still not quite able to translate to the album format. A “music only” version, which had already been sent to radio, helped a bit by slicing out all the dialogue and voiceovers—with a much-easier-to-read booklet—but the damage was done. While it gives you a chance to hear how the album might have appeared before he came onto the concept, once you’ve heard the so-called story, it’s hard to separate it from the songs—not unlike how the film of Tommy has tainted the original album.

At least he started playing live shows again, taking a small band on tour with six actors voicing and pantomiming their lines from the album. One raspy performance was broadcast on pay-per-view and subsequently released on VHS and laserdisc, with a DVD following ten years later. Around that time, Pete issued it on double-CD via his own website, but rejigged with all of Psychoderelict on one disc, and the opening and closing “hits” segments together on the other. (This sequence was maintained when the album was rereleased as part of a box set twenty years later.) Once again, the music is good, the dramatic portion plodding and lacking in taste.

Pete Townshend Psychoderelict (1993)—2
2006 remaster: same as 1993, plus 1 extra track
Pete Townshend Psychoderelict (Music Only) (1993)—2½
Pete Townshend Live > BAM 1993 (2003)—3

Pete Townshend 9: The Iron Man

Even though he’d proved he could be successful with any kind of song, for some reason Pete Townshend decided the only “albums” worth putting out had to have some kind of concept behind them. Coupled with his work as a book editor, this manifested itself in a half-baked album like The Iron Man, based on a children’s book by Ted Hughes.

Grandly subtitled “The Musical by Pete Townshend”, the album might have worked a little better had he chosen to sing all the songs himself, rather than “casting” the roles. As nice as it is to expose new listeners to Nina Simone and John Lee Hooker, they are ultimately distractions for those of us just wanting to hear Pete. And those are at least names we know; it’s difficult to say how much success the likes of Deborah Conway, Cleveland Watkiss and someone known only as “Chyna” (not the wrestler) can attribute to their work here.

The best moments are Pete’s, which can usually be taken outside of any concept. “I Won’t Run Anymore” has potential, as do “All Shall Be Well”, “Was There Life” and “A Fool Says…” The obvious single was “A Friend Is A Friend”, as it sounds most like a Pete song, but the addition of a kids’ chorus is never a good idea, even on a musical meant for children. His brother Simon sings all 42 seconds of “Man Machines”; a longer version included on a later reissue gives the track much more room to breathe.

The “superstar” turns are, frankly, embarrassing. John Lee Hooker gets two songs, neither of which fit his persona. “Over The Top” is expository, but “I Eat Heavy Metal” (with the choir adding “he eats heavy metal” after each line like a horrible Rankin-Bass production) is just plain cartoony. Surely, given his admiration of Miss Simone, he could have provided her with something more meaningful than “Fast Food”, particularly with the choir asserting “she wants food fast” in the Rankin-Bass style.

But most of the attention, of course, was given to the two songs that Roger Daltrey sings, with John Entwistle on bass, making for a Who reunion—on paper anyway. “Dig” is pleasant, if not exactly substantial, but “Fire”, an unrecognizable remake of the old Crazy World of Arthur Brown hit, is just plain stupid, and badly produced to boot, by the same guy whose biggest production credit is for “We Built This City”.

What we really wanted was for Pete to rock; he was certainly able to do that within the murky outline of White City. Wouldn’t it have been nice if he could have done that here too? He maintains today that he was forced to cut a lot of material because the label didn’t want a double album, but it’s hard to believe that we’d be missing anything.

Ultimately, The Iron Man was a resounding disappointment, with a libretto to match. A movie was eventually made, but without Pete’s songs. His dream of creating an actual musical from the material hasn’t quite come to fruition, though he wouldn’t abandon his Broadway dreams just yet.

Pete Townshend The Iron Man (1989)—2
2006 remaster: same as 1989, plus 3 extra tracks

Pete Townshend 8: Another Scoop

Atco Records must have been happy with Pete’s sales, because soon enough fans’ cups ran over with Another Scoop, an equally satisfying sequel to his first collection of demos. While it still reached back to his earliest home recordings, this one leaned more on the mid-‘80s synth experiments and orchestral sessions from the ‘70s, along with the familiar Who sketches. None of the instrumental tracks really stand out; we’re here for Pete’s vulnerable voice, which rings like a bell on every track where he sings.

The familiar songs of course provide an alternate view, running the gamut from “La-La-La-Lies”, “The Kids Are Alright”, and “Call Me Lightning” to “Happy Jack”, “Pictures Of Lily”, and “Substitute”, “Christmas”, “Pinball Wizard”, and “Long Live Rock” to “You Better You Bet” and “Don’t Let Go The Coat”. Some of these are sequenced back to back in odd juxtapositions. As with the first volume, his liner notes give some background to each track, with even more detailed into about recording location, instruments used, even tape format and speed.

Many of the “new” songs deserve better exposure. “Girl In A Suitcase” is a mildly sarcastic turn from 1975. Two orchestral experiments provide quite the juxtaposition: “Brooklyn Kids” is heartbreaking, while “Football Fugue” is pompous but fun. “Holly Like Ivy” shows how much equipment he was able to bring on the Who’s Farewell Tour, though it’s nearly impossible to discern the lyrics. The transition from “Begin The Beguine”—recorded for a Meher Baba tribute album—into “Vicious Interlude”—wherein the artist at work has to scold a naughty child—makes the whole album. But the given excerpts from the aborted Siege project (the robotic “Cat Snatch” instrumental and the less repetitive but still frustrating “Ask Yourself”) show that the Who as well as the fans were probably better off without that final album.

Once again the second half is a little more challenging. Two more orchestral-based pieces dominate: “Praying The Game” is something of a musical companion to “Street In The City”, whereas “The Ferryman”—the music for which was heard briefly in the White City film—explores more of his spiritual readings. There are some nice acoustic numbers, such as a take on Charles Brown’s “Driftin’ Blues”, as well as the gorgeous “Never Ask Me”, a big ballad that would have made listeners retch had it appeared on Who Are You as intended. The set ends with “The Shout”, one of Pete’s most personal numbers and one that, despite its importance to its author, would never find a home. It is lovely, though.

While not as consistent as the first, Another Scoop is still essential listening. Considering that Pete must have hundreds of hours of similar tapes in his vault, it gave us diehards hope that more would follow. Moreover, at this point in his career, it seemed as if we were getting spoiled with all the riches, and that he was doing just fine without having to write for The Who. We had no way of knowing it wouldn’t last.

Pete Townshend Another Scoop (1987)—3½

Pete Townshend 7: Deep End

During the promotion for White City, Pete put together a fairly stellar band dubbed the Deep End for a pair of charity shows at London’s Brixton Academy. A full-length video that’s pretty entertaining was released in early 1986, while a promotional EP was extended into a sparsely packaged official album by year’s end. It’s an odd grabbag of songs and covers, such as “Barefootin’”, “I Put A Spell On You”, and The English Beat’s “Save It For Later”. The crowd goes nuts for the Who songs, but his own version of “After The Fire” (a hit that year for Roger Daltrey) made it essential.

Nearly two decades later Pete released an official bootleg of the complete second show on CD as part of an ongoing series via his website, after which it went out of print, only to be revived two decades after that as part of a box set. It’s still an essential listen. For starters, the album’s original ten tracks work much better in this context. There are a few more trad jazz and R&B covers—including “Harlem Shuffle”, before the Stones got their mitts on it—and Pete even turns the microphone over for two songs to special guest David Gilmour, who sings his own “Blue Light” and “Love On The Air”, which Pete co-wrote. (Granted, he also lets Rabbit Bundrick do a song of his own, but you can always skip that one.) Gilmour’s on fire for duration of the show, making this essential for Floydheads too.

The Deep End performed on just one more occasion—the MIDEM music conference in the south of France a few months after the Brixton shows, and originally broadcast on the German Rockpalast TV show. The Eagle Rock label put out Face The Face, a combination CD and DVD set of the performance some three decades later, with a shorter setlist including three songs not performed at Brixton. Unfortunately, “Hiding Out” is driven by a primitive computer, “Rough Boys” is missing the electric fire of the studio version, and he forgets several words in “Slit Skirts”. The band doesn’t seem as tight, and Pete even seems like he’d less than thrilled to be on the stage. But when it gels, it gels well, and more so with the video counterpart.

Way back then, however, the ten songs on the mini-album were something of a tease, and some of us were saving our pennies in hope that Pete would do a larger-scale tour. At this rate, it seemed, he had a lot more music in him. But looking back, the shows can be seen as something of a peak, since his career was about to plateau, as we shall soon see.

Pete Townshend’s Deep End Live! (1986)—3
2006 remaster: same as 1986, plus 2 extra tracks
Pete Townshend Live > Brixton Academy ‘85 (2004)—4
Pete Townshend’s Deep End Face The Face (2016)—3

Pete Townshend 6: White City

Roger Daltrey’s 1985 solo album got a little help from Pete Townshend, but only had two months to itself before Pete’s own album started chasing it around the charts. White City ultimately got more attention, as it was subtitled “A Novel” and had an impenetrable straight-to-video film to go with it.

Whatever story he hoped to tell—something having to do with apartheid as experienced on a council estate—is luckily overshadowed by some good music. “Give Blood” is an angry, turbulent song propelled by drums and repeating guitars. “Brilliant Blues” is pleasant enough, followed by the white rap of “Face The Face”. “Hiding Out” is poppy, and the side drags to an end with “Secondhand Love”, which got radio play despite being so average.

“Crashing By Design” kicks off the second side well, but gets dashed by a calypso detour and the allegory of “I Am Secure”. “White City Fighting” is an excellent collaboration with David Gilmour, even though it doesn’t seem to explain the plot any. “Come To Mama” is in two parts—a lengthy intro and another prose exercise—and ends the album oddly.

The main problem with the album is that there’s not enough “music” to enjoy it as a collection of songs, and not enough explanation to pass it off as a story. Those factors together make White City feel incomplete. Was he pressured to keep it a single album? Or were the ideas left over from the sessions simply not good enough?

Several years later Pete posted his original script for the film on his website. It covered many of the themes that would color much of his writing over the next two decades, including separated spouses, regret for one’s actions and hallucinatory conversations with oneself as a child. When combined with the story on the back cover, it unfortunately illuminates the filming process more than the film itself. In the end, trying to find a story within White City accomplishes nothing. You’d be better off simply enjoying the music. (The 2006 reissue included an odd mix of extras: “Night School”, which was never completed for the film despite being featured in a “making-of” segment; a pointless extended mix of “Hiding Out”; and a cover of the English Beat’s “Save It For Later”, one of Pete’s favorites.)

Pete Townshend White City: A Novel (1985)—3
2006 remaster: same as 1985, plus 3 extra tracks

Pete Townshend 5: Scoop

Taking an idea that had been approached with Who Came First, Pete put together a two-record set of some of his demos, some of which naturally ended up as Who songs. Scoop is a very satisfying collection, covering two decades of experimentation, without any noticeable order to the sequencing.

For starters, “So Sad About Us” shows the young artist at work, with a spoken introduction, before abruptly merging into the instrumental “Brrr” from several years later. Songs familiar as Who tracks—such as “Squeeze Box”, “Behind Blue Eyes”, “Bargain”, and “Circles”—show how much was already in place before the band did their part, but it’s the otherwise “new” tracks that really show his breadth as a writer. “Zelda” is different, sung over some furiously bowed violins, while “Politician” has a great atmosphere, which he accomplished in a home setup. “Dirty Water” is a fun jam in a professional studio with Kenney Jones on drums, but “Piano: Tipperary” is fairly stupid, as signified by his otherwise detailed liner notes, reproduced for this song here: “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?”

Much better is “Unused Piano: Quadrophenia”, a beautiful piece that explores some themes from that album, making one wish there was more solo piano in his catalog. “Melancholia” is described in the notes as not having been heard by the Who, a statement that would be proved incorrect ten years later. “Things Have Changed” is a charming lost gem from 1965, and “Popular” is the better basis for what became “It’s Hard”.

The second half of the album isn’t always as strong, but there are still some eye-openers. First there’s what he calls the “one man band… voodoo-dub-freak-out” of “The Magic Bus”, followed by the template for “Cache Cache”. “Cookin’” is cute country, where we get to hear him learning how to play pedal steel while the tape runs. “You’re So Clever” was bested by “And I Moved” for Empty Glass, just as “Body Language” was bested by the other poetic stuff on Chinese Eyes What he calls “Initial Machine Experiments” is actually pleasant in its own way, if you don’t mind synth noodling.

“Mary” is a drastically edited Lifehouse refugee, followed by the unused “Recorders” experiment for Quadrophenia, which leads well into “Goin’ Fishin’” to round out this particular sequence. “To Barney Kessel” is a nice little unfinished guitar piece, but there’s something too sad and haunting about “You Came Back””, the significance of which wouldn’t be revealed until the next century. “Love Reign O’er Me” wraps it all up, with as much power as the Who version, closing with the sound of Pete walking on the beach.

Scoop goes a long way to show that Pete would be just fine on his own, particularly when, by year’s end, he announced that the band was finished. The quality of stuff he was putting out whet fans’ appetites for more music, as well as more peeks into his vaults.

Pete Townshend Scoop (1983)—4

Pete Townshend 4: All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes

Pete came close to killing himself by the end of 1981 with a spiraling addiction to alcohol, cocaine, heroin and just about everything else, but managed to survive in time to remember what he was here for. He wrote songs and recorded demos before, during and after his rehab, and emerged with a new mod haircut and an album with the unwieldy title of All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes. Many have suggested that it’s no great shakes, but this author has to disagree; while the Who struggled to remain relevant, Pete was able to express himself and his neuroses and make music that worked.

An interest in writing short stories and prose rears its head with the opening track. “Stop Hurting People” takes an extended poetry reading and matches it with a triumphant arrangement. (He was, after all, pursuing a side job as a book editor.) “The Sea Refuses No River” wraps itself around a hypnotic theme, then goes into a wonderful middle section with a very well constructed guitar solo. “Prelude” is a half-finished idea that slides into “Face Dances Part Two”, the title track that never was, and something of a hit despite its 5/4 meter. “Exquisitely Bored” is a very LA tune, likely written during his recovery, beaten out of the way by the verbal barrage of “Communication”.

“Stardom In Acton” is similar to “Exquisitely Bored” without being repetitive. The title refers to the section of London where the Who started out, though first listens and even the current CD misspell it “action”. “Uniforms” manages to distill Jimmy’s central crisis in Quadrophenia into three minutes successfully, and there’s that melody from “A Little Is Enough” sneaking in over the bridge. “North Country Girl” is a poor rewrite of the folk song, moved aside by “Somebody Saved Me”, which goes through some personal vignettes that reveal with every listen. The album ends with perhaps Pete’s best-ever song, the haunting “Slit Skirts”. The words ache to mean something, and despite the plot the chorus does a splendid lift to another key each time. The song fades out much too fast. (The take in the video is longer and has a different vocal, plus a harmonica solo from Peter Hope-Evans. We also get to see the rhythm section of Tony Butler and Mark Brzezicki, shortly of Big Country, who positively shine throughout the album.)

Chinese Eyes is a great album, especially for 1982, when many of his contemporaries would start to lose the plot. The upgraded CD added three tracks, but as is often the case, they don’t live up to the rest of the album. The underwhelming “Vivienne” is interesting to hear if only because it came that close to making the original, while “Man Watching” and “Dance It Away” were contemporary B-sides, the latter sounding the most like the Who, coming as it did out of a live jam.

Pete Townshend All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes (1982)—4
2006 remaster: same as 1982, plus 3 extra tracks

Pete Townshend 3: Empty Glass

While The Who continued on the road with new drummer Kenney Jones, Pete took the opportunity to sign a solo deal and finally get the first pick of his own songs (in between drinking binges and worse). The immediate result was the excellent Empty Glass, which he considers his first real solo album.

Right out of the gate “Rough Boys” delivers some of the most exciting music he’d played in years. The lyrics would continue to be misinterpreted over the years, but the guitar intro and inexplicable ending stand one’s hair on end. “I Am An Animal” is very subtle and heartbreaking. “And I Moved” is an interesting experiment, a song written from a woman’s point of view, which only fed the fire down the road. “Let My Love Open The Door” was a top 10 single—bigger than any Who hit since “I Can See For Miles”—and still good today. “Jools And Jim” closes the side with an ambiguous, angry rant at the press.

“Keep On Working” has some great vocals and layered harmonies, followed by “Cat’s In The Cupboard”, an excuse for boogie. “A Little Is Enough” is one of his most direct love songs, for his wife as well as Baba. (Listen for that melody between the verses; it’ll come up again.) The title track is a cry for help with some intriguing dynamics, while “Gonna Get Ya” slams it all home with more great vocals, a fantastic midsection and good piano. It’s probably the closest thing to a Who song here.

Even if he was slowly killing himself, Empty Glass proves Pete could still write. He also got support in the studio from a handful of talented players, including the soon-to-be rhythm section for Big Country, along with crisp production by Chris Thomas, who earned his bones with the Beatles and had recent success with the likes of the Pretenders and the Sex Pistols. If the Who wouldn’t ever return to the heights they had with Keith behind the kit, the album at least should have given Pete some confidence that his own career wasn’t finished. And even if Roger couldn’t see himself singing these songs anyway, he had his acting career for the time being. (The album was respected enough to be available on a “gold” CD in the mid-‘90s, while the 2006 reissue added some previously unreleased demos of four of the album’s tracks.)

Pete Townshend Empty Glass (1980)—4
2006 remaster: same as 1980, plus 4 extra tracks

Pete Townshend 2: Rough Mix

This exceptionally likable album is an underappreciated gem in the Who-related canon. Recorded between their last great album and Keith Moon’s last gasp, Rough Mix is a joint effort coming out of a favor from Pete for Ronnie Lane, and provides a pleasant distraction from the heavier subjects Pete had come to tackle. A lot of that influence came from Ronnie, who’d been indulging his gypsy musician longings since the demise of the Faces. Only two songs here appear to be true collaborations: the instrumental title track which serves as a base for a smoking Eric Clapton solo; and the closing cover of “Till The Rivers All Run Dry”, a tribute of sorts to Meher Baba, their personal guru. However, their individual contributions sit comfortably together, giving the proceedings the air of a pleasant afternoon pub conversation between friends.

Of Pete’s songs, the orchestrated “Street In The City” hasn’t aged well, but the rest rank with his best: the rocking “My Baby Gives It Away”, featuring Charlie Watts on drums; the searching “Keep Me Turning”; the self-deflating “Misunderstood”; and the sinewy “Heart To Hang Onto”, wherein he trades verses with Ronnie, giving the album a needed boost towards the end. Who fans will love Pete’s songs, of course, but for the newcomer, Ronnie’s tracks will be a nice surprise, from the jaunty “Nowhere To Run” and “Catmelody” to the sweet and pretty “Annie”.

Rough Mix is a minor yet pleasant album that consistently rewards future listens. Pete’s own affection for the album showed with the deluxe treatment it got upon its remastering in 2006, which includes a DVD layer with a mini-documentary, tons of photos from the sessions and a SACD audio mix of the tracks, complete with a full ending for “Annie” with jokey in-studio comments about the last chord. Of the bonus tracks, two are Ronnie’s and another, “Good Question”, is a full band version of the instrumental previously known as “Brrr”, which fanatics knew from Scoop.

Pete Townshend & Ronnie Lane Rough Mix (1977)—4
2006 DualDisc reissue: same as 1977, plus 3 extra tracks

Pete Townshend 1: Who Came First

Pete’s fascination with guru Meher Baba had surfaced as early as Tommy, and even before “The Seeker” was released he had spearheaded a charity tribute album featuring performances by some of his fellow Baba-lovers. Happy Birthday included six Townshend tracks—pulled from various hours of home demos he’d already amassed—plus his accompaniment on others, with some experimental poetry in between. It was followed a year later by I Am, which had less overt Pete involvement, save the ten-minute instrumental of “Baba O’Riley” ending one side and his “Parvardigar” prayer ending the other.

Naturally, the two albums were bootlegged, gypping the record companies and the charity. The idea was put forth to make them more widely available, but Pete chose instead to compile a hodgepodge of some of his Baba tracks with other demos, winkingly titled Who Came First.

“Pure And Easy”, an edit of the Lifehouse demo (and the centerpiece of the story), left fans clamoring for an official Who version having heard it on stage throughout the previous year. Ronnie Lane’s “Evolution” is followed by “Forever’s No Time At All”, which had zero Pete input. “Nothing Is Everything” is Pete’s demo of “Let’s See Action”, which had been a Who single the previous year in the UK. This is longer, with an extra lyric on the bridge.

“Time Is Passing” celebrates the joy of music with a wonderful arrangement that brings a Mideastern quality to the ear. “There’s A Heartache Following Me” is a Jim Reeves song Baba loved, and “Sheraton Gibson” was famously written in a fit of songwriting influenced by (according to Pete) by Dylan’s Self Portrait. (That album wasn’t conceived that way, but the point is that if you wait long enough, you can write a song.) “Content”, a poem Pete set to music, sounds like a prayer, while “Parvardigar” really is one.

Who Came First may be a hodgepodge, but it makes for exciting yet pleasant listening, a nice compromise between leftover Lifehouse songs and the Baba albums. It fell out of view for many years until Rykodisc, then at the height of their respectability as a reissue label, gave it proper exposure, boosting the content with the bulk of the Pete tracks from the Baba albums (including a third, 1976’s With Love). Along with the demo of “The Seeker”, “Day Of Silence” and “The Love Man” (one of his hidden gems) come from Happy Birthday and are a showcase for his sensitivity. The three With Love tracks are especially illuminating: “His Hands” is instrumental with piano, guitar and mandolin trilling along not unlike Pete’s other mid-‘70s work; “Sleeping Dog” is a pleasant fireside ditty; and “Lantern Cabin” closes the set with a fairly accurate prediction of George Winston’s style.

When Pete’s catalog was overhauled in the new century, Who Came First was supplemented by the two other Pete tracks from Happy Birthday (Cole Porter’s “Begin The Beguine”, which was Baba’s other favorite song, also included on Pete’s 1987 demos collection Another Scoop, and the anti-pot “Mary Jane”) plus the Mose Allison pastiche “I Always Say”, released for the first time.

Of course, anything worth reissuing twice can be done three times, so Who Came First received the double-disc treatment for its 45th anniversary, with most of the bonuses from 1992 and 2006 put onto a second disc, along with other demos of the era. A few of the bonuses are in different mixes or edits, but there is also a fascinating alternate of “Day Of Silence”, a less effective, earlier “Parvardigar”, and a live version of “Evolution” from 2004’s Ronnie Lane memorial concert. “There’s A Fortune In Those Hills” finally appears after decades of speculation, and the instrumental “Baba O’Riley” rightfully adds value. The law also states that revision causes omission, so even with all the extras, “Lantern Cabin” was left off. Still, we shouldn’t complain, especially when we’re acknowledged by name in the booklet.

(Footnote: the three Baba tribute albums were reissued by Pete’s Eel Pie label, first as the limited-edition Avatar box set, then as the simpler Jai Baba package. They’re interesting to hear in context from time to time, but have been mostly rendered unnecessary except for completists.)

Pete Townshend Who Came First (1972)—4
1992 Rykodisc: same as 1972, plus 6 extra tracks
2006 Hip-O: same as 1992, plus 3 extra tracks
2018 45th Anniversary Expanded Edition: same as 1972, plus 17 extra tracks