What’s the best concert you ever saw? Tommy Can You Hear Me?

We all have a “desert-island list” of books and albums, the records and writings that we save and hopefully pass on to our kids when they ask something like “What’s an ‘album’, Dad?” But what if you could revisit the best concert you ever saw? What was it? Where was it? Who were you with? How high were you? And what the hell were you wearing?

For me, seeing The Who perform their rock opera “Tommy” while it was still on the charts was easily the best show I’ve ever been lucky enough to see. It was on May 13, 1969, a Tuesday night. I was a student at Boston University, the show was right down the street at The Boston Tea Party and man, was I stoned, having dropped some really good acid right before the show. (In those days, the concept of having a “designated driver” didn’t exist, so we pretty much crashed wherever we landed.)

One of my friends worked the door at the Tea Party and he let us in before the typically eclectic crowd of hippies and straights, students and teachers, bikers and Brahmins, burn-outs and professionals arrived. The venue had auditorium seating, meaning there were no seats and the audience either stood or sat on the floor. Since we got in early, we were able to land a spot near one of the two poles in the place. As we stood with our backs against a column, drugs in hand and ready to ingest, we waited for The Who to take to the stage.

Finally, when the place was totally packed and smoke filled the air, out came John Entwistle and Keith Moon. I remember my buddy elbowing me in the ribs and said, “Keith Moon man!” Roger Daltry sauntered on stage next, then Mr. Windmill Arm himself, Pete Townshend. No sidemen, no studio guys, no backing tracks, just four guys playing some ass-kicking rock.

We were all there to see them play “Tommy,” but they opened with “I Can’t Explain,” followed by “Fortune Teller,” “Substitute” and “Happy Jack.” Finally the moment we were all waiting for arrived and they launched into “It’s a Boy.” No introduction (as if that refrain needs one!), no banter, no jokes, no idle chatter. Everyone in the place seemed to know every song, every lick, every riff and every vocal nuance by heart. In quick succession, we heard “1921,” “Amazing Journey,” “Sparks” and the band’s cover of my favorite Sonny Boy Williamson song, “Eyesight to the Blind.”

I could hear, feel and practically taste the music. By the time 30 minutes had passed, the whole audience was standing, going crazy as Townshend did his classic windmill routine. Entwistle played bass stoically as usual, standing in the exact same spot for the entire show; ironically given his antics-free stage presence, he died of a cocaine overdose in 2002. Moon, the band’s class clown and resident crazy man, flung his sticks into the air regularly, as always; he became the first member of the band to die (in 1978, from an overdose of a drug used to combat alcoholism). Daltry swung his mic like a bolo, probably as much to protect himself as to complete the rock-star image that he’d honed to perfection. My buddy got lost as the bouncers forced the crowd back from the stage and pandemonium ensued. We all pumped our fists, lit our lighters and took the night. Yeah, Tommy, we hear you!

I couldn’t really tell you how that evening ended. I remember that the band called for order and eventually completed their set. Everyone was exhausted since this was an era when going to a concert was like a sort of combat mission; we were all soldiers on the front line. I remember the encores being “Summertime Blues,” “My Generation” and “Magic Bus” but by that time I was f-f-f-fading away.

The physically spent crowd filed out, veterans of a true rock ‘n’ roll skirmish, one that we’d all carry with us for the rest of our lives. We’d witnessed greatness that night, we’d heard history. We’d seen The Who perform “Tommy” in its entirety and I even had a pole to lean against. It was absolutely the greatest show I’ve ever seen.

(by John Stover)

John Stover was a native of Brockton, Massachusetts, and the author of six novels. He died at age 62 on May 10, 2014 in Los Angeles.