The future had arrived in 1980 and it was dragging the dinosaurs into the light. Suddenly Pete Townshend was standing in the open, looking around like he meant to be there. Perhaps he did. I mean, as a kid I wasn't unaware of who he was. Who he was. Ha, that's a good one. I kill myself. Bottom line, though, he was old. Woodstock old.
That was old.
So it was weird to hear and see so much of Pete Townshend at the beginning of the '80s when there were new sounds and new artists that were demanding attention. Okay, when I say so much, it wasn't as much as you'd think, but the songs that were generating what seemed like constant rotation was probably over in the space of a couple of months. As a teenager, time and physics don't work as closely as they do when you get older. Time is malleable, and those summer months where I first heard "Let My Love Open the Door" were magical times. Full of late nights by the lake, sleeping in a cabin, working in the bush with my best friend and trying to figure out how to open beer bottles without an opener. In reality, I probably only heard the song a few times on the radio, but it was so good that I was always hoping to hear it again rather than another song by Air Supply.
It was also one of the first songs where I remember seeing the video on the late night concert TV shows. At first it was irritating as I wanted to see Pete perform, not stand around in a smokey pool hall miming the words.
Over the years these two songs rightly became classics. Well, I assume they're classics. Nah, they're classics. CLASSICS!
I found the record on sale when my favourite shop decided to have a sale of epic proportions and price everything, EVERYTHING in the store at $2. It was insane. I probably still have close to a hundred albums to properly listen to. It took me a couple of hours to go through the store ... but I did. This was among the treasures, and it's finally getting a spin (actually, it's been about three so far) as I work away in the basement.
Setting aside the two stellar pieces on the record, the album is decent. Bordering on really, really good. It was a solo album, but at this stage in The Who's career, it certainly seemed like Pete was holding on to his best work for himself. There was an urgency to many of the songs, and it seemed like Pete wanted to leverage his own past that seemed to be the template for some of the punk rebelliousness. The problem was that Pete was old, mid-thirties at this point, and out of touch. It slays me to read that now, knowing that he was still in reality just a young man and as full of piss and vinegar as his younger counterparts.
Then there are the credits. I'm still like a little kid who can't get enough. I love reading them as much as I ever did. In some ways, it's a lot more fun now as I know so much more than I did when I was a teenager. To see names like Kenny Jones and Simon Phillips on drums gives me a little thrill. Heck, Tony Butler played bass on most of the tracks, and a few years later he'd be in Big Country. Dang, how cool is that?
It's enjoyable, it really is. The sad part is it'll never really have a chance to get under my skin. That ship sailed over forty years ago. My enjoyment now comes from equal parts nostalgia and appreciating the songs for the craft behind them. I suppose that's my way of saying they were kind of forgettable and didn't stay with me when they were done. I'm not saying there aren't some really solid songs; the whole album is enjoyable. I have become partial to "A Little Is Enough" and the title track. These, among others, stood out after a few plays.
I never (never say never, I don't have it yet) picked up his '82 follow-up, but I would pick others as they came out. Each album always had something that stood out. He knew enough to never let the listener leave with An Empty Glass.
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