The Darker Side Of John Entwistle

The death of Pete Quaife a few days ago reminded me of another bassist, one who I had offhandedly mentioned in my admittedly brief obituary. John Alec Entwistle, bassist extraordinaire with The Who, died eight years ago this day, and it’s a day that I remember well.

As soon as news broke that The Who were going to embark on another North American tour, I immediately grabbed general admission tickets for their show at Camden’s E-Center (as it was then called; I don’t know what it is now) for July 27, 2002. I invited four of my friends along with me, because The Who is one of those bands that I wanted to show off. I had seen them two years prior, and it was undoubtedly one of the best concert experiences of my life, so I wanted to share it with people who meant something to me. Anyway, I’d gotten the tickets, and was practically counting down the days; the more I read Pete Townshend’s official website and occasional news as to the songs they were rehearsing (which included ‘A Quick One, While He’s Away’, ‘I Can See For Miles’, ‘Music Must Change’, a handful of tunes from The Who By Numbers, and two new songs, ‘Certified Rose’, written by Roger Daltrey, and ‘Real Good Looking Boy’, written by Pete), the more excited I became. This was going to be the concert event of the year, as far as I was concerned.

With a month to go before the concert, I went to my restaurant-based job on Thursday, June 27th. It was a normal day, of course, one that should have had no significant meaning to me or anyone else. The Who were set to start their US tour the next day in Vegas, so I was getting excited over the reports that would filter in afterwards over the songs that were played, but other than that, it was just another day. Then, at around 7 in the evening, my friend Gorzo called me up at work.

“Hey,” he said.

“What’s up?” I answered, a little annoyed. “I’m pretty busy here.”

“I just heard on the radio that John Entwistle died.”

I immediately dismissed it. “No, that’s not true. The Who are starting their tour tomorrow. He’s not dead.”

“The radio said so…”

“Look, it’s not true. John’s not dead, so don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah? Okay, well, I’ll talk to you later.”

I wasn’t going through denial; I actively believed that the radio was false, simply because The Who were starting their tour the next day, and it wouldn’t be like him to just die, right? That just doesn’t happen!

I put out of my mind for the rest of the evening, and went back to work. At the end of my shift, I got into my car, and did the unusual thing of turning on the radio. (Even back then, I listened mostly to CDs.) I immediately popped over to 102.9 WMGK to see if they had anything to say about it; they were right in the middle of playing ‘My Size’, a solo track from his 1971 album Smash Your Head Against The Wall. I knew that he was dead because it was the first time I’d ever heard any of his solo songs on the radio.

The rest of the night was a blur. I went home and checked out Townshend’s official site, which already had a bunch of tributes on his forum, and an official announcement (“The Ox Has Left The Building”) followed almost immediately. I took my mind off the news by going out with some friends and watching The Bourne Identity, but it was really the last thing I wanted to be doing.

I don’t normally get upset over the deaths of musicians or celebrities, but John Entwistle was the first death I can remember that had an impact on me. The concert went ahead as scheduled, of course, and Pino Palladino was an able replacement, but there was a large, John Entwistle-sized void stage left. As I write this right now, eight years later and listening to the ‘My Generation’ jam from Live At Leeds, the weather outside has gotten significantly darker, with clouds rolling in and the wind whipping up into a frenzy. A thunderclap has just let its presence be known, and I can’t help but laugh at the symmetry of it all.

Even in death, John “Thunderfingers” Entwistle is still making a helluva lot of noise.