The Who: Live At Leeds

In stark opposition to yesterday’s Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out!, which has been called the greatest live album ever, I hereby submit to you the definitive, inarguable greatest live album ever, The Who’s Live At Leeds. Whereas their contemporaries were either playing up the image of rock’n’roll through decadence (the Stones) or playing proficient but insanely boring and lengthy improvisations^[1] (Led Zeppelin), The Who shot into first place in the race for the greatest rock band in the world by releasing this, a live album documenting a powerhouse selection of hits, covers, and even a new song or two.

(Perhaps I’m biased, because I’ve stated many times here that The Who are my favorite band ever, second now only to Elvis Costello. Oh well.)

I’m slightly conflicted over which version I should review. I’ve stated before that the intent of this website is to review albums as they were originally intended, with no bonus tracks; however, the original 6-track album exists only on vinyl, and the 15-track CD, released in 1995, is no longer in print. Because I have both the 1995 CD and the 2001 deluxe edition, I’ll go with what’s widely available, which is the latter. (For the sake of preserving my sanity and not being repetitive for when I do end up reviewing Tommy, I’ll forgo reviewing the actual second disc. All you need to know is that it’s superior, performance-wise, to the studio version, especially the improvisational parts — ‘Listening To You’, most notably — but the album recording wins in terms of atmosphere and sheer cultural impact.)

The Who were on a live high by February 1970, having taken Tommy around the world several times and perfecting their chops nightly. Needless to say, by the time it was decided to release a live concert, they were tired of playing Tommy and were ready to move on to something bigger and better — namely, Pete Townshend’s failed rock opera, Lifehouse (which morphed into Who’s Next). However, their fatigue with the material doesn’t show on this album, and, to use a well-worn comparison, they were firing on all cylinders as if they had never played this material ever before.

The set opens up with John Entwistle’s ‘Heaven And Hell’, allowing Townshend and Entwistle the chance to show off their improvisational skills, not to mention their prowess on their respective instruments. It’s interesting to compare this introduction with that of Ya-Ya’s; on that album, the Stones are introduced as if it were an event, whereas on Leeds, the Who simply walk onstage, plug in, and launch into the song. Without barely a chance to breathe, they’re off into ‘I Can’t Explain’, faithfully reproduced almost note-for-note here, as were three other of their hit singles of the day: ‘Substitute’, ‘Happy Jack’, and ‘I’m A Boy’, which form a sort-of medley. (Townshend cheekily introduces the songs beforehand, taking lighthearted jabs at their relative failure in the charts.) Following ‘I Can’t Explain’, the band slow things down with a cover of Allen Toussaint’s ‘Fortune Teller’, taken at a lugubrious pace, with stacks of power chords and anthemic joint vocals from Roger Daltrey and Entwistle. Then, an awkward transition into ‘Tattoo’, a twee but enjoyable song of “what makes a man a man” — evidently, Townshend has decided that it’s ink from a needle, instead of “brains or brawn or the month you were born”.

‘Young Man Blues’ is the second chance for the instrumentalists to show off their abilities, and serves as an anthem of sorts for the post-Woodstock malaise: the drugs were wearing off and the hippie dream was viciously crushed by Altamont. Daltrey and Townshend, despite being in their mid-20s at the time, identified with the plight of the youth, and often spoke highly of “the kids”. ‘Young Man Blues’ transforms Mose Allison’s original lament into a highly-charged, proto-punk workout with Daltrey caterwauling in his leonine scream while Townshend, Entwistle, and Keith Moon thrash away.

‘A Quick One, While He’s Away’ follows the aforementioned trio of hits, and is a powerful performance in preparation for Tommy (which followed, but was placed on a second disc to make for easier listening). However, it’s the introductory dialog that’s a real scream: Townshend spends five minutes going on about what ‘A Quick One’ is about, with Moon occasionally interjecting with lewd and off-color jokes and remarks. Townshend, always an engaging speaker, sheds some light on the intent behind the song, while playing off Moon’s good-natured jabs and barbs with great humor. The performance itself is electrifying, and easily stands as the best version of the handful already released.

Eddie Cochran’s ‘Summertime Blues’ and Johnny Kidd’s ‘Shakin’ All Over’ follow, and are as magnificent and devastating as ‘Young Man Blues’; the former employs Entwistle’s basso profundo voce as Townshend gleefully solos, while the latter stops and starts with conviction. It’s all a prelude to the final 25 minutes, with 16 of those 25 minutes taken up by ‘My Generation’ and the last nine made up of ‘Magic Bus’. ‘Generation’ has come a long way since its debut five years prior, with the band transforming it into a powerhouse barnstormer, making the single recording sound almost like a jaunty walk in the park. Elements from ‘Sparks’, ‘The Seeker’, and the then-unreleased ‘Naked Eye’ are incorporated, and the 16 minute running time may seem intimidating at first, but it’s never boring or indulgent. ‘Magic Bus’, meanwhile, starts off (comparatively) gently, with Moon clacking away on claves while Entwistle holds down the rhythm with distorted bass; Daltrey and Townshend, meanwhile, banter and barter over the price of the otherworldly transport vehicle in question, and just as it seems the Bo Diddley rhythm is getting a little too monotonous, and the band have stretched the audience’s tolerance to its limits, Moon grabs his sticks and leads the band into overdrive as Townshend slashes away on his guitar and Entwistle’s fingers dance up and down his fretboard. The whole thing comes to an orgasmic conclusion, and as the listener sits there, unsure what s/he just heard, there’s still the matter of listening to that second disc…

^[1]I have no problem with improvisation, and Jimmy Page, John Paul Jones, and John Bonham were/are all magnificent musicians. However, I can do without a half hour of fiddling about on a guitar or 15 minutes of dicking around on drums (and I say that as a one-time drummer), because it may be interesting while under the influence of heavy narcotics and while one is witnessing it first-hand, but on record, it becomes a frustratingly tedious listen after the first 30 seconds has passed.