- Heaven And Hell
- I Can't Explain
- Fortune Teller
- Young Man Blues
- It's A Boy
- Amazing Journey
- Pinball Wizard
- Go To The Mirror
- Smash The Mirror
- I'm Free
- Tommy's Holiday Camp
- We're Not Gonna Take It
- Summertime Blues
- Shakin' All Over
Tom Farmer sent this date. He wrote that The Who played two shows that night. Set list for the early show sent by Don Peer
The shows were mindblowers. Daltrey's voice was shot, and so Pete had to sing nearly all of the songs, which was actually a very rare and cool experience. Poor Roger mainly twirled his microphone the whole night and looked miserable. Keith's drum set was set up over the Guthrie trap door (used for dramatic theater entrances) and so, periodically, he (and his drums) would move below, and above, the stage.
I was at that concert at the Guthrie Theatre for the first show and Roger sang most of the songs. I never saw Moon's drums move up or down. I was in the second row, right below and alittle to the side of Entwhistle. He stood back against the Hiwatt amps. I think to avoid getting nailed by Daltry's mike. Daltry threw his mike around with so much force, we could hear it whistling as it went over our heads. It was coming so close to us at times we were ducking. There isn't a bad seat in the Guthrie and in the front row, you're almost on the stage.
Pete T. gave a radio interview that same night on KQRS "underground" with Tony Glover (Spider John Kourner, Tony Glover and Dave Mason were the warm up act. How they ever arrived at these three guys to warm up the Who, I'll never know) and Pete complained about having to do two shows. He said Roger had a sore throat and his voice was terrible. I didn't notice that his voice was terrible. Roger was wearing brown leather pants, some kind of highheeled boots and a leather vest. John was wearing a fringed jacket, and played a black Fender Precision Bass. Pete was wearing white BB Pants and a red, white blue striped t-shirt, playing his Gibson SG Custom or SG standard. He only had to change guitars twice because of broken strings. Keith was wearing white BB pants which when he sat down behind the silver Preimer drum set, he pulled the BB part up and folded them back over his thighs so they would get caught on the foot pedals. He had on a ginger colored t-shirt that turned very dark with sweat as the show went on. His drums were the usual config. Double 22" bass, 3 Premier 14 inch shell toms, 16 and an 18 inch floor toms on his right side and one 16 tom on his left side. Three cymbals with no tilt at all. When he would play, he would go from side to side and the cymbals would be constantly tilted from him hitting them.
The band came on stage from behind the drum set and as they walked out on the stage there was a sudden and very strong odor of Petule Oil. (I don't know if I spelled that right) When Keith beat the hell out of the drums and he got down to the floor toms, you could see water flying up in beads off the drum heads. I didn't know what the water was from, but I don't think it was sweat. It was damn cool though. After their opening "Heaven and Hell" Pete went to the mike stand picked it and said "for those of you who are wondering about the volume, that's just rock-n-roll" dropped the mike stand and took off on summertime blues.
The Guthrie is not a very big concert hall for a RR concert and with six Hiwatts and a huge PA system it was loud. I had Moon's cymbals ringing in my ears for 2 weeks. I loved it all. I remember alot of things about the show. alot of little things. Like Bob Pridden coming out on stage to do the mike and sound checks. We would say "check, check", and we thought that was really loud. It was a 1/10th of the Who's volume. The show seemed very short to most of us because at the end of the show people were still sitting in the seats saying is it over. Then the lights came on and we got the hint. The last thing I remember was after the last song, Keith Moon threw his drumsticks, bouncing them against the stage floor right in front of his drums and they bounced into the crowd.
It is my first time seeing the Who, a few months after Tommy. The Guthrie is a posh repertory theater in the 3/4 round, with no seat more than a few feet from the stage. I'd seen the Smothers Brothers show, and heard the stories about the destruction. I couldn't wait. Second show. I can see that the stage floor is all chewed up in several places - obviously it had taken a beating from Pete's guitar. It was a fantastic show, essentially the set that was later released on Live at Leeds. The whole band is on, but at one point in the middle of a song Keith gets really agitated, angry at something. He slams his sticks down on the snare, they fly into the crowd, and he stomps off stage. The band goes on undaunted. About 3 minutes later, a trap door in the middle of the stage next to Roger opens, and slowly, slowly up comes Keith on a lift, grinning and waving to the crowd, as the Who play on around him. As befits the traditions of both Moon and the Guthrie, it had all been an act! OK, now the end begins. My Generation. Keith kicks the bass drum over on its face, and continues to slash at the whole drum kit, keeping perfect time. Roger kicks over a mic stand and stomps on it. Then from the side of the stage, some guy wanders up. Remember, it's a theater in the round, with just steps between the first row and the stage. Clearly the guy is out of it. He kneels at the bass drum and beats it with his hands; Keith savagely beats on the back of the guy's neck with the butt ends of his drumsticks. He staggers to his feet and reels away. Where the hell are the security guards? He drifts over to Pete, who is doing furious windmill chords with his eyes closed, trying to ignore the guy. Three, four, five windmills with the guy standing two feet in front. A final chord, and Pete's face says "Don't let him be there when I open my eyes," but he is. Pete glares at him, then unstraps his guitar. Is he going to take a swing at him? No -- Pete hands the still howling axe to the guy, with a look that says "I dare you to take this." The guy does, cradles it on his hip, strums a few weak chords barely audible above the bass, drums, and feedback. And then all four Who members stomp off in disgust, leaving the guy alone at stage left, strumming away. I was livid. I'd been cheated. We had come so close to the infamous final scene, and this moron stole it from us. Guitarus Interruptus. Lucky for him the guards got to him before the audience did. I did end up seeing the smashing routine on the Who's Next tour, so eventually I got that out of my system. And what I have now is even more special, an indelible memory of a unique, and truly bizarre, event.