It was just last week that I was rejuvenated by The Who Live at the Royal Albert Hall, a concert video shot maybe a year or so ago. I had planned to watch a couple songs and move on to something else. Two hours and 20 minutes later, I had accepted their unspoken challenge to try to put together the greatest rock band in the world. They seemed so unstoppable. It was as if they were issuing the invitation to young and old alike--try to top THIS! Entwistle knew he was the most badass--he even put a video camera on the end of his bass so you could check out his fingers ripping it up during "5:15." Old? Maybe. Burnout? Never. He just got better and better. He wasn't going to wuss out on us. It looked as though he had 10 amps over there. Stacked high, you could just tell how loud it was.
You would read the stories of Entwistle and Keith Moon out for nights of insanity. I always got the idea that Entwistle perhaps silently spearheaded some of those Moonisms. Set the scene, wind 'er up, and stand back and watch the fireworks. Such was how it seemed in the Who as well--as the music was flying sky-high around him, he was the one with two feet on the ground. The last one playing after the drums were all knocked over, the guitar smashed, amps smashed, microphones smashed. The bass kept on. It never got smashed.
It just seems wrong that he's gone.
