Never imagined that I would fly off to Germany with my parents and little sister in tow. I had already been emncipated (somewhat) by two years at Michigan State University, where I studied hard, grew my hair out and dumped the double-knits and white walls, smoked a little dope, dropped a little acid, and got turned on to plenty of great music from Les McCann to John Hammond and the early Eagles. I witnessed the ascendance of the Who from wimp R&B wannabees to full fledged rockers with a unique vision and powerful original music.
And when I won a copy of Who's Next from WSAM in 1971, I was hooked..."won't be fooled again", you bet. It was an anthem that spoke to an entire generation, mainstream kids as well as counter culture types. I felt like I was either inbetween or altogether outside of either group - still feel that way, just never fit neatly with anyone. But that didn't stop me from diggin' the music. I did chance upon the Who in Detroit in '71...and I was outta my mind lovin' it. It was an astonshing show that was at once artistically satisfying and carefully staged. But that's another story. My brother was attending Central Michigan University on a football scholarship. Let me tell ya, he was an excellent football player. Strong and fast. It is a little known fact that Bill was the fastest runner (in the 100 yard dash) on the 1968 AHHS Varsity football team. I know 'cos I was also on that team and I saw him beat everybody, including me. Bill was a fullback and linebacker. I was a halfback and nose guard on defense. We were both injured during the Homecoming game that year - Bill's knee got torn up and I suffered a concussion. The injuries were not deemed severe yet they served to limit both our careers to high school. Alas, Bill's knees would not hold up to the demands of college sports, so he cashed in his scholarship and looked for another way. Me too. But in 1972, both of us were having "girlfriend problems" and were soon to end long term relationships...forever.
It wasn't long after Bill enlisted in the Army that he and his gal broke up. I was there at the time, he proposed, she said "no". Bill was shocked. I was devastated, never thought it would happen...never. So I left for Germany under this cloud of uncertainty and I sensed that things would never be the same again.
My father was ecstatic about the trip. White's Bar was in it's last heyday - it would end in the early eighties as Reagan and fundamentalism and the neo-prohibitionists took over and the country became increasingly intolerant and insular - a mean hyper-masculine spirit wiped out our gains in civil liberties and the promise of sixties was lost in the shuffle. Anyway, in '72 White's was was doing quite well. Dad paved the old gravel parking lot and got an outdoor service permit, one of the first in the city of Saginaw. He was active in the Masons and with the Shriners and he had made some profitable business connections through these semi-ancient fraternal organizations. He had plenty of friends and it was a time when you could open your doors and people would come in. No happy hours. No false images. We are what we is, nothing more - nothing less. Customers were loyal except if you raised prices, even nickel...even a penny. But Dad could do all that and more (many quiet charitable contributions) and afford to take his family to Germany. TIMES WAS GOOD...wish I could say the same in 2005. We flew out to New York and spent the day in touristy pursuits - oogling the Statue of Liberty and diggin' the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall or visa versa. We had a big dinner at an Italian restaurant that ended badly when the waiter screamed at my father for not tipping enough. I was taken by surprised by the waiter's outburst and was equally surprised when my Dad camly apologised and gave him a wad of money. Hmmm, I think I learned something valuable that day.
We flew into Frankfurt where Bill met us and helped dad get a rental car. We drove back to his base in Fulda and made plans for the next seven days. We attended the '72 Olympics the day before terrorists besieged the Olympic village in Munich and took an Israeli team hostage, followed by a deadly Israeli response. We saw a perfunctory performance by the USA basketball team as they beat the almost talent-less Australians. We toured the ancient walled-in city of Rothenberg, and doncha know I just had to climb the wall. My parents insisted that we take the Rhine River Cruise and the somewhat muted experience was lifted by a group of young Englishmen on holiday who loved the Kinks...well, I love the Kinks, so we had a nice chat, indeed! I bought a shit-load of German albums in Frankfurt, Fulda, and Munich on base and off base as well. Don't have one of 'em anymore but they were sure unique and cool at the time, especially the Golden Hour of Rory Gallagher, a great Irish bluesman my brother told me about. I particularly loved Messin' with the Kid and Better Get Used To Being (My Used to Be). We even saw Kubrick's iconoclastic movie A Clockwork Orange in Frankfurt. It recieved an angry response from the mostly German audience. The hostility level was so high that I feared something might happen...we just shuffled out wordlessly and distanced ourselves from the mob. This was all cool, all part of an overall experience, but the coup 'd etat was when my brother got us tickets to see the Who. I couldn't contain my excitement, now this was gonna be fun, not like all the stodgy tourist crap...Rhine River ripoff, overblown Olympic hyperbole, and that crumbly walled-in city, no, this was gonna be cool, real cool
The Grugahalle seemed more like a gymnasium with standing room only on the main floor, surrounded above by bleacher seating. We got there early and positioned ourselves close to the stage. PERFECT. The opening act was the pre-Radar Love Golden Earring, an excellent hard rockin' Dutch band led by the soulful Lennonseque vocalist, Barry Hay and completed by a tight rhythm section and some dandy harmonies by the inventive and energetic lead guitarist, George Kooymans. I loved one of their originals, I'm Gonna Send My Pigeons To The Sky - good harmonies and a driving beat reminiscent of the Honeycombs' Have I the Right. Great start. But I wanted the Who and it seemed to take forever for the stage crew to take off and load on, plug-in and test levels. But I didn't care, I was so close to the stage I could almost touch it, that is, until about 15 minutes before the Who took the stage when a group of young Bavarian toughs pushed their way to the front, slapped me and pushed me aside and began to jostle my sister. Well...Bill and I didn't like that at all, but being as though we are outnumbered, and since we are - essentially - righteous, if not cowardly, men, we decided NOT to protect our OR our sisters' honor and to take it on the chin without complaint...or even a whisper. So we grabbed Sandy, and made our way up to the bleachers, stage left. We drew a sigh of relief. We were out of the maelstrom of idiot, random violence - and our seats weren't half bad...
The Who opened up with muscled-up and energetic romp through I Can't Explain, a great opener and despite it's ancient lineage, dating way back to 1965, this updated version had all the energy and excitement of the original. The Who's heavy metal version of Eddie Cochran's Summertime Blues was punked-up, aggressive and loud.
The crowd went wild and the pandemonium seemed to mirror the Who's well-known stage aggression. A handful of songs from their stone masterpiece Who's Next followed in rapid succession. My Wife, though a little rough and choppy in spots, was nonetheless compelling as Entwistle's incredible bass-as-lead-guitar riffing had the audience throbbing and pulsating along. Baba O'Riley was simply breathtaking and it's beauty seemed to mesmerize the audience and it partnered nicely with the lovely and poignant Behind Blue Eyes
Daltrey was in great voice, his range was spot on and he sang with power and conviction. Hell...he just plain out sang his ass off, not in the wimpy, limp wristed I'm A Boy voice but in his newfound hypermasculine manly-man voice that sounds like he's skiddin' across a parking lot covered in gravel. But it was about at this point something seemed to go wrong, trouble was brewing. At the time, I thought someone had broken a bottle or that maybe those young turks who jostled us earlier were up to their old tricks. Anyway, Pete Townshend started pointing and stalking the stage, looking agitated, suddenly he rushes up to the microphone and says,
"I saw what ya dun, you fookin' baah-stards!"
And he throws down his guitar and jumps into the crowd and begins punchin' up and down on this seemingly hapless troublemaker. Security leads him and a few others away and Townshend gets back up onstage and proceeds to LECTURE the audience on some kinda Townshend version of "Rock 'n Roll Etiquette 101". Well we all looked at one another nodded and then voiced our approval with a standing ovation of cheers and clapping....well, the show must go on, musn't it?
Townshend didn't miss a beat. And Daltrey kept movin as if in perpetual motion, running in place and twirling that mic, up to the rafters. Bargain was followed by Won't Get Fooled Again. The crowd was catapulted into near hysteria by the parallel power of the music and it's message.
And the Who?
Well, they never let up or disappointed the audience, not once. Magic Bus, Relay, and Pinball Wizard set the stage for the majestic, See Me, Feel Me, another highlight in a show filled with highlights. My Generation and Naked Eye were well done but the closer Long Live Rock shook the rafters and left us feeling exhilarated, perfectly consumated and complete.
I walked out of the Grugahalle, silent, almost exhausted. It was a mixture of pleasure and foreboding that filled my thoughts. I didn't say much to my brother and sister as we walked back to our Guesthouse but I wondered about the stupid violence of the youthful Germans. It's origins and what it meant. My brother told me that American GI's were not always welcome in certain "forbotten" areas of the cities and countryside, the areas controlled, and watched over, by loyalist Germans who considered thge American presence to be part of an occupation force that continued to limit them and remind them of THEIR lost promise...and their shame. I didn't know it at the time, and I would never have predicted that the disaffection and despair of those German kids would be mirrored in the faces of our own children. And that freedoms that I took for granted in 1972, would one day be eroded.
And after the concert, when returned to our hotel, I had a fitful night. I tossed and turned, rolled over and got up a few times. I barely remember it, but I had a dream that night. And in that dream I saw Alec from A Clockwork Orange and I was overwhelmed by a strange panic and though I was afraid, I looked deep into his eyes, and he gave that wicked cockney smile of his, as if to say "gotcha" - and then a peculiar thing happened, his eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger until they merged and I drifted inside its total nothingness like an asteroid sucked into a black hole. Suddenly I saw myself, only I was Alec, and then I knew...we... we were... the same.
I awoke the next day and met my family downstairs for breakfast. I drank a glass of black curant nectar and ate a slice of bauernbrot and coupla spiced sausages. I felt refreshed and took a long walk around the neighborhood, breathing-in the reaasurring apple scent of the yellow Chamomile flowers. Later that morning we made plans to return to Frankfort. I was looking forward to that...
Peace
Bo White
June 24th, 2005
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