The Cavern
Rock & Words
WHO'S NEXT (The Who, 1971)
Artist: The Who (B+)
Recording Dates: Apr-Jun ‘71
Release Date: August 14th, 1971. UK
Record Label: Track/Decca
Producer: The Who, Glynn Johns
Rating: 10 (MUST HAVE)
Era: Hard Rock (1968-???)
Subgenre: Hardrock
Best Song: Baba O’RIley, o Won’t Get Fooled Again, o Behind Blue Eyes…
Tracklist: 1) Baba O'Riley; 2) Bargain; 3) Love Ain't For Keeping; 4) My Wife; 5) Song Is Over; 6) Getting In Tune; 7) Going Mobile; 8) Behind Blue Eyes; 9) Won't Get Fooled Again;
Bonus Tracks: 10) Pure And Easy; 11) Baby Don't You Do It; 12) Naked Eye; 13) Water; 14) Too Much Of Anything; 15) I Don't Even Know Myself; 16) Behind Blue Eyes (alternate version).
When the euphoria surrounding Tommy began to fade, leaving The Who as one of the most powerful bands on the planet, Pete Townshend faced a big question: What's next? The most obvious choice would have been another rock opera, right? The only way to top a double concept album was with another double concept album. Wait, what about a double concept album AND LIVE??? Eureka! In fact, not everyone knows this, but that was Pete's logic, and in the fall of 1970 he began to work on an album called Lifehouse, which would be the successor to Tommy.
The point is that the most "logical" option isn't always the best, as we'll see. But before delving into what the Lifehouse would have been, I want to focus on the differences between the Next and the Tommy.
There are still heated debates about which is The Who's best album, adding Quadrophenia to the list, and believe it or not, Sell Out, which has its own small but dedicated fanbase. Everyone has their own personal tastes, and I won't dwell on that, but what's immediately apparent is that Next is the most different of them all. First, it's not a double album; it's just two sides. Second, it's not a concept album (like Sell Out, with its interconnected tracks and the radio station theme, complete with jingles), let alone a rock opera with a backstory and a specific order to the songs that guide the listener through it. No, Next is an album of standalone tracks, free from the pressure of tying them together with a central idea, a pure rock album where each track stands on its own merits, not in relation to the album as a whole.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's simple, but rather that its purpose is very different. Tommy, with all its monumental status, works as a whole. Of course, you can listen to its individual tracks, but they are enhanced as part of the rock opera, they gain greater relevance. To give a crude example, it's like listening to "Carry That Weight" without "Golden Slumbers" and "The End" flanking it. It loses much of its meaning. Tommy is a cult album, but as a whole. Despite its great tracks, there will hardly be more than three songs in the band's top ten for most music lovers. With Next, on the other hand, each song works on its own, and it seems more like a greatest hits compilation (or a CSI soundtrack), with almost universal consensus that it has perhaps the band's three best songs!
That's why I think the album title is no coincidence. What comes after the best rock opera in history??? (Well, it was only the first or second, but you get the idea…) “Next” isn't just a play on words with the band's name, or to match the clever cover; Next literally means, “we've moved past the Tommy stage, let's move on to What's Next.”
The question Townshend poses is no small matter, even if it seems simple at first glance. What's more important? The album as a whole, with songs built around it, or the individual songs as strong, independent pieces that make up a powerful album? The Beatles (Sgt. Pepper's vs. Revolver) and the Beach Boys (Pet Sounds vs. all their singles) had already tentatively explored this question, but I think with Next, being the follow-up to Tommy, the question is posed categorically. Does anyone dare to answer it?
To make it clearer, I'll use a literary allegory. I'm a fan of Julio Cortázar; I don't know if you're familiar with his work. Hopscotch was one of the masterpieces, not only of the Latin American Boom, but of all time. It's a work of art in which each chapter (even if it's only three lines long) contributes to a vast story. But he also wrote short stories, shorter pieces that stand on their own and face the challenge of being much more impactful and polished, because there's nothing to correct them later. Cortázar has the rare quality of being an extraordinary novelist, but also a colossal short story writer. Which is more valuable? A monumental novel or a collection of first-rate short stories, each one a knockout blow? Just like with the album vs. singles dilemma, there's no answer. It may be a personal matter, but I think Townshend's merit was in posing the question, demonstrating the power of the song itself and showing the world (or perhaps himself) that he could not be pigeonholed solely as a "good novelist".
The idea for a new album began to germinate in Townshend's mind in August 1970, after the titanic and exhausting year-long tour for Tommy. Pete gave a few interviews in which he realized that the concept behind Tommy and each song had to be explained too much to be understood. Despite the album's success, the message hadn't been clear and needed to be explained in detail. Therefore, he began to think about another rock opera, more direct, recorded live, or simulated live, in which the audience itself would participate (I imagine something similar to what AC/DC would do on "Thunderstruck"). Well, the idea for Lifehouse began to grow in Pete's mind as a futuristic world, which is why it included the use of innovative synthesizers. The government controls and monitors everything; people dedicate themselves to work and basically live and work without leaving their small cubicles. Music is prohibited by this government, and people are subjected to a kind of virtual reality that has turned them into Twitter-savvy, automaton zombies with hardly any feelings. People work, live, socialize, and have fun without leaving their homes, without direct communication. Sound familiar? A rebel named Bobby (so the resemblance to Tommy wouldn't be so obvious, duh!) manages to broadcast rock music into these homes to awaken the brain-numbing masses, so they begin to develop self-awareness, until Tommy—I mean, Bobby—finds the transcendent chord, which I suppose leads to the people finally rising up against the system. Except for the futuristic idea of the brain-numbing internet, which is astonishing in itself, the rest is a kind of rehash of Tommy, but you have to add the potential lawsuits from George Orwell and Ray Bradbury for making a sort of Fahrenheit 1984.
Around that time, the band suffered a series of setbacks. Kit Lambert, the band's manager and longtime producer, was mired in hard drugs and his contribution to the band was nonexistent. Pete and Keith were beginning to struggle with alcohol, with Townshend developing a particular fondness for brandy under pressure to create something better than Tommy. Entwistle was starting to have marital problems… In January 1971, they bought a complex quadraphonic sound system for use in concert, which they hoped would make the audience more immersed in the project. The equipment cost them around 30,000 pounds. Around that time, Jim Walsh gave Pete a 1957 Gretsch guitar, which he would use for the tour and studio recordings, producing a rawer, crisper sound. In February, they gave their first performance at the Young Vic Theatre, where they also recorded the audience. The tour was a flop. People didn't want to be told where to sing along to lyrics they didn't know. They wanted Tommy, they wanted "My Generation," and they wanted to see instruments smashed to pieces. In April, they would make one last attempt, bringing the Rolling Stones' mobile studio, which they had just finished recording Sticky Fingers in. Pete stormed off, feeling that the others weren't supporting him in the project, until he finally realized that the problem was… the project itself. Pete was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and Daltrey would later admit that they had never been closer to breaking up. Thus, the Lifehouse debacle faded into oblivion. It was time to move on.
After the cancellation of Lifehouse, Pete recovered quickly and decided to capitalize on his creative momentum. Instead of canceling the rental of the Stones' mobile studio, he gathered the band and they went to Stargrooves, Jagger's mansion, as he was packing his bags for France. Kit Lambert was in a catatonic-comatose state, so his usual sound engineer, Glyn Johns, took on the role of producer. This was crucial to the sound, as with a much more trained ear, Glyn focused on achieving perfectly clear and defined sounds, something Lambert had paid little attention to. At Stargrooves, they recorded "Won't Get Fooled Again" almost in one take, and Johns realized that something big was coming, so he suggested moving to Olympic Studios. There, Pete was able to pick up the synthesizers he had been experimenting with for Lifehouse and incorporate them into the new tracks, not as embellishments, but as structural and dominant instruments. Not having a set list to follow gave Townshend absolute creative freedom, and feeling liberated, he unleashed a torrent of songs. For "Baba O'Riley," they invited Nicky Hopkins on piano, and Keith Moon suggested inviting Dave Arbus, a violinist friend, to add something. Miraculously, the gypsy violin arrangement fit perfectly and enhances the coda. John had had a monumental fight with his wife, which inspired him to bring the song "My Wife," one of his best compositions with the band.
The fact that Glyn was the sound engineer is evident in the album's quality and the polish of each track. Kit Lambert, previously, wasn't too concerned with sound definition, focusing more on making his bandmates sound wild and powerful. Johns' more trained ear focused on bringing out the best in each musician, which didn't mean they went crazy throwing in as many notes as possible. If you listen closely, it's the album with the most understated guitar and bass playing up to that point. Townshend was thrilled with his new toys and focused on getting the most out of them. This results in a much smaller guitar presence than on any previous album. So why is it considered one of the best hard rock albums ever? Because it is! The limited guitar presence is barely noticeable because it's so well used. Did you notice that the guitar doesn't come in on "Baba O'Riley" until 2:30? No? Me neither? John's bass is at an extremely high volume, giving it unusual power and creating the illusion of a Power Chord.
Entwistle changed his playing style for this album… in fact, the whole band did. With Glyn's modifications and the addition of synthesizers, the roles in The Who shifted, which is why this album sounds so spectacular. John has incredible speed, using a kind of tapping on the bass that allows him to unleash a barrage of notes, even on different strings, by not plucking them with his right hand, but rather "tapping" them with his fingertips. On most of the albums, this allows him to create melodic lines, for example, in the versions of "My Generation" or "Summertime Blues" from the late 60s, where he's essentially playing a solo. But the "tapping" of the strings also creates a rhythmic function that takes over the drums' role. This allowed Pete to work on denser embellishments through the Power Chords and his famous windmills, and Keith to become an octopus with the drums and cymbals, more as an embellishment than a rhythmic function, taking on a keyboardist role. Entwistle would say in an interview that The Who never really had a bassist. I disagree; they did on Next! With this album, that changes, since there are keyboards. John is once again a bassist, and that's why his lines aren't as spectacular in the first half, but they are devilishly creative and effective. And Keith, at Glyn's request, is more restrained, sounding tremendous when he needs to, but careful not to create the explosions and maintain them constantly. The Who performs here like a traditional band, each member with their role, and being three virtuosos, that makes the album sound pyrotechnic, seemingly without them even trying.
Now, the album is not lacking in guitar or bass, not at all, but rather it is a kind of crescendo where in each song these instruments slowly grow, until closing with two guitar gems, one acoustic and one electric, and where the bass becomes fundamental again as a melodic figure.
For his part, Roger is at his best. I don't know if Glyn's direction had anything to do with it, but here he finally reaches that roar that almost always places him on lists of the best vocalists in history, with an incredibly high register and great command of the mid-tones, sounding both wild and emotive. Daltrey puts on an impressive vocal display, using his voice like another instrument, creating exquisitely crafted melodies and throwing hooks left and right.
The album opens with “Baba O'Riley”. If you've never heard it with headphones, do it now! The intro with the synthesized Lowrey organ is incredible, fluttering from side to side and creating the illusion of a sonic kaleidoscope. Pete would say that the entire synthesized part went through about 3,000 edits. At :45, the piano notes enter, a simple yet powerful three-note sequence that has become part of the collective unconscious. For anyone who doubts Pete's ability to create riffs, this is a great example of his natural talent. Pete wrote it as part of Lifehouse. The title was a tribute to his guru Meher Baba, and Terri Riley, a minimalist composer who inspired him to work on the opening sequence. The song is a gem, a kind of mini rock opera in itself, with multiple parts in just over seven minutes, much more complex than it initially sounds. At 1:20, a spectacular drum roll from Moon kicks in, launching into a barrage of fills. At 1:35, John and Roger join in simultaneously. Notice how the bass is incredibly loud, and as the piano fades into the background, it takes over, simply following the three-note sequence. Daltrey begins with those epic lyrics. What's changed in just two years? What makes him sing so differently, so confidently, so wildly? Then, at 2:35, the power chords kick in with full distortion. Around the three-minute mark, only the sequencer remains, and Peter sings with great emotion the legendary "Don't cry, don't raise your eye, it's only teenage wasteland," almost on the verge of tears. He sings from the perspective of a farmer, someone with a simple life, someone who “doesn’t need to fight to prove he’s right,” and who one day has to grab his family and a few belongings because a wave of people has invaded his property because someone decided to hold a rock festival next door. It would be Townshend’s revenge on Woodstock, which had left him deeply disappointed. At track 4, there’s a brief, sizzling guitar solo, before we move to that historic bridge that gives the song its subtitle: “Tenage wasteland, tenage wasteland! THEY’RE ALL WASTED!” This leads into an instrumental bridge with Keith’s cymbal crashes, another kind of guitar solo from Pete, and that transition to the violin solo, played by Dave Arbus of the prog band East of Eden, which miraculously fits perfectly as a coda, accelerating to a fever pitch for a galloping finale in which he engages in a duet with Moon. Live, Roger would replace that solo with a harmonica. “Baba O'Riley,” also known as “Teenage Wasteland” because of its chorus, is, according to many (myself included), The Who's best song. Unlike anything they had done or would do, it features a meticulously crafted synthesizer that sends shivers down your spine from the very first note, hinting at what's to come, and a simple riff, just three notes long, yet catchy and powerful. The band doesn't go wild (perhaps Keith does at times), but rather sounds more mature, taking more time, meticulously assembling this musical puzzle that leaves us with the feeling of having heard seven of the most majestic minutes in rock.
With “Bargain”, Pete returns to mysticism, using phrases from his mentor Meher Baba: “I’d gladly lose me to find you, I’d gladly give up all I had, to find you I’d suffer anything and be glad.” It’s a kind of “My Sweet Lord” by The Who, speaking of renouncing everything for love—not of a woman, but of God or enlightenment—and therefore considers it “a bargain.” The song begins with warm acoustic guitar riffs and harmonic interplay that give the false impression of a ballad. Keith shatters this illusion at the 12-minute mark with a brutal drum roll, ushering in the true, more violent and savage song. Townshend’s Gretsch roars in an exquisite dialogue with Roger, vying to see who can sound the most powerful. At 1:45, there's a hint of a guitar solo, but instead, the song slows down for a minimalist bridge, featuring an arpeggio and a nice bass flourish, while Roger sings almost devoutly: “I look at my face in the mirror, I know I'm worth nothing without you, And like one and one don't make two.” Then the band launches back into action with the verses and complex instrumentation. Keith is back on full throttle, unleashing powerful drumming, but something has definitely changed; he sounds more polished and focused, or is it just the equalization? Towards the end, we get another synthesizer, and those fiery guitar riffs, with the whole band going wild for the coda before the calm, acoustic closing. Another killer track from the band.
Next up is “Love Ain't For Keeping”, a shorter track, just over two minutes long, much bluesier, and one of the few without a synthesizer. It's a light and bright song, with very Beatlesque backing vocals and John and Pete creating wonderful harmonies. Pete's acoustic arrangements are excellent, with fine guitar solos and great riffs. This is one of the tracks where we can hear Keith more restrained and controlled, using a more basic Ludwig drum kit than the Premier he usually plays. The song was part of the Liefhouse project, which might explain its brevity. Although it's good, it feels like they could have worked on it more to create an epic track. A longer electric version would be released on Odds and Sods.
Next up is John's song, sung by himself, "My Wife". Entwistle not only wrote, sang, and played bass, but also piano and horns. John wrote it after an argument with his wife, and in the song, he caricatures the situation by telling the story of a guy who gets incredibly drunk and is arrested, spending several days away from home. Now he's terrified to return because his wife will surely think he ran off with another woman, so he humorously narrates all the schemes he can think of to escape and be safe. I love the song, with its carefree vibe, intelligently witty lyrics, Pete's free rein to unleash his guitar, Keith's restraint but still adding intensity with drum rolls and cymbal crashes, the simple bass line, and the playful piano figure. But what makes it all work are the horns, which have a distant and majestic Moroccan and psychedelic feel that would have fascinated Brian Jones. I love that ending with John shouting "She's coming" as everything fades away. One of Entwistle's best contributions.
A drastic change comes with “Song is Over”, which I initially hated. It's not that it's my favorite Who song now, but it has grown on me. It begins with a beautiful piano arrangement by Nicky Hopkins, with Townshend singing the verses in his bittersweet voice, and exploding with fury alongside Daltrey's savage roar and the spacey synthesizers in the background. In these parts, Entwistle returns to that thing he does with his fingers, machine-gunning notes and playing the lead guitar role, while Moon goes completely wild for a few moments. I think the synthesizer in this case is what gives it a rough finish and feels superfluous. The song is simple; it's really just two repeated tones with varying intensities, and there's a certain glam vibe in the sections sung by Roger…
We continue with “Getting in Tune”, which maintains the structure of the previous track in that it begins with a charming piano intro (also by Hopkins) with a ballad-like feel, and then ignites and explodes into a powerful, kick-ass rocker. But this time it works much better, with Daltrey carrying all the lead vocals and Pete providing harmonies. Originally intended for Lifehouse, as part of the search for the universal chord, it speaks in a way from the perspective of the rock star who doesn't have much to say, is uninspired, but is in tune and manages to create a song even without lyrics. There are many who could relate. The structure and sequence of tones are very simple, but what makes it magnificent is the complex shift in rhythms, from a minimalist beginning with pure piano, changing tempos frequently, not necessarily in a crescendo, but sometimes slowing down again, or suddenly increasing, until it ends with a volcanic explosion. Daltrey delivers a colossal vocal performance, managing to maintain that roar almost constantly. It ends almost like a jam, but with great craftsmanship. Here the band begins to take on their usual roles, with Pete focusing on the guitar in an almost rhythmic way, while Entwistle takes over the melodic role of delivering a masterclass in guitar lines on this track. This one also lacks a synthesizer.
With “Going Mobile”, we reach another of the album's light and carefree moments. The track begins with an acoustic foundation, somewhere between blues and country, with Keith attacking his snare drum and crashes with force. Pete again takes the lead vocals, with a playful melody. We know it's him because by this point, Roger's voice has a raspy, wild quality, while Pete, despite using almost the same tone and inflections, has a very clean voice. The song is simple and cheerful, with that acoustic riff repeating over and over, but around the two-minute mark, the guitar solo begins, sounding like a bubbling wah pedal. This effect is achieved by processing it through a synthesizer. John sounds fluid and fast, with the main riff as the song's structural foundation, effective the few times he deviates from it. This was going to be another song from Lifehouse, when the protagonist decides to live in a camper van and hit the road, finding it impossible to continue in the city due to the pollution.
Now comes the climactic part of the album. “Behind Blue Eyes” is one of the most beautiful songs ever made, proving that they don't need high decibels to be powerful and sound majestic, at least in the first part. It was originally part of Lifehouse, sung from the perspective of the film's villain, Jumbo. Pete then considered releasing it as a single, as it didn't quite fit the context of Next, but they ultimately decided to include it on the album. It's recorded with a triple vocal harmony by Daltrey, Townshend, and Entwistle. A gorgeous arpeggio opens the song, with the bass joining in at :35 for the chorus, creating great melodic lines that guide and add depth to the music. At 1:15, for the second verse, they use overdubs that create a heavenly chorus, comparable to The Beatles' “Because.” The chorus is catchy and devastating at the same time. The song explodes at 2:20, when Pete unleashes a fierce, rock 'n' roll lick, and Keith joins in with a galloping beat, punctuating each measure with rapid fills on the toms. His biographer, Dave Marsh, would say this is the longest Moon could stay still. At 3:05 come the characteristic Power Chords, loaded with distortion and tremolo, which seem to hang in suspense before returning to the arpeggios for one last run, leaving the song title hanging in the air… It's incredible that it's only 3:35. The lyrics are out of this world, perhaps the best villain lyrics ever written. They reflect a very peculiar inner state of Pete's. He wrote the song in '70, after a concert, when a groupie tried to go back to his room with him, and he stoically resisted, due to the Hindu beliefs he was experiencing at the time. Upon arriving in his room, the first verse he wrote was “When my fist clenches, crack it open…,” the line that opens the electric and climactic section of the song. The lyrics reflect that confusing state of being proud, yet knowing he hurt someone by rejecting her: “No one knows what it’s like, To be the bad man, To be the sad man, Behind blue eyes.” It also reflects the loneliness he felt, offering nuances of hope by combining it with an inner search: “But my dreams, They aren’t as empty, As my conscience seems to be.” Daltrey manages to embody the feeling and sings as if he feels every emotion, every word, giving you goosebumps. It’s one of those pinnacle rock songs that you can listen to a trillion times without getting tired of it, and it would become one of the band’s most emblematic tracks. Shame on you, Limp Biskit!
The original album closes with “Won't Get Fooled Again”, another of The Who's greatest favorite tracks. I can't listen to it without picturing Roger in his tight-fitting striped shirt, his long hair, and his curious little dance while singing it, while Pete, in his brown shirt and with his Gretsch guitar, leaps all over the stage for eight orgasmic minutes. It would be the closing track of Lifehouse, representing the triumph of the revolution and how it usually becomes corrupted immediately: “And the world looks just the same, And history ain't changed, 'Cause the banners, they are flown in the next war.” The song begins with the same formula as “Baba,” with a synthesizer that isn't as complex, but we immediately know what's coming. The intro is shorter; at :30, we get the Power Chords that build that monumental riff of just two notes. We get into rhythm, with Keith again doing pyrotechnic rather than rhythmic functions, and Entwistle doing gigantic lines, especially in the chorus, where he runs his whole arm through scales. Daltre sounds massive, with mid-range tones that rise at times, seemingly not demanding too much of him, yet still sounding imposing and furious. Then comes that part where he drops, “Then I'll get on my knees and pray…” creating a kind of suspense before roaring, “We won't get fooled again, no, no!” After the chorus, there's an instrumental bridge where the synthesizer returns, and around the 4-minute mark, the guitar solo kicks in, sparks flying, and Keith is massacring his drums. The band definitely sounds wilder than ever, culminating in one of the most incredible moments in rock with Roger's roar at 4:30. Pete takes the opportunity to launch incisive criticisms of the government and political parties, which are ultimately the same: “And the slogans are replaced, by-the-bye, and the parting on the left, are now parting on the right, and the beards have all grown longer overnight…” The coda is a continuous orgasm, with everyone playing solos and fading away. Slowly, until the Power Chords once again unleash the ethereal synthesizer sequence dancing from earbud to ear, culminating in an incredible solo from Keith that propels the song forward, a shout from Roger, “YEAAAAAAH!” and Pete having the last word on the song: “PA BAAAAAAAAMMMMM!”. What a closing track, what a song, what an album.
Reissues from 1995 onwards include bonus tracks of outtakes that didn't make it onto the original album.
“Pure And Easy” is a cheerful track, with a synthesizer background and beautiful melodies and vocal harmonies. It was one of the key tracks on Lifehouse and had already been recorded, but Pete felt it didn't fit the overall mood of Next and it was left off. A shame, because it's a high-quality song, and perhaps it had the potential to become another classic, with great guitar work and vocals.
“Baby Don't You Do It” is a rocker that is more reminiscent of the band's Mod era, sounding almost like the mid-60s, except for Roger's wiser voice and the much sharper guitar, but it is somewhat repetitive.
“Naked Eye” is another standout track from the outtakes, and it's a shame it didn't make the final cut. It features a lengthy intro where Roger practically recites over an arpeggio, but after a minute the band kicks in with a powerful riff, and the song steadily builds in intensity. John delivers another one of those legendary lines, and the band builds a rollercoaster of energy over the course of five and a half minutes, raising and lowering the intensity at will.
“Water” I suppose is another outtake from Lifehouse, although it seems to fit better on Tommy. It's also a bit repetitive, although Roger always makes me smile with that line, “Give me some water, and maybe somebody's daughter!” Great instrumental work, by the way.
“Too Much Of Anything” is a beautiful acoustic ballad, with a touch of country, and a slightly more subdued feel. It has a lovely melody and a standout piano performance by Hopkins, but it doesn't quite leave you breathless.
“I Don’t Even Know Myself” opens with a harmonica and steel guitar. Keith’s performance is outstanding (though it still feels somewhat restrained). The chorus is pure country, featuring an acoustic guitar and a parlor piano, with three-part vocal harmonies.
Finally, there's an alternate version of "Behind Blue Eyes". It's more subdued, with a synthesizer in the chorus. The original version is definitely much better than this one, so it doesn't add much.
These outtakes give an idea of the constraints of making everything revolve around a central idea, of forcing a certain coherence, not only in the lyrics, but even in the tones or moods of the songs. It's devilishly difficult to do what they did on Tommy or would do on Quadrophenia, but tracks like this show that in concept albums you have the opportunity to make mistakes. On albums of individual songs, you don't, or you can rarely forgive a major error in order to achieve iconic status on a great album.
Next is undoubtedly one of the 10 best albums of the 70s, featuring at least three of The Who's finest tracks. On this album, the band focuses on the songs themselves, their instruments, and their individual roles, resulting in nine absolute gems. The fact that it wasn't a rock opera was circumstantial, but ultimately better, and perhaps even riskier. With Next, The Who cemented their status as one of the most powerful bands of the early 70s, challenging Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones for the crown. The question Townshend poses with this album remains open.
An absolute must-have.
By Corvan
May/1/2015
