Tales from the Electric Shaman

The Who.
Always adored Roger and Johnny Entwistle, Keith of course was like a mischievous, precocious child: a wild eyed trickster character constantly stirring the creative and psycho-dynamic broth.

Townshend had a peculiar charm, definitely an acquired taste. He could be somewhat difficult and earnest, often bordering on what might be called 'pretentious' by the more uncharitable of critics.

I remember that evening in the Railway Tavern in '64 when Townshend first smashed his guitar. Myself and some curious 'colleagues' from the Slade (where I was in the final year of a fine art degree) had decided to pop down for something of a boys night out.

We all noticed how jittery, restless and angular the guitarist looked; the big nose, the Rickenbacker, the slashing chord strokes - we all guessed he was high on Benzedrine.

Anyway, there was this absolute deliciously hilarious moment where, in his manifest excitement, the poor man (or should I say boy) rammed the headstock of his guitar through the low ceiling.

Well, the entire room erupted, and I - well sauced by now and full of youthful pepper - shouted over the throng, "Go on you yahoo, smash the fucking thing up, it'll sound better than the other racket we've had to endure for the last hour - just call it Auto-destructive art!"

Well, to my utter astonishment, Townshend appeared to pause for a moment, his eyes searched me out through the crowd...and then, shaking his head as if awakening from a daze, he began to beat the shit out of that once beautiful instrument.

The noise was atrocious, like a little dog being mounted by a a stallion, but the crowd appeared to lap it up, they were almost hysterical as were my friends. I on the other hand, felt a certain apprehension, some kind of cosmic shift, like I was witnessing a shamanic ritual, the effects of which would be felt for generations.

Music had suddenly become primitive and dangerous, edgy, and dare I say it...'sexy'.
I recall mentioning the incident to Pete a few years later when we were jamming together after a gig,"Oh that was YOU was it!" he exclaimed, "Cheers mate, got any other ideas?"

At which point I showed him a particularly complex strumming progression involving suspended major 4th chords, which I firmly believe (know) became the signature riff to 'Pinball Wizard'. Well, we all have to do our bit for counter-cultural development eh! I'm not bitter at all: I'm a facilitator, a catalyst, a Hierophant and an avatar for the holy spirit of rock 'n roll.
Modesty has never been a virtue in my book I'm afraid.

I've had many similar experiences to this over the years, I was in the right place at the right time as they say. Or to be more truthful, I believe I was propelled by certain circumstances and synchronicity's whereby mythological archetypes were at work. I am something of an electric shaman.

Another good tale was the Syd Barrett incident at The UFO in '67 when some hippy chick spilled vodka on the kaleidoscopic oscillating filters and Syd claimed he's finally seen the light.
Poor Syd, some shamans are burnt by their own fire.

Anyway, another tale for another time. To bed.