Page 25 - the NOISE May 2013

“Hope I die before I get old.” — Pete Townshend, “My Generation” (1965)
Cook produced a weak smile.
“Which one o’ye called that old sot Bill Grun-
dy a f*cking rotter on TV?” “I did,” Jones said proudly. “That was great.”
“‘e started it.”
Stamp joined their group and eased Pete’s drink into his hand.
“Thank you, Chris. Cheers. Now, where was I ...” Townshend picked up his harangue where he left off. He raved on and on about how the punks were the true heirs of what The Who had started and how his generation was tired and
pathetic and old and should pack it in.
He went into great detail on The Who’s per-
sonal problems. He related the incident where Daltrey, with one punch, had knocked Pete out cold and sent him to the hospital with tempo- rary amnesia on the night before the mam- moth Quadrophenia tour kicked off. He said the group would probably stop performing live since Keith Moon’s physical condition was so bad he could no longer keep time onstage. Cook interrupted his reverie.
“Yer not going to break up, are ye?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because The Who is our favorite band. Right,
Steve?”
The guitarist nodded agreement. Townsh-
end was aghast.
“Yer joking. I thought you punks were about
tearing down the Old Guard and all that?” “Well ... yeh, but you guys are different. When
the Pistols first started, we used to do ‘Substi- tute.’”
“Sure, I bet’cha pissed all over it!”
“No, not like that. For real. It was the only song we could all play that Johnny knew the words to. We love The Who, honestly.”
Townshend was disappointed and flattered at the same time, not unusual for him. A fresh drink had somehow appeared in his hand. His pontificating continued while the younger men sat and watched one of their heroes un- ravel. At one point, he narrowed his eyes at Cook and Jones.
“Are ye all mates?”
“Wot d’ye mean?”
“The Sex Pistols, are ye mates?”
The two looked at each other. “Me and Jonesy are.”
“Not Rotten?”
They glanced at each other again.
“No, John does ‘is own thing. And ‘e just re-
placed our bassist with one of ‘IS mates.”
Tommy
“I read that. What’s ‘is name? Sid Vile?”
“Sid Vicious. F*cker can’t play a note. Looks good, though.”
“But you two, you and ‘im are mates?” “Yeh, definitely. Why?”
In response, Townshend removed the cheque from his pocket and showed it to them. When the punks saw the amount inscribed, their mouths fell open.
“Holy sh*t!”
“Looks like yer buyin’ the next round, old man!”
The look on Townshend’s face was dead seri- ous.
“Y’see this? This is how much they’ll give ye to sell out yer mates.”
And in front of Paul Cook, Steve Jones, Chris Stamp, and the rest of The Speakeasy’s clientele, Pete Townshend theatrically tore the cheque up. He threw the pieces on the floor, cursed and spat and stomped on them. Stamp was as- tonished. Cook and Jones were impressed.
“F*ckin’‘ell Pete, you ARE a punk! Can ye play the bass?”
Townshend continued his rant. Fists met fac- es and pint mugs were shattered. His bender went on through the night and into a blackout.
Townshend awoke to something poking his ribs.
“Rise and shine, love!”
He opened his eyes to blinding sunlight,
then shut them quickly. His ribs were poked a second time.
“I said rise and shine, darling! Come on now!” Annoyed, Pete shaded his eyes and opened them a thin slit. He saw a Soho policeman
about to poke him again with his truncheon. The two men recognized each other.
“Well, well! If it isn’t Sir Pete, Duke of Townsh- end! ‘ow is his Lordship this fine day?”
Pete groaned. His head was killing him and he was in no mood for jocular banter.
“What are ye doin’ in me bedroom?”
The bobby laughed heartily. “Ring, ring! This is the front desk with yer wake-up call, sweet’art! Let’s go, up up or you’ll miss the gig! Royal command performance! I ‘ear the Queen
Mother’s a big Tommy fan!”
Pete slowly realized he wasn’t in his house.
He opened his eyes fully and found he was ly- ing on the sidewalk in a shop doorway. Pedes- trians stared at him as they passed.
“Oh, bollocks.”
“Couldn’t ‘ave put it better meself. Well then, Saint Peter, I’m feeling magnanimous this
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