POP MUSIC REVIEW : ‘Tommy’--The Wizardry Still Works

From the first time it was heard more than 20 years ago, the Who’s “Tommy” has divided listeners into two camps: those who admired the rock opera’s ambition and grandeur, and those who scoffed that the very phrase rock opera was a pretentious oxymoron.

But when the Who performed “Tommy” on Tuesday in a high-priced benefit at Radio City Music Hall, even a skeptic had to be heartened at how well Pete Townshend’s improbable hourlong work about an abused deaf, dumb and blind boy who finds transcendence through pinball and revenge has stood the test of time. If it was premature to call “Tommy” a masterpiece then, there’s no reason to withhold that endorsement now.

That “Tommy” works at all is astonishing, considering the spiritual quest its composer was on when he was pulling it together in the late 1960s. Townshend’s inspirations included prayers to the benign guru Meher Baba, numerous LSD trips, and tales of a spiritually perfect race on another planet by one George Adamski. By that measure, “Tommy” should have about as much contemporary appeal as Carlos Castaneda or Wavy Gravy.

Yet there was nothing dated or nostalgic about the “Tommy” delivered Tuesday by the core of the Who--Townshend, singer Roger Daltrey and bassist John Entwistle--supplemented by a dozen other musicians including a horn section and backup vocalists. This mini-orchestra played briskly and sounded well-rehearsed.

(The Los Angeles performance of “Tommy” on Aug. 24 at the Universal Amphitheatre will be a more lavish affair featuring guest turns by Elton John, Robert Plant, Phil Collins and Billy Idol. Tickets, ranging from $75 to $1,500, go on sale July 9 and will benefit charities for abused children and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.)

There was no sign at Radio City of the well-publicized depressive cynicism from the Who’s yin and yang: Daltrey, in T-shirt and jeans, sang with force and delight, while the black-suited Townshend, dressed like a Dodge City undertaker, played with passion. His expression was inscrutable, as if performing “Tommy” was helping him solve some longstanding inner mystery.

The rock opera itself was streamlined: With the 10-minute instrumental filler “Underture” deleted, “Tommy” ran about as long as Def Leppard’s “Hysteria” album. Video screens flanked the stage, and slides that unsuccessfully illustrated parts of the libretto were flashed behind the musicians.

There were a few minor adjustments in the order of the songs: “Pinball Wizard” came before “Do You Think It’s Alright” and “Fiddle About”; “I’m Free” was presented before “Miracle Cure” and “Sensation,” and “Welcome” has been deleted so that “Sensation” goes right into “Tommy’s Holiday Camp” and the climactic “We’re Not Gonna Take It!”

What makes “Tommy” work, though, is not the spiritually tinged tale of struggle and redemption, although the story line came through strongly enough that one felt visceral contempt for Tommy’s tormentor, the sadistic “Cousin Kevin.” More important, Townshend discovered an ingenious way--by subtle repetition of melodic themes and savvy orchestral transitions--of giving a unified structure to some of his finest individual rock songs.

So within the framework of the fast-paced hour came multiple detonations: the propulsive drive of “Christmas” that ends with the elegiac “see me, feel me, touch me, heal me” makes it the least obnoxious spiritually fueled rock song ever written. “I’m Free” resonates as strongly now as a call for liberation as it did a generation ago. “We’re Not Gonna Take It!” with its dramatic chorus, makes one want to take to the barricades.

If there is any emblem, though, of the validity of the songs from “Tommy,” it is “Pinball Wizard.” In the age of Nintendo, the song has even outlived the now-antiquated activity it once celebrated.

Because “Tommy” was so short, the group--which headlines San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium on Aug. 22 and the Los Angeles Coliseum on Aug. 26--played a greatest-hits set for the next hour and a half. The primal stomp of “Can’t Explain” and “Substitute,” among the Who’s earliest songs, had it all over later career dinosaur-gasps such as the insincere-sounding “Join Together With the Band” and the trivial pop of “You Better You Bet.” And a tune from Townshend’s current solo album sounded like a weak Cat Stevens song.

But when Townshend wound up his arm for his trademark windmill strum on “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” all was forgiven.