The Who: Who’s Next : Life House (Super Deluxe) Album Review

The detailed liner notes chronicle every painful step and misstep trying to manifest Townshend’s sci-fi dreamworld, accompanied by recordings that reinforce the story. When you listen to the first attempt to record the Life House songs in New York with manager Kit Lambert and compare them to the second attempt with producer Glyn Johns in London, it’s clear why Townshend called off the New York sessions after a week and called in Johns, his friend and the producer of the hour, to start all over again. Johns helped them sort through all of the Life House material and crucially, convinced Townshend that the project should be pared down to a single album for commercial reasons. Whether or not you agree with that decision, the difference in sonic clarity and energy between the Olympic tapes and the ones in New York is remarkable: It’s not hyperbole to suggest that music history would have been much different had this decision not been made.

Cutting the record to a single disc meant that some of the best songs didn’t make it onto the album. Fan favorites like “Pure and Easy,” “The Seeker,” “Naked Eye,” and “Let’s See Action” were setlist regulars for decades and could have survived without being part of a storyline. Their absence makes one contemplate why Who’s Next included bassist John Entwistle’s “My Wife,” a banal lament about domestic life, or “Love Ain’t For Keeping,” a flimsy treatise on relationships, over these gems that are among the band’s best work in this era—or any other, for that matter. On the other hand, it’s clear why other demos, such as “Greyhound Girl” and “Mary,” didn’t make the cut; they’re gorgeous but they’re too intrinsically linked to the storyline.

Another vital element of this set is the opportunity to explore Townshend’s original demos. The demo of “Baba O’Riley” sits in opposition to the heart-stopping anthem that ultimately opened the album. As Roger Daltrey delivers it, “Baba” is larger than life; in contrast, the demo is a ballad, plaintive and searching, on the edge of desperation but full of hope. The dominating instrumentation is piano with a sharp undercutting guitar melody line full of the kind of angular attack that could only be Townshend. Hearing the evolution of the songs and the insight into Townshend’s intricate process is a sharp contrast with the power and immediacy of the Who, which was loud, sweaty, and overwhelming. But the members were always so locked together it felt like magic.

The transformation of the new material is illustrated by the two live recordings from 1971. The impromptu show, recorded at the Young Vic during the recording of the album, is more like expanded rehearsal in front of a live audience. The other performance is from the second night of a stand at San Francisco’s Civic Auditorium, which rumbles and vibrates with more power and confidence. The Who’s Next songs aren’t so new anymore, and although Tommy gets more space on the setlist, “Baba O’Riley” still gives you goosebumps, and there’s a moment in “Naked Eye,” after Daltrey finishes the first verse, when the guitars and Keith Moon’s drums exquisitely crash into each other, and you’ll wish they’d figured out how to get it on the album. Everlasting quibbles like these may shed some light on why Townshend still considers Who’s Next to have been a “compromise album,” compared to his original concept. And with this massive investigation into the project, you get the sense that he could finally quell his endless devotion to revisiting it—but don’t bet on it.