As a working day in the life of a seventeen year-old employed in a shop selling motor vehicle components, Thursday 7 September 1978 is unlikely to have been much different to the day before – and except in bringing the weekend ever closer, would have been much the same as the Friday set to follow.
All this time later I have no recollection what my mum had cooked the family for our evening meal, but before going out to football training it is safe to assume I would have played at least one side of the recently-released ‘Who Are You‘ album by my favourite rock band The Who – of whom I had become an avid follower during the previous three years.
Due to the onset of autumn, daylight had all but disappeared by eight o’clock and about an hour later I had returned home where an episode of the detective drama ‘The Sweeney‘ was about to start (entitled ‘Messenger of the Gods‘ it is best remembered for having veteran actress Diana Dors, playing the irascible ‘Mrs Rix‘ in the cast).
Making the assumption my mum, younger sister and brother had all gone to bed, I remember being alone in the living room when the headlines of ‘News at Ten‘ were being announced.
The first was in relation to UK Prime Minister Jim Callaghan declaring there was not going to be a General Election that autumn, but it was the last announcement that sent my head and everything around me into a spin:
‘Keith Moon, wild man drummer with rock band The Who, is dead.‘
Unsure, or more likely unwilling, to believe what I had just heard, the terrible news was indeed confirmed around twenty minutes later – the sketchy details thus far of his death spoken over a two minute clip of The Who playing ‘Join Together‘ in a television studio about five years before.
After the programme ended I sat in melancholic silence until hearing the front door open and close, my dad entering the living room a few seconds later to see who was still up.
‘Hello son,’ he said, but quickly recognising how upset I must have looked, added, ‘you alright? You look a bit down in the dumps.’
‘Keith Moon’s dead,’ I replied, the words catching in my throat.
‘Oh son, I’m so sorry.’
I remember my dad walking across the room which for some reason compelled me to stand up and instinctively we embraced, something we had not done in years – not due in any way to a lack of affection, simply because it was still a time when grown and growing men were unlikely to do that sort of thing, no matter how close they were.
‘I know what it’s like to lose one of your idols,’ said dad, retaining a physical connection by keeping his hand on my shoulder. ‘I remember how I felt the night Nat ‘King’ Cole died.’
Cutting a sombre figure in going up to bed, on not being able to sleep put my radio on quietly so as not to wake my brother – only to hear, the moment I clicked the switch, Roger Daltrey singing the ‘Pure and Easy‘ refrain at the end of ‘The Song Is Over‘. The track that closes side one of ‘Who’s Next,’ it is propelled to a rousing conclusion by drumming from Keith Moon that is extraordinary even by his standards.
It was then the tears came forth – genuine tears borne of sorrow and hurt, admittedly for a man I had never met, but someone who had clearly touched my young life. The only time I can recall crying that much up until then was on not wanting to release my mum’s hand the first time I attended nursery school – my life proceeding in a stable and contented manner from that day to the moment I heard poor Keith had passed away.
With the fortieth anniversary of his death upon us I have come to realise why it affected me in such a way. Up until then nobody in my family, who I could actually remember, had ever died so I looked upon them as a solid unit and to some extent saw The Who in the same way – of the 60s bands who had caught my interest, they were not only still together but the one comprising their original line-up.
Yet with Keith dying that identity and continuity came to an end, creating eras of before and after him (the loss of John Entwistle in 2002 was also hard to bear, but The Who had come and gone in various incarnations between 1979 and then).
It would have been a rare day back in 1978, prior to Keith dying anyway, when I didn’t listen to a Who album, although by then my tastes were becoming more divergent, the likes of The Clash, Elvis Costello and Bruce Springsteen having already gained my admiration.
As time went by and my outlook continued to broaden, I found myself listening to The Who less and less (retaining a celebratory instinct when occasionally going back to ‘Who’s Next‘ or ‘Quadrophenia‘). Seeing them with Keith in 1975 and 1976, I continued to follow The Who as a live band, attending numerous shows in the past forty years – and while some nights have been better than others, the great performances are truly remarkable.
On such occasions one aspect missing from the halcyon days with Keith are pronouncements from behind the drums – hearing his affectionate, verbal jousts with Pete Townshend on the re-issued editions of ‘Live at Leeds,’ and in particular a 1969 show at the London Coliseum are an absolute delight and show just how off-the-cuff hilarious both could be.
As for Townshend stating in a 2013 documentary about the making of the ‘Quadrophenia‘ album, ‘in my opinion Keith wasn’t a very good drummer,’ that is the sort of mischievous, provocative remark he is renowned for – naturally Pete has contradicted himself on the subject of Keith’s drumming both before and since.
Drummer extraordinaire, madcap creator of mayhem, there are plenty of good reasons to celebrate the thirty two year life of Keith Moon. Without doubt he was the most flamboyant, expressive player ever to pick up a pair of drumsticks – others are welcome to jostle for the title of ‘greatest rock drummer of all time,’ but nobody else has played with the same panache or been so downright enjoyable to watch.
Even for all the time he spent at the centre of unruly behaviour and however chaotic his life, there is usually a sense of Keith always trying to keep himself and those around him joyously entertained.
In remembering Keith it is not just sombre to reflect that he has now been dead far longer than he was alive, but on a personal note I have a niece and son who have already outlived him.
It remains, however, nigh-on impossible not to smile or gaze in admiration at footage of Keith in full flow, his propulsive power driving The Who into a stratosphere as a live band only they could inhabit.
So today, being the fortieth anniversary of his passing, seems as good a day as any to marvel again at his thunderous drum rolls or the wondrous crash of his cymbals.
As for me, tonight I am going to watch The Sweeney episode ‘Messenger of the Gods‘ and when it finishes will raise a glass to Keith – then play ‘Live at Leeds‘, very, very loud.
In ending this article, when first written I made reference to hugging my dad when we saw each other the following week. Sadly we lost him early last year so I am hoping in some faraway cosmos tonight Keith will do that for me.
This article was first published on 7/9/2018.
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Being the noted Who-aficionado that he was, this is an opportune moment to pay tribute to the esteemed rock writer Roy Carr who sadly passed away in July.
When I first became an avid subscriber to the New Musical Express in the mid-70s I was enthralled by his writings first on David Bowie, the Rolling Stones and then Bruce Springsteen – before going on to discover nobody wrote about The Who with the same authority or expertise.
His sleeve notes to the Rolling Stones ‘Rolled Gold‘ compilation album are quite simply a masterpiece, but a year later (1976) he excelled even those with what he wrote for ‘The Story of The Who‘ double LP.
Without doubt the finest essay ever written about any rock band, over forty years later the words still resonate with a simple, yet glorious clarity, the final two paragraphs reading thus:
‘But perhaps the answer is quite simple: no one flays guitar quite like Pete Townshend; no one sings quite like Roger Daltrey; no one can anchor a group quite like John Entwistle and no one can dump his drums quite like Keith Moon. The truth cannot be denied, though many have tried no one can play rock ‘n’ roll quite like The Who.’
Great band, great words, great writer. Thanks for the inspiration Roy – you and your wonderful writing will not be forgotten.
This tribute was originally published in September 2019.
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NEIL SAMBROOK is the author of ‘MONTY’S DOUBLE’ – an acclaimed thriller now available in paperback and as an Amazon Kindle book.
