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I’m sure he was shellshocked for the rest of his life.” The men of his father’s generation, Daltrey writes, were “knackered”: “They were strangers in their own homes. … My dad just wanted quiet and that never changed. …” Daltrey’s father did come home: “He was a gentle man, but kind of empty. “Captain Walker didn’t come home / His unborn child will never know him. Kibblewhite” begins where the Who’s rock opera “Tommy” begins: in grayness, in the muffled trauma of post-World War II England.
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“Empathy, that’s the root of it all,” he writes at the end of his book. Kibblewhite”: the long arc of life-learning whereby a working-class brawler, a delinquent tea boy in a sheet metal factory, discovers within himself the psychic-emotional circuitry to conduct some of the rarest electricity in rock ’n’ roll. So this is the hero’s journey of “Thanks a Lot, Mr. Vibrations by Townshend, fibers by Daltrey. And yet, without Daltrey’s prowess and powers of interpretation, his nervous capacity, no Who.
ROGER DALTREY BOOK SIGNING MOD
Is he a frontman or a sideman? He’s written virtually no Who lyrics, composed virtually no Who music, and in his various Who phases - long-jawed hard-nut mod sneerer, psychedelic crooner/teaser, bare-chested super-rock blusterer - he has essentially enacted the visions and mood swings of the band’s prodigious guitarist and songwriter, Pete Townshend. Same thing, at this distance.ĭaltrey has been singing for the Who since 1964.
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Sixty years later, with the title of his new memoir, Daltrey offers a tip of the hat. Kibblewhite, nemesis-like, as he expels 15-year-old Roger Daltrey from Acton County Grammar in West London. “You’ll never make anything of your life, Daltrey,” promises Mr. God bless the evil headmasters: the deformers, the belittlers, the squashers of dreams, the ones who leave their oppressed subjects in such a condition of churning anonymous rage that the only possible remedy, post-school, is greatness. KIBBLEWHITE My Story By Roger Daltrey Illustrated.