Tommy, who?

I actually have Tommy on record—somewhere. The original two-record set. But for the life of me, I just can’t locate it in my record collection. It’s probably stacked among some other records I haven’t touched in years. What I could dig out, though, were these: the original Tommy on compact disc, a deluxe edition with two discs pressed in Austria, and the expanded Live at Leeds two-CD set, where the whole of Tommy took up the second disc. Not too bad, I suppose, even if I still wish I knew where that record had gone.

By the late ’60s, The Who weren’t just another British band. They had already made a name for themselves with punchy hits like My Generation and Substitute, fuelled by windmill guitars and Keith Moon’s lunatic drumming. But Pete Townshend wasn’t content. He was getting more ambitious—thinking bigger, deeper, weirder. Out of that came the idea for Tommy, which he originally imagined as some sprawling multimedia project inspired by the Indian mystic, Meher Baba. 

At its heart, Tommy tells the story of a boy who goes deaf, dumb and blind after witnessing a traumatic event, and how he somehow turns into a pinball-playing messiah. It sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud, but the music makes it work.

To record this album, the band had to move away from their live energy and hunker down in the studio to make sense of this ambitious concept. Townshend was trying to string together recurring musical themes, play with different styles and still keep the whole thing coherent. 

The album kicked off with Overture, and right away, there was this grand, sweeping soundscape. Themes pop in and out. Then we’re into It’s a Boy and 1921, which lay the groundwork for Tommy’s condition. It’s not standard rock fare here, but The Who kept it grounded with raw emotion and tight playing. Pinball Wizard was the hit of the record. A total blast, with that now-iconic riff and Daltrey sounding like he’s just been handed the secret to eternal youth. The Acid Queen brings in Tina Turner-style madness. And throughout, there was Moon’s manic drumming barely keeping things on the rails, and Entwistle’s bass lines doing their own brilliant thing, often in a different universe from the rest of the band—but somehow it all gels.

There are quieter moments too—Sensation, I’m Free, Welcome—and while not all of them hit as hard, they give the story some breathing room. See Me, Feel Me and Listening to You, which close things off, are absolutely spine-tingling when the band lets loose. If you’ve heard it live on Live at Leeds, you’ll know how powerful it can be. The version there might even top the studio one—it’s raw, stripped of polish, and full of real urgency.

Tommy is not perfect by a long shot. The narrative can be hard to follow, and a few tracks feel like filler in the grander scheme. But the ambition on display is staggering. This wasn’t just a rock album; it was a statement. A rock opera before the term became a cliché. It was The Who saying, “We can do more than just blow up amps and smash guitars.” Crazily enough, they pulled it off. There was enough magic to make Tommy one of the most iconic albums of its time. It paved the way for Quadrophenia a few years later, which many argue is an even better, more mature concept album.

For now, I just need to find that missing vinyl copy. Darn...