![]() Townshend, “ A beggar, a hypocrite, Love Reign o’er me.” is at the mercy of his confessors, what his particular neurosis turns out to be is by common experience, anyone’s guess. Still, 2 out of 3 ain’t bad, and Pete’s Jungian observations afford a grand finale that Franc Roddam conjured into a back alley release for Phil Daniels’s Jimmy Cooper, and Leslie Ash as Steph, long before oikish fuckwit Neil Morrissey was demeaning the late 20th Century male with his designs for her booty. In a moment of confusion, the idea of “ a bloody lunatic, I’ll even carry your bags,” doesn’t seem to fit into Townshend’s somewhat fractured Modtastic jigsaw puzzle, especially given that a still relatively unknown Sting should occupy the celluloid persona of the great one’s inner metronome, a judgemental slip while profiles were assembled on the dusk embambled road back from Brighton. ![]() Keith, dear boy, wasn’t it the most deliciously unsubtle touch, that YOU should carry the bags out, a retreat from usually chucking them across airport runways? Well perhaps not. Laying down a sequence of particular character foibles in honour of the project’s motivational title, Daltrey, the anything but cowardly lion is branded “” A tough guy, a helpless dancer.” Entwistle obviously had a penchant for aligning himself with the meandering emotions of William Wordsworth, while a few floors below him, television sets were sent on recon missions without the assistance of any parachutes, hence he becomes a beaming romantic via the somewhat schizoid pulsations of “Dr.Jimmy”. Instead, cast your attention upon “Quadrophenia”, Townshend’s emotional, sexual, primal, whatever you want to call it mindfuck from some 30 years previously. Not that one should go on any particular *ahem*, “nostalgia” trip, circa 2003. One of the pleasures of being a hypocrite is that Pete Townshend empathises completely.
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