The Who. The I O W 1970 From, Kenny Dentons" There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll" Stories From My 45 Years in The Music Industry.

t was around 2 am, when The Who finally took to the stage but within three or four minutes of the opening song there was a problem. Vic shouted out to me that Keith Moon had hit the large tom-tom mic with his drum stick and busted it. He told me to get up on stage and put another mic on the drum pronto. I ran to the backstage entrance to find it guarded by several large and rather frightening looking Hells Angels. One of them, a six-foot longhaired ape of a man covered in leather and tattoos said to me, “No one goes on stage while the band’s playing.” I explained the problem we had on stage but unfortunately it appeared that this was not negotiable. I rushed back to tell Vic that I couldn’t get onto the stage due to the primate situation, he yelled, “I don’t give a shit! Get on the stage and get a mic on that tom.” I rushed to the back of the stage again to be greeted by the same mandrill who gave me the same grunts as before, enhanced with a “Now fuck off.” I ran back to explain to Vic there was no way I could get on the stage. 42 I was to become close friends with Vic over the next 19 years and this would be one of the few times I would ever see him really angry or hear him raise his voice. He screamed, “Go back and tell that fucking ape the recording is going to be fucked, he will be personally responsible and the band will be furious with him.” Returning to the stage once again, this time equipped with Vic's precise instructions, I repeated them word for word. I tactfully omitted the reference to the guy's heritage. Thankfully, this approach proved effective and I was promptly granted access. As I reached the stage, The band was in the midst of an energetic performance, unleashing such a powerful surge of noise that made it impossible to discern the actual song they were playing, the stage reverberated as though a minor earthquake were underway. The band's outlines were all I could see as they were illuminated from the front by intensely brilliant white lights, while the audience remained obscured in the darkness beyond. I was fully aware there was the looming presence of over 600,000 individuals that lay beyond this blinding radiance. At this moment, a paralysis overcame my entire body, it suddenly dawned on me that there was no way I could just casually stroll on to the stage, in front of such an enormous audience, locate a spare microphone and replace the broken one - especially while Moon was in the midst of his somewhat dynamic performance. Given Moon's well-known reputation, there was a real chance that he might stop playing midway through a song and tell me to fuck off. Recognising the potential scenario, I was left with only one viable choice: to delegate this task to someone else. Looking around for a likely victim I spotted Neville nearby. I approached the prime candidate and bellowed into his ear that Vic had dispatched me to instruct him to replace the microphone. Nev's expression instantly changed, his face registering a mixture of astonishment and trepidation, likely fuelled by his awareness of Moon's unpredictable behaviour. It was apparent that he was undergoing the same rush of terror that had engulfed me - it seemed that Neville may have required a change of underpants. Nev began to conjure up various excuses, but I was resolute in conveying Vic's insistence that the task needed immediate attention. We looked over and sure enough, the Neumann U67 microphone head had been shattered and lay on the ground. As I stood by, Nev, with evident nervousness, navigated around the drum kit on his hands and knees. Displaying remarkable courage, he picked up the fractured microphone head and proceeded to attach a replacement head to the remaining body. With the mission accomplished, I swiftly returned to Vic, carefully omitting the specifics of Nev's involvement.