Most people tend to regard guitarist and songwriter Pete Townshend as the extremely intelligent, literate, and pretentious guitarist/genius behind The Who--a mostly accurate description. The mastermind behind Who's Next, Quadrophenia, Tommy, and My Generation spent most of his musical career controlling the fortunes of The Who. As he progressed and The Who entered a downward spiral (Keith Moon's death, the weaker 80s material), Pete turned toward solo efforts to satisfy his muse to write, sing and play. Though Pete always fell to the second-tier spot in The Who behind Roger Daltrey (well, duh), his vocals are an integral part of The Who's sound; as the liner notes to Pete's double-disc best-of Gold conclude, "If The Who was his pulpit, then his solo career . . . became his confessional." As he spiraled into heavy drug abuse after Keith's death--heroin, alcohol, et cetera--Pete found himself questioning his ultimate purpose, fighting his carnal addictions, and struggling to grapple with the idea of growing older. The results were introverted, emotionally ravaged, and musically gorgeous.

As The Who dissolved, Pete found himself without a creative outlet. In 1972, Pete recorded a poorly received solo album, Who Came First, an homage to his avatar Meher Baba. A collaborative effort with The Faces' bassist Ronnie Lane in 1977 yielded Rough Mix, but Pete didn't experience huge solo success until the introspective triumph Empty Glass in 1980, which featured the brilliantly catchy Let My Love Open the Door and the innuendo-laced Rough Boys. The album functioned as his debut and relauched him in the spotlight. Along with Empty Glass, All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes (1982) and the concept album (yes, another one!) White City: A Novel (1985) undoubtedly yielded his strongest material, and Gold is rightly dominated by those three albums. His later works Iron Man (1989) and Psychoderelict (1993) round out the Pete solo discography (not counting his demo releases, the demo-driven Scoop series).

Gold is, for the most part, an extremely solid collection; I really had no idea that Townshend's solo material was so awesome. However, with 30-some songs, there are bound to be some weak spots; the most obvious offender, Parvardigar, comes from that first Townshend effort, Who Came First. Not to be insensitive, but unless you're a Meher Baba devotee, there is very little appeal to this song. The songwriting is minimal, the cult mumblings are jumping off the charts. I must admit to being a little disappointed in his renditions of Let's See Action and Pure and Easy; they were originally meant for Lifehouse (i.e., Who's Next), and they are unquestionably stronger when performed by the full band. Really, there is very little else to complain about here; Uniforms (Corp d'Esprit), Time is Passing, Now and Then, and I Won't Run Anymore are forgettable, though still listenable. (Trend to notice: Who Came First has the weakest material present here, indicating its status as the most feeble Townshend album to date.)

The vast majority of the material on Gold is solid (ha, ha, no pun intended), kicking off with the feedback-drenched English Boy (Psychoderelict), complete with syncopated piano, a wailing, heavily distorted guitar solo, and a Won't Get Fooled Again spirit gone bitter. Secondhand Love (White City) uses a gorgeous, synthesized rhythm and couples it with Pete's hesitance to be around others who won't give him (or others in general, I suppose) their full attention and love; A Little is Enough (Empty Glass), placed directly after that frustrated work, communicates a joyous spirit. You give me an overdose of love, Pete sings happily, just a little is enough! "Love is infinite when it happens, so any amount is plenty," says Pete in the liner; okay, sure. In any case, I'm enjoying the Who's Next-esque synthesizer action and Pete's hearty guitar work. Faces bassist Ronnie Lane lends his vocals to Heart to Hang Onto (Rough Mix), a tune that starts out painfully (with Lane singing slowly) and accelerates to a grand, bluesy guitar solo from Pete--really, one of my favorites found on the discs! I want to hate it every time I hear the beginning because Lane's voice sounds like Bob Dylan minus some slur, but once Pete starts singing and soloing, it becomes a masterwork. Sheraton Gibson, from Who Came First and the white boiler suit days, is a light-hearted song regaling the listener with feelings about being on the road, stuck in a quiet hotel room, and having amazing guitar skills. Okay, that last part isn't anywhere in the lyrics, but this acoustic number shows off Pete's pure chops beautifully.

Emotional torment and subsequent healing apparently is a great muse for Pete, as some of his best material rises from the ashes of those situations. He wrote The Sea Refuses No River (Chinese Eyes) about being a heroin addict; syncopated rhythms and riffing converge to form a grand anthem about redemption. Apparently, Baha devotees are commanded not to abuse drugs; Pete felt terribly about his past addictions and wrote this song as a way to publicly confess. The Brilliant Blues (White City) was, according to Pete's notes in the liner, meant as commentary on the end of the Thatcher years. I didn't really hear political ideas come through at all, but I did notice the strength of Pete's voice and his incredible grasp on melody. Not many rock vocalists nowadays have a strong, high tenor range; Pete's vocal abilities were often forgotten in his Who years behind the pure grit of Roger Daltrey, but there is power and an incredible emotional gravity in Pete's voice--a quality that isnt easy to come by.

Keep Me Turning, a mid-tempo tune from Rough Mix, provides a bit of a breather between rockers; it's pleasant enough, if perhaps a touch forgettable compared to the masterpieces that follow: Let My Love Open the Door (Empty Glass) and Slit Skirts (Chinese Eyes). The former, an insanely catchy song that has Townshend "playing Jesus," is always an instant pick-me-up and a undeniable classic in Pete's canon (and at the current rate, in the movie soundtrack canon as well). The latter, a bitter, romanticized work referencing Townshend's deteriorating marriage and his fears of growing older, is a strange relationship between soaring chorus and sad lyricism.

Slit skirts, Jeanie never wears those slit skirts,
I don't ever wear no ripped shirts,
Can't pretend that growing older never hurts . . .
Knee pants, Jeanie never wears no knee pants,
Have to be so drunk to try a new dance,
So afraid of every new romance . . .

The wistfulness, sadness, and power in Pete's voice weave together to compose one of Pete's all-time best vocal performances--not to mention the strength of the melody, guitarwork, and mournful piano. Street in the City is a laidback effort from Rough Mix, a study in classic Pete lyricism--there's a man up on that ledge! . . . he's only cleaning windows--and acoustically-driven instrumentation. The title track of Empty Glass is a lesson in dynamics, rising from heavy feedback and simmering down to subdued singing and riffing, then boiling over in pounding drumwork and riffs, then settling down to gentle singing and dazed reflection: My life's a mess, I wait for you to pass; I stand here at the bar, I hold an empty glass . . . Pete uses a touch of falsetto for those resonate, vulnerable lines, then adds fire and ferocity to his voice and guitar work to communicate false bravado in the rest of the song. Oh, it gives me chills . . .

Rough Boys (Empty Glass), as simple as it sounds initially--catchy, hooky, instantly likeable--really has some ultra-complicated chords and notes jammed together; the song may be nearly four minutes long, but roaring on at a breakneck speed, it seems like it's over before it starts! This song prompted a lot of rumors about Pete's orientation (it's about "punks and leather boys, rockers and aggro-gays in spiked dog collars . . . none of them scared me, but they should have."), and perhaps that was part of its power; even though Pete is really straight (and I don't really know why any of that matters, since this is a great song, musically) and some of that curious audience has faded away, the song remains a classic. Give Blood (White City) stands as my favorite Pete solo composition and performance, without a doubt; the dogged riff, the soaring chorus, the anguished verses . . . words unfortunately fail me. Pete's fantastically driven vocals, his skillful delivery of both the melody and the instrumental elements creates a desperate atmosphere, one that makes an instant connection with the listener. Exquisitely Bored (Chinese Eyes) finds Pete "in rehab in California; bored, getting better, glad to be alive." The thunderous bass beat, the soaring riffs and upsweeps, and dancing insanity in Pete's voice all culminate in a monstrously catchy tune that demands repeat spins.

The spitfire that is Jools and Jim (Empty Glass) takes issue with the cynical journalists who threw out the memory of Keith Moon with the trash of 1978. A fierce, punky polemic, the song is a straightforward rocker with plenty of bite. White City's Crashing By Design revolves around a symphonic, beautiful cacophony of synthesizers and cascading riffs. The heroically pompous Don't Try to Make Me Real (Psychoderelict), full of itself as it is, it still a great rock composition and probably the best contribution from the 1993 album. Face the Face, a rousing classic from White City, is a word game and complicated musical study rolled into one; all the different parts converge in time, but a throbbing bassline, quick drum work, multi-track vocals, movement between stereos (as in, Pete sings in one speaker and then moves to another), and clever vocals create an overwhelmingly brilliant tune. We gotta fool the fools, we gotta plan the plans . . . we gotta fight the fight, we must fall the falls . . . we must race the race, so, we can face the face! The delicious wordplay sounds like nonsense at first listen, but think a little harder and the wittiness of the song becomes clear.

Keep On Working, a cycling, throbbing rocker, isn't terribly impressive by Pete standards, but makes for an excellent song to listen to while writing tedious humanities papers . . . ahem. David Gilmour (yes, of Pink Floyd fame) collaborated with Pete on White City Fighting (White City's title track), a tune with soaring electric riffs, in typical Gilmour style, coupled with Pete's melodic and acoustic sensibilities. An unnamed bassist (Pino Palladino, perhaps?) provides a skillful Entwhistle-esque bass line, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of late Who albums. A hybrid between blues and pop in My Baby Gives it Away appears next, a light-hearted tune that's really an opportunity for Pete to jam for a while; entertaining and anything but somber, this song makes for a pleasant break from Pete's saddened social commentary. The choral effort from Iron Man, All Shall Be Well, features an unnamed female singer duetting with Pete and serving as the leader of a pumped-up choir, complete with claps. There's no gospel feel, contrary to what you might think, mostly because of the souped-up beat; but the vocal trade-offs between Pete and the female singers make for a unique song (especially in Pete's collection) and for a highly entertaining composition.

Full-blooded rockers like Rough Boys (Empty Glass), punky polemics like Jools and Jim (Empty Glass), acoustic masterpieces like Sheraton Gibson (Who Came First), and desperate, driven anthems like Give Blood (White City) and Empty Glass display the full range of Pete's musical abilities. The themes of British-ness, of emotional fragility, of healing, of the power of love, and of difficult-to-grasp concept ideas are pervasive through Pete's work; Pete's talents remain obvious, even in his weaker songwriting productions. Emotional fragility was the muse that drove him to write some of his most powerful material, and his unique voice and cadence serve as a grand communicator of his thoughts, commentaries, and ideas. Ardent fans of The Who (i.e., like myself . . .) will likely appreciate Pete's solo work most; but anyone craving singer-songwriter work with a bigger electric bite will love Gold, which certainly sits as one of the best double-disc collectives I've heard. It's worth full sticker price.

****.5 (four and a half, bumped up by half a star for excellent replay-a-bility)

Great Music to Play While coming back from giving blood to the Red Cross and feeling a bit spacey . . . yes, that was me.

Recommended: Yes