A Review of “My Generation (2025)” at the Toyota Center
by Clemency Grave | Staff Cynic & Music Review
HOUSTON- Let’s get one thing clear: I did not want to be here.
When my editor texted me “Can you review The Who’s latest (and final, for real this time) reunion tour?” I thought it was a joke. The Toyota Center, a stadium built for dreams of playoffs, now packed to the fire code with every surviving Boomer in Texas, all hopped up on AARP presale codes and enough nostalgia to tilt the Earth’s axis. The thought made my toes curl as I’m more likely to go to small venues in town. The ticket prices alone could have paid off my student loans. The service fees could have kept my landlord from raising rent next month.
Inside, it was a sea of faded denim, untucked Hawaiian shirts, and white hair arranged in both ponytail and “distinguished mess.” Eyes glistening with edibles haze, couples clutched twenty-dollar Lite beers, reliving the days before HOA meetings and irritable bowel syndrome. I swear I heard someone say, “I hope they play ‘Baba O’Riley’ before I have to leave for my sleep study.”
But then the house lights dropped, and out limped Pete and Roger, both looking like they could order off the senior menu at Denny’s. The crowd roared, cell phones aloft, flashlights beaming. Did I glimpse a bit of animosity in Townsend’s expression?
They played the expected standards, “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, Magic Bus, Who Are You and “I Can See For Miles” got the expected euphoric crowd reaction. But, was that irritation I saw in the performer’s frown? After plowing through “Pinball Wizard” and “Behind Blue Eyes” with a surprising amount of undiminished snarl, Daltrey leaned into the mic and grinned, the way only someone who’s seen the other side of youthful rage and come back with a pension plan can. “We’ve got a new verse for an old tune,” he said. Townsend nodded, as if to say, “Why not torch what’s left?”
And then it happened, “My Generation (2025 Redux).”
They spat every line with the venom of men who remembered what it felt like to want to break free, then looked down and saw they were holding the keys to the cell.
People try to put us d-d-down
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
We said we’d burn it all, just leave the town
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
But the smoke cleared up and look who stayed
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
We’re the landlords now, still getting paid
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
The crowd looked befuddled, stunned and confused.
“Hope I die before I get old-
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Well, I missed that train,(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Now I’m running the show(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
We’re the Man now,(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Just look around-(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
We cashed in our ideals,
Let the planet melt down(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)”
The arena was silent. For once, no one was recording. Even the drunk guy next to me (whose Rolex cost more than my car) just stared, blinking as the irony washed over him.
Why don’t you all just f-f-f-fade… away
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Don’t try and cancel what I used to say
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I’m not trying to cause a big s-s-s-stir
(Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I’m just going to flip you the bird
They tore through verses about selling out, about buying up the world they once raged against, about sitting in judgment from their ergonomic chairs. Townsend windmilled through the chorus like he was fending off a ghost, and Daltrey howled out the outro “Turned revolution into gold” with the sincerity of a man trying to buy his soul back at retail. Then in unison, they turned and dropped their trousers to the crowd, raised them again and marched off stage after smashing a few guitars and the drum kit.
I half expected the crowd to boo, but after an awkward silence, most just shuffled out of the venue quietly. Maybe they felt admonished. Maybe they were ashamed. Maybe not. Maybe some tried to justify it thinking, like everything else, Irony is just another product to be consumed. At least nobody threw their back out during a standing ovation.
After the lights came up, and we headed for the parking lot, I overheard a woman in a $180 tour hoodie say, “God, I just love this band. Reminds me of when I was younger.”
Same here, ma’am. Same here.
Rating: 9/10 for the song,
2/10 for the existential crisis.
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