The Kinks and the Who

Speaking of Beatles-type or Rolling Stones–type bands, two really cannot be simply slotted into either. They are the Kinks and the Who. In the period we are covering—1964 to 1966—both had great success in Britain. The Kinks also scored some results in America, but the Who’s cold reception there is striking; only a few songs became lasting U.S. singles. I will not jump ahead and scramble the plan.

One reason the Kinks and the Who are hard to classify is that both are known for forceful, aggressive music. That makes them look a bit like the Rolling Stones—blues influence, power, guitar-led playing. Yet beyond forceful music, both show intelligence. Their lyrics are thoughtful, closer to real songwriter craft—more like the Beatles’ Lennon–McCartney pairing than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. So the Kinks and the Who fuse the two big bands’ styles. Their main writers—Ray Davies of the Kinks, Pete Townshend of the Who—push strong musical means and blend both bands’ traits into styles of their own, hard to label Beatles-type or Stones-type.

As I said, neither made the huge U.S. splash of the Beatles or the Stones. The Kinks did better on singles, but hit a snag on the road to bigger success: somehow they were barred from entering the U.S. I think their behavior was too wild, and immigration would not reissue visas. Unable to revisit America and promote in person, record sales struggled. The Who had little success until 1967’s “I Can See for Miles” reached No. 9—a modest breakthrough. Their real U.S. breakthrough starts with Tommy, outside this chapter’s scope. We will mention it with psychedelic music: Tommy, 1969.

When I think of the Kinks’ work I think of songs like “You Really Got Me.” In 1964 it hit No. 1 in Britain and No. 7 in America. Very hard, aggressive; it opens with a guitar lick that may owe a little to “Louie Louie.” In the late 1970s Van Halen covered “You Really Got Me.” “All Day and All of the Night”—if you play guitar, it looks very like “You Really Got Me.” Slightly change the fingering for “You Really Got Me” and you can play “All Day and All of the Night.” That is the craftsman’s view: the band found the approach worked on “You Really Got Me,” tweaked it, and with “All Day and All of the Night” delivered almost the same thing. Common in the pop business. First song topped Britain; the second hit No. 2. Both hits. In 1964 the second also reached No. 7 in the U.S. “Tired of Waiting for You” uses a similar chord path to those two, but arpeggiated, so the likeness is less obvious. In 1965 it hit No. 1 Britain and No. 6 America. “Till the End of the Day” keeps traits of the above; No. 6 Britain in 1965, no U.S. chart. Ray Davies meant to keep writing that way, but John Lennon’s lyrics grew more philosophical, and Dylan became a major performer in summer 1965, so Davies’s lyrics grew more philosophical too—reflecting on society, discontent with the status quo. “A Well Respected Man” is a good example: criticizing conformity and dull expectations, people wearing masks, never showing true character; they should show the real self and be sincere. That critical streak you can hear in Bob Dylan’s “Ballad of a Thin Man” or John Lennon’s “Nowhere Man”—and now add Ray Davies.

Now turn to the Who. In many ways the band is a collection of interesting characters. Pete Townshend, guitarist, outstanding songwriter—writes the songs and the overall concepts. But he only sings part of the time—harmonies, occasional lead. Singing is mainly Roger Daltrey’s job. He is a bit like the role Robert Plant later played in the late 1960s and 1970s—the sexy frontman who just sings the tunes. In many ways also like Mick Jagger or Elvis. Then wild drummer Keith Moon and seasoned bassist John Entwistle. Among these four you hear a powerful trio-plus-voice releasing forceful music, with increasingly complex lyrics and concepts behind it. The Who hit we first think of is “My Generation.” In 1965 it reached No. 2 in Britain, but many are surprised it did not catch on in America that year. In fact it never entered the U.S. charts. We often feel it did because the Who’s 1970s success put those early-1960s singles into heavy radio rotation. Now they sit in classic-rock playlists, so they seem as if they were always hits. “My Generation” was not, then. Nor was “I Can’t Explain,” another we often hear—No. 8 Britain in 1965, not a U.S. hit. “Substitute,” another important 1965 song, reached No. 2 in Britain with no U.S. splash. As I said, “I Can See for Miles” was a breakthrough, but that was already 1967. And the big breakthrough was 1969’s Tommy.

The Who were also part of a British movement almost unrelated to America: the Mods. If you have seen Quadrophenia you know something of it—Sting is in that film. It is interesting: a cinematic take on the Who’s concept album Quadrophenia. Set at Brighton beach, where two groups of young people with different values staged a famous clash. Rockers wore leather, greased ducktails, chains, big Harley bikes. Mods were neat, clean, preferred Vespa scooters to big bikes—a bit dandyish. One weekend the two met at Brighton and fought. City-wide disturbance; papers full of Mods vs Rockers. In the end the Who became the representative band Mods chose. America never really had a Mods movement, but Mods liked Motown records, danced a lot, and treated the Who almost as idols—part of Mod culture. In Britain that Mod/Rocker opposition also appears in the Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night. Somewhere the band faces a string of questions. Someone asks John how he found America; Lennon says turn left at Greenland. Someone asks Ringo if he is a Mod or a Rocker—referring to Brighton. He says neither—I’m a Mocker. Of course in 1964 America no one knew what they meant. It sounded funny; for Britons who knew the pop culture of the moment, the meaning was immediate. So the Who were tightly linked to the Mods, and that link helped British chart success. Without a Mod movement in America, their music never really broke through there.

All right—we have covered the Kinks and the Who. Time to review what this whole chapter covered. The British Invasion opened new opportunities for British artists. Not only at home: for America, these new faces also shook the U.S. music industry. In fact we had seen something similar. From 1955 to 1957, independent-label records crossed over onto mainstream pop charts and pushed major-label product to the margins. Majors rushed out similar records. People were surprised; we also saw how it ended. Payola scandals in 1959–60; industry giants regained control. In early 1964 a similar pattern returned in America. The Beatles and other British artists arrived and scored huge success. A new threat—so the common story is that the Invasion completely shook the U.S. industry, as if everyone had to drop what they were doing. That of course is not true. In some respects it was not a dramatic shock. Parts of the American industry stayed as I described last chapter. Phil Spector produced a hit for the Righteous Brothers in 1964—“You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’.” Trace Motown through the 1960s and you see a qualitative leap in 1964, almost exactly when the Beatles first appeared in America. For example, track when Beatles and Supremes singles hit from 1964 to 1966 and you find the Supremes really following right after the Beatles. They are a girl group—what else can you call the Supremes? I once thought the Invasion squeezed girl groups out, but the squeeze was fairly limited. This group was from Detroit, not New York, but they were still a girl group. So there is continuity. Still, the Beatles and the Invasion did shake the business. By summer 1965 American bands were back in public view—folk-rock, Bob Dylan and the Byrds, and new sounds from Southern California that the industry noticed. That is what the next chapter covers: America’s reply to the British Invasion.