Let's pretend, for just a moment, that John Entwistle was never in the Who. Let's also pretend -- and I know it's a real stretch -- that he wasn't one of the meanest, most distinctive bass players rock has ever produced. If all that's true, then I'm merely writing an obit for a guy who made an album that I bought in high school and loved every note of.

The solo album in question -- Whistle Rymes -- came out in late '72 and had its shamefully overdue CD reissue from Sundazed earlier this year. From the start, the disc shows how valuable Entwistle was to the Who: while Pete Townshend was getting blissed out over Meher Baba (his Who Came First was released the same month), Entwistle was displaying a stellar pop sense and a severely twisted wit. Having dipped into macabre themes on his previous solo album -- 1971's Smash Your Head Against the Wall -- he took a few whacks at the love-song format. And since punk rock was still a few years away, his songs reached a level of wise-assery that was pretty much unprecedented.

Nobody ever approached doomed romance from quite the same angle as Entwistle on "I Was Just Being Friendly" ("No need to act that way/All I did was ask you/How much I'd have to pay"). "Who Cares" anticipated the slacker mentality by a good two decades ("People tell me that they pay their bills the day they're sent/I don't even pay my rent/Who cares?"). Then there was his masterstroke, "I Feel Better." Set to an improbably haunting tune (and featuring the best guitar that Peter Frampton ever played), it takes stock of a failed affair: "When I'm feeling sad/ I remember that you were the worst lay I ever had/And I feel better."

That's as sentimental as it got with Entwistle, whose grumbly sound and stoic demeanor earned him the nickname "The Ox." His death last week, of a heart attack, at age 57, ends another era for the Who, who had a hard enough time recovering from drummer Keith Moon's death in 1978 (Townshend and singer Roger Daltrey are now the only surviving originals). But they're carrying on with session bassist Pino Palladino, and they'll play their sold-out July 26 Tweeter Center show as scheduled.

If that sounds a little less than promising, it's partly because Palladino is just, well, a bass player, a guy who holds down the bottom end. Entwistle never let himself be boxed into that role. It's said that all bassists are frustrated lead-guitarists, but Entwistle just turned it up and went for it. The Who's first hit, "My Generation," is still one of the few essential rock tracks to include a bass solo. On the landmark Live at Leeds (1970), his bass amounted to a second lead guitar, he and Townshend dueling at every step. And that disc's extended "My Generation" is a glorious exercise in one-upmanship. When the Who first reconvened, toward the end of the '80s, Moon was dead and Townshend's hearing problems had him sidelined since all he could play was acoustic guitar -- he's returned to the electric only in recent years. That left Entwistle as the sole member playing his original instrument, and it's to his credit that the band (as heard on the 1990 live album Join Together) sounded anything like the Who at all.

Although overshadowed by Townshend, Entwistle's songwriting remained the Who's secret weapon -- who else could write a timeless classic rock-radio staple about squishing a spider? He provided a cynical foil when Townshend was on form (just imagine Who's Next without "My Wife") and came to the rescue when Pete wasn't (the best song on 1980's largely dire Face Dances was Entwistle's self-referential "The Quiet One"). And he seems to have avoided the writer's block that hit Townshend in the '90s: at last report, he was the only one who'd come up with any songs for the Who's projected reunion album.

He also seemed one of the most stable personalities in the Who, neither succumbing to the excesses that took Moon's life nor withdrawing like Townshend. By most accounts, he had a fine time being a rock star and a Who member. When the band weren't working, he took whatever gigs were out there, whether that meant playing oldies tours with Ringo Starr or doing club gigs with his own group. And more than one rocker came back with stories of Entwistle sightings after checking out hotspots like the Roxy in Hollywood. Although it's sad to see him go, there's a certain satisfaction in knowing that he died at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, taking it easy before the start of a big tour. If there's a rock-and-roll Heaven, let's hope they've got a good VIP lounge up there.

Issue Date: July 5 - 11, 2002