And, of course, Brexit, of which Daltrey has been quite an isolated voice of support within an industry angered by its impact on European touring.
He has trenchant opinions about everything, expressed in pungent language delivered in an accent that’s all nasal tones and dropped aitches.ĭuring a couple of lively hours of conversation, he makes brusque, argumentative digressions into politics, taxation, history, charity, Covid, unions, wages and climate change. If we all take care of each other, we’ll be all right.”ĭaltrey is a fascinating character, a charismatic multimillionaire veteran rock superstar with the belligerent humour of a London cabbie. “What do you do? You roll yourself into a ball and say life’s over, or you push yourself out there. “Nothing in the world makes sense to me any more,” he says. He grumbles enthusiastically, swears colourfully. He is furious at the Government for its failure to provide adequate support and insurance for the music business throughout the pandemic now, he’s stumping up his own cash for a tour on which he fears, given the precariousness of the Covid situation, “they could pull the plug any minute”. “And secondly, to get our road crew and musicians working, because they’ve had a tough 18 months.” “There’s two purposes: one is to keep me singing, fit, out of the house,” he says. Gotta use it or lose it.”ĭaltrey is embarking on a short solo tour next month, backed by the Who’s live band. “Somewhere in there is a load of gigs that we hope to get to. “Like roaring into a thick fog at 300 miles an hour,” is how Roger Daltrey describes his imminent return to live performance for the first time in months.
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