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Roger’s loud groan broke the silence as he revealed his frustration to the band. Something felt off to him, making it more difficult to follow along with the rhythm of the music. Not to mention that the instrumental was going faster than when they originally rehearsed. He was being set up for failure!
The moment that John opened his mouth to calm down the singer, a finger was pointed in his face. He should have known that no help would be wanted. It never was.
“Why don’t yah take a break?” Kenney suggested, stepping in for the first time in a long time. The last time he did, he wound up with a bloody nose.
Ever since Keith’s passing, the group didn’t fit together in the same way. The three original members knew the show had to go on, which led to Jones’s invitation to join the band. They needed another drummer, whether they liked to admit it or not.
“Why don’t you shut yer mouth?” Roger quickly retorted, venom in his voice.
He didn’t need to be told by the new guy – two years into the group or not – that he needed to take a break. He didn’t need to be told what to do by anyone!
When the group fell silent once more, the vocalist angrily dropped the microphone to the ground and stormed off. He was certain no one would come to his aid; they hardly did these days. With him constantly penned against Kenney, John and Pete couldn’t find it in them to take his side. They were trying their damnedest to make it work, but Roger wasn’t trying at all.
“A bit of effort, Daltrey, that’s all we’re asking of yah,” John muttered, his voice startling the blonde’s head out of his hands. He waited for some sort of acknowledgment before continuing. “I know he’s not Keith; that much is plain to see. But he’s not a bad drummer. He’s not gonna to drag this group into the ground like you so desperately think he is!”
Roger kept his end of the conversation silent, leaving his only participation to nodding. He felt it was the least he could do, now that John was coming around to him.
“Ye do know this is hard for us, too, don’t you?” came the next attempt from the bassist. He wasn’t going to hound his friend, but he wasn’t giving up either. This needed to be talked about before The Who went up in flames. John couldn’t help but worry for that fate. If two years couldn’t fix Roger’s opinion, he wasn’t sure that anything could do that.
“I don’t hate him, yah know,” the singer finally answered as he fully lifted his head up. He locked his eyes with his friend to continue, giving him an honest look. He wanted John to know he was trying this time. He was trying to accept the new addition. He was making efforts to talk about it with him now.
“Well, that’s good,” Entwistle muttered, his fingers plowing through his hair.
“I just think his drumming is shit for the band. Keith had the right style. If he can’t match him, he shouldn’t play. He doesn’t even keep the beat right, for Christ’s sake!” Roger exclaimed. He was changing back to the Roger that John expected. The efforts didn’t stand long.
John took his turn to hang his head, thinking up the best explanation he could. He found more difficulty in combating Daltrey’s argument than he thought he would. The blond’s hard-headed attitude too much of a match for him these days. Either that or he didn’t seem to care for the same old fights any more.
“Grow the fuck up or get the fuck out, okay? His drumming is fine,” John stated, forcing himself out of the room. He couldn’t stand to be around this kind of thing any more. If Roger wasn’t going to maintain the role of keeping the group together, he wasn’t sure they would be together these days.