When a band loses a foundational member, it’s like a ship losing its rudder—direction becomes uncertain, and the very essence of the group is called into question. This was the case for The Who when John Entwistle, their legendary bassist, passed away in 2002. Personally, I think what makes this story particularly fascinating is not just the loss itself, but the band’s decision to press on with Pino Palladino as Entwistle’s replacement. To an outsider, it might seem callous, but if you take a step back and think about it, it’s a decision rooted in a philosophy The Who had already embraced after Keith Moon’s death in 1978: the show must go on, not just for the band, but for the legacy of the fallen member.
What many people don’t realize is that replacing someone like Entwistle isn’t just about finding a technically proficient bassist—it’s about capturing the spirit of the band while allowing it to evolve. Pino Palladino, with his diverse resume spanning from Paul Young to Eric Clapton, brought a unique perspective to The Who. In my opinion, this is where the real intrigue lies. Roger Daltrey’s assertion that Palladino ‘opened up space’ for the band to explore new avenues is both a clever justification and a revealing insight. It suggests that The Who weren’t just trying to replicate their past; they were trying to redefine it.
However, this raises a deeper question: can a band truly evolve when its setlist remains stuck in the 1960s and 1970s? From my perspective, The Who’s reliance on anniversary tours and classic material undermines Daltrey’s claim of seeking ‘new avenues.’ It’s as if they were trying to have it both ways—honoring their past while claiming to move forward. A detail that I find especially interesting is how Palladino’s tenure ended in 2016, replaced by Jon Button, who stayed until their final farewell tour in 2025. This cyclical pattern of farewell tours feels almost ironic, as if The Who were perpetually caught between letting go and holding on.
What this really suggests is that replacing a band member isn’t just about filling a role—it’s about navigating the tension between preservation and innovation. Palladino’s role wasn’t to be John Entwistle 2.0; it was to help The Who reimagine themselves. Yet, the band’s reluctance to fully embrace new material makes me wonder if they ever truly succeeded. If you ask me, the real tragedy isn’t that Entwistle couldn’t be replaced—it’s that The Who struggled to reconcile their past with their future.
In the end, the story of Pino Palladino and The Who is a testament to the resilience of art in the face of loss. It’s also a cautionary tale about the limits of evolution within a framework defined by nostalgia. Personally, I think The Who’s decision to continue was brave, but their inability to fully break free from their past is what makes this chapter so bittersweet. It’s a reminder that sometimes, even the greatest bands can’t outrun their own legacy.
