I was playing records when I heard that The Who were coming in by helicopter and need space behind the stage to land.  I refused to move my camper van.  But the crew started taking all the spare stage boards, turning them upside down and laying them out in the shape of a giant ‘H’ on an area stage right.  The Who’s copter came down, one of the stage boards lifted up and hit the rotorbalde.  Bang! Down it came. No grand entrance, just a huge bump.  Moony loved it, of course. “Ah ah, we’ve broken the helicopter!”  They all jumped out, full of beans and liquid Methedrine.  The Who were simply the best live band at the time.  Nobody gave as much value as Pete Townsend.  He never short changed the audience. 
For me, though, The Liverpool Scene were one of the greatest acts that year.  They were an art and poetry band, and a favourite of mine and John Peel’s.  Their singer Adrian Henri was a wonderful songwriter and poet, who adored the blues but also sent it up – “I’ve got the Fleetwood Mac, Cjicken Shack, John Mayall, can’t fail Blues…”  The irony of their whole act was that they were great musicians.  They never had any hits, as irony didn’t pay.
Jeff Dexter.