A lethal wit, a stubborn idealism, a wounded heart, a teeming mind and a nose that invites insult. He could be Cyrano de Bergerac, but was christened Peter Dennis Blandlord Townshend.

Trashed guitars were his calling cards as a young man. Fine inns were reluctant to shelter him and his carnal recklessness often required remedy by penicillin. His rage found expression in music and when that failed, he used his fists. He elevated vandalism to the level of an art.

Today, after 15 years as the primary muse of the Who, Townshend is less of a rogue, It has been some time since he demolished an instrument, contracted an unseemly bacteria or altered the basic architecture of a hotel suite. But he was forced to wear a cast on his right hand during most of the recent Who tour after breaking a finger in San Diego where he slugged a wall out of as he puts it “sheer exuberance.”