This was The Who’s second ever single and the first one ever written by Pete Townshend. It’s catchy as hell and on our mind the last week or so after watching a bunch of Who gigs on YouTube.

It’s a song that’s been an opener for the band for the last 60 years and they’re still singing it now.

However, looking back at its creation is a rather intriguing insight into Sixties counterculture and the budding creative genius of a young London songwriter.

Explaining the Unexplainable in I Can’t Explain

The band formed in 1964 and, in their early days, performed as The High Numbers. Their first single was released as the R&B number Zoot Suit, styled like all the music coming out of America at the time. This was deliberately released to appeal to the mod audience of the day.

It was written by Peter Meaden, the band’s first manager, and launched on 3rd July 1964.

It didn’t chart. Annoyed by that, the band changed their name to The Who, brought in new management (Kit Lambert and Chris Stamp), and guitarist Pete Townshend was tasked with writing a new song.

Townshend locked himself in his bedroom for several days listening to songs from America. However, he came out of that creative session baffled as to how to write a hit single.

But then he was inspired by the success of The Kinks and their hit All Day and All of the Night (launched in October 1964). That and You Really Got Me worked wonders.

The Who have been upfront about the influence of that song, as Townshend channelled his creative confusion into I Can’t Explain. It was recorded in London and launched in December 1964 in the US and January 1965 in the UK.

Weirdly enough, a young Jimmy Page (a leading session musician at the time) played rhythm guitar on the track. But he later confirmed his contributions weren’t used in the final cut (as he noted in the recent documentary Becoming Led Zeppelin).

The R&B and Kinks influence is clear, but there’s no denying The Who stamped their distinctive authority all over I Can’t Explain.

Right from the off, that rhythm section combo of John Entwistle and explosive drummer Keith Moon was dynamite. Then you’ve got that trademark catchy Townshend riff and stop/start song structure and boom. The band was on the path to superstardom.

In 2015, Townshend told Rolling Stone magazine about his feelings on it now.

“It’s absurd to think a song, written by some 18-year-old kid, about the fact he can’t tell his girlfriend he loves her because he’s taken too many Dexedrine tablets, is going to have any meaning whatsoever in the daily course of events. The first chord of ‘I Can’t Explain’ for me kind of sets the tone for the evening. Is this going to be an evening in which I spend the whole evening pretending to be the Pete Townshend I used to be? Or do I pretend to be a grown-up? [Laughs] In both cases, I think I’m pretending.”

Back in 1964, he thought the song was ridiculous and childish. Just a one-off attempt as that was his job at the time, not necessarily his lifelong career.

Now it’s considered a stone cold classic and surprisingly mature in its musical arrangements. In Tony Fletcher’s Keith Moon biography (1998), he noted:

“The Who went into the Pye Studios in London towards the very end of 1964 to record what would become one of the great debut singles of all time, two minutes and two seconds that somehow combined the purest in pop melodies with sublime unrefined energy, all to lyrics that were simultaneously celebratory yet confused, a perfect teenage record and one that has stood the test of time as well as anything in The Who’s catalogue – something rarely achieved on a debut release.”

Full credit to him Townshend on that. Straight out of the blocks and he got this timeless classic—his songwriting and guitar work on full display. The trademark teen angst is there in all its glory.

Got a feeling inside (can’t explain),
It’s a certain kind (can’t explain),
I feel hot and cold (can’t explain),
Yeah, down in my soul, yeah (can’t explain).

I said (can’t explain),
I’m feeling good now, yeah, but (can’t explain).

It turned out The Who had a natural genius songwriter in their midst and the likes of thunderous My Generation (1965) and arguably even more catchy Substitute (1966).

The Intriguing Inclusion of Bald Headed Woman

Often forgotten with all the respect for I Can’t Explain is the single release was backed up with a B side. This was called Bald Headed Woman. It’s a traditional blues song, which the Kinks had covered in 1964, and now The Who were at it as well.

This one seems to have been included as a backup in case the band’s fans weren’t happy with Explain’s change in musical direction. It is very blues and it’s unusual seeing a bunch of young Londoners not even 20 giving it some welly.

Still, very good effort highlighting their strengths as musicians.

We’ve seen a few of these ’60s shows where there’s a slanted stage like that. We can’t imagine it’s easy playing an instrument whilst trying not to fall over. But the guys managed it that time.

Bald Headed Woman, perhaps unsurprisingly, is something of a footnote in the band’s career. An oddity that sits at odds alongside the band’s own work.

Notable Live Performances of I Can’t Explain

The song put The Who on the map and they began touring it around. The above was on a show called Shindig (the final ever show of Shindig, which the band were there for).

You can see the camera operator was fixated in on Keith Moon, whose unusual drumming style was already capturing people’s attention.

The band also began their famous Woodstock 1969 set with I Can’t Explain early on. They’d had a torrid time of it, arguing with organisers just to make sure they’d get paid for turning up. They didn’t get a chance to soundcheck and went on stage at 5am.

Their take of the song adapted over time, turning it even further towards a heavier R&B number. By Live at Leeds in 1970 they’d left their mod phase behind and were in full on rock mode.

It’s interesting they’ve kept it part of the set even now. They played a gig last month (March 2025) at London’s Royal Albert Hall, 60 years after its release. We can explain its enduring legacy—the song is bloody good.