All three surviving members have boyish figures, two are still blessed with luxuriant rock star tresses and they can command £35 for a ticket in the furthest balcony. Bet the Who - combined age 165 - are congratulating themselves on failing to die before they got old. Alone of their 60s peers, they're enjoying a stylish middle age unsullied by new albums or annual reunions, refusing to capitalise on the Britpop 90s' fixation with the 60s.
The excitement generated by two Christmas shows on their home turf of Shepherd's Bush, their most intimate concerts in 25 years, was epitomised by the man who spent most of Wednesday's gig holding up a mobile phone to let a friend share the vibe.
Roger Daltrey, Pete Townshend and John Entwistle repaid the devotion with the ultimate compliment: a two-hour set consisting of the hits and nothing but the hits. No obscure album tracks, no excerpts - phew - from Townshend's current six-CD Lifehouse project, just the sparkling jewels in their crown.
Liam Gallagher, watching stone-faced from the circle, may well have been calculating the likelihood of Oasis, who share more of an affinity with the rumbustious Who than they do with the Beatles, ever matching this band's tally of classic songs.
The answer is that they probably won't, unless Noel suddenly develops a political and spiritual consciousness that imparts deeper layers of meaning to his heat-seeking pop anthems. Townshend did just that in his day, and his songs retain an eternally youthful glint that's no less relevant now, even if the messengers are grey-haired and have to catch their breath between numbers.
That said, Daltrey sounds remarkably young; close your eyes during Substitute, and The Kids Are Alright and he could be the Mod peacock of the "maximum R&B" days. He seems barely older on the hippie rallying cries of Won't Get Fooled Again and Baba O'Reilly, swinging his mike with a vim that must have cost him dearly afterwards. Townshend is his avuncular foil, alternating those patented windmill movements with brisk banter: "We haven't rehearsed anything, we've been too busy in Antigua."
The professorial Entwistle and Ringo Starr's drummer son Zak kept up their end of things with more flash than you'd expect of a rhythm section, holding their own against the stronger personalities up front.
When Townshend smashed his guitar during the closing My Generation, it crystallised the impression I'd formed over the preceding two hours - that it's possible to reform, retain your dignity and even leave Liam Gallagher speechless with envy.
