hammersmith

By early 1975, everything was coming together. Crime of the Century was climbing the charts in the UK and gaining traction in North America. The live show – with its synchronized film, theatrical lighting, and pristine sound – was building the band's reputation as more than just another progressive rock act.

The Hammersmith Odeon concert on March 9 represented both arrival and vindication. This was the venue where the greats played, where careers were made. For a band that had been virtually destitute less than three years earlier, after cycling through lineup after lineup, after recording two failed albums and had nearly broken up in despair – this was the moment.

When they took to the stage that night, Rick Davies wasn't wearing a sleeping bag. Roger Hodgson's bass-playing days were behind him. Dougie Thomson had evolved from bassist to band manager to the steady heartbeat of the rhythm section. Bob Siebenberg's drums drove the complex arrangements with Californian confidence. John Helliwell's saxophones and clarinet soared over the top, his jokes intact.

Behind them, Russel Pope's sound system hummed. Tony Shepherd's lights painted the stage. The film rolled in sync.

Supertramp played the entire Crime of the Century album, broken in the middle by four songs – "Sister Moonshine," "Just a Normal Day," "Another Man's Woman," and "Lady" – from the yet-to-be recorded album Crisis? What Crisis? And John Helliwell performed the old Perry Como standard "A You're Adorable" at the piano.

And when the final notes of "Crime of the Century" faded to the Hammersmith rafters, the journey that began with a classified ad in Melody Maker – through poverty and lineup changes, through the Southcombe farmhouse and Trident Studios, through Jerry Moss's anxious visit and his unexpected blessing – had reached its destination.