I’ve never met anyone who’s ever been interested in me without wanting to know about my brother, Pete. Not one.

Of course, I always knew I’d find it hard to be taken seriously in the music business because Pete was always such a superstar. He was always famous and I got used to the fact. Nobody ever had to sit me down and tell me he was famous — he’d just be away on tour and then appear at our house with big presents for us, or he’d drive up in a chauffeur-driven Lincoln Continental with an electric roof. When he was around, it meant a lot to me simply being with my brother. That iconic big-brother thing is always there for any younger brother — and Pete is 15 years older than me.

I was very intense about music from a very young age and I was recording by 12, but I think people simply didn’t know how to market me alongside Pete’s success. So I’ve had a lot of rejection in my life. I’ve been promised a thousand deals that have never come off.

For many years, I wasn’t really making any money in the music business. I was signing on, doing a few gigs here and there, just struggling my way through. My heavy drinking and pot-smoking didn’t help. I was in a cycle I couldn’t get out of. There were times when I made a lot of money, like in the 1980s with my early record deal, but I didn’t have any handle on what was going on and money slipped through my fingers.

My dad died when I was 26, which affected me deeply. When I inherited the family house, I immediately borrowed money against it, and I lived off that for a few years. I didn’t like myself back then.

I even looked to Pete as a father figure at one point, but realistically he couldn’t be that for me. Our mum is still alive and doing okay. She had a relapse with the booze — she’d been off it for 10 years. She’s recovering now, but it’s a long-term addiction that seems to run in the family. We’re looking after her — doing our best.
Everything I did after my dad’s death seemed a bit half-hearted. It was only when I met up with Roger Daltrey — who I’d known for years — that things began to look up for me. He offered me some hope by inviting me on tour with him if I cleaned up my act. Well, I didn’t clean up as such until a few years later, but I began playing guitar and singing backing vocals and by 1996 I was touring with my brother as part of the Who line-up. And that’s when my life began to change.

I remember one night in particular. It was at an after-show drink in our hotel bar, while I was on the Who’s 1996 Quadrophenia tour. I got chatting to this guy who showed a great interest in my music. It was quite normal to chat with people who hung around after our gigs, but this guy — just an ordinary guy in his mid-twenties — seemed easy to talk to and I really enjoyed his company. He seemed to know everything about me, and I thought: “Great! I’ve found a genuine fan. He likes what I’m doing.” It was refreshing talking to someone who was so interested in me and who put my music first. He didn’t just want to talk about the Who or Pete. We got on so well that we saw each other three or four times. I’m not very good at making friends so quickly, but I was already treating him like a potential friend.

I can’t remember how it started, or what stirred him to start talking about Pete one night, but he did. And it took about half an hour for it to dawn on me that this man was a complete Pete Townshend nut. He told me about all the posters on his walls, the Pete shrine he had in his house, with candles burning. He was just insane about my brother.

I was completely stunned. The man was a fanatic — a nutcase. I felt this awful sickness in my stomach. It was like being told that your wife is having an affair. I just hadn’t expected it. His interest in my music had seemed so genuine, but it was all a lie. Like all the rest, he was using me to get to Pete and it really hurt. It was a big let-down.

On the other hand, the whole experience was a turning point for me, because once I’d calmed down I began to realise how nice it had felt to be appreciated. I’d thought, probably for the first time in my life, that someone had wanted to know about me and not Pete. Of course, they didn’t really. But it did make me see how great it could be to be in that position, how nice it was to enjoy that sort of attention. I liked it.

At that point I decided to get out there and give my career another go. It made me demand more of myself; it refocused and motivated me. Giving up alcohol and pot also helped. I’m comfortable now. I haven’t got a great deal of money, but I have my family and I own the house I live in. If Pete gave me a million, I’d accept it. Why not?

He hasn’t, of course, but I’d never expect him to. You don’t need pots of money to be happy. I have my band, Casbah Club, I play with the Who — I’m happy. And these days I like myself better. I just feel: “It’s no fault of mine that I’m here, so accept me as I am, because I’m not going away.”