In his 2001 cultural history/memoir, FM: The Rise and Fall of Rock Radio, former WNEW-FM deejay Richard Neer
recounted one of his most disastrous encounters with a musician. Chrissie Hynde, frontwoman for The Pretenders, was in no condition for
a scheduled on-air interview to promote the group’s debut album. She “stank of
sweat and alcohol,” admitting to being “out late last night drinking and
screwing around with my mates.” With an ingrained hostility to the star-making
machinery that matched her “bedraggled” condition, she finally bolted from
the studio in disgust before the interview could even begin.
Neer may have been peeved by the unexpected turn of
events, but he was forced to admit that The Pretenders’ LP was “too good to
ignore.” Since then, countless rock fans have come to the same conclusion. I know that it formed an unforgettable part of the musical background of my college years.
The self-titled The Pretenders—released 35 years ago
this month—is, by fan consensus, close to perfect. The standard it set was so
high, in fact, that the band’s subsequent estimable work sometimes seems to
suffer by comparison, in much the same way that Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls is found wanting
next to the two early works that created a whole new literary style, In Our Time and The Sun Also Rises.
Just how much this record quickly began to worm
itself into the consciousness of the young generation might be illustrated by
one of the essential Brat Pack films, St. Elmo’s Fire. The LP becomes part of a nasty aural division of the spoils
when Ally Sheedy’s Leslie splits from Judd Nelson’s Alec.
“You cannot have the Pretenders' first album!” he
yells. “That's mine.” Then, in an attempt at placating that sounds more like an
insult, he offers a consolation prize of sorts: “You can have all the Carly
Simons.” Ouch!
(It would appear that Ms. Simon may also have
thought “Ouch!” after an encounter with Ms. Hynde. The story goes that, at a
Joni Mitchell appearance in Greenwich Village in November 1985—her first
appearance in 10 years—the Pretenders singer was so inebriated that she yelled,
“We love you. Joni!” At this point, interpretations of what happened next
differ. By her own account, Simon, sitting next to her, asked her to be quiet,
whereupon Hynde “started choking me in a loving way and said, ‘you’re great
too, Carly; get up there, you need to do this too!” Other eyewitnesses insisted
that Simon’s initial suggestion was more sharply worded--more like, “Shut up!”--and that Hynde’s response was less “loving” as she put her hands around the
throat of the “You’re So Vain” singer.)
At Sheryl Crow’s live Central Park appearance in
1999, fans were undoubtedly thrilled to see Hynde join her in an electrifying
duet on “If It Makes You Happy.” But, in truth, the central force behind the
Pretenders was, far more than her song partner, “not the type of girl you take
home.”
Perhaps more than any of their other albums, The Pretenders is a product of the
band’s socioeconomic environment rather than personal circumstances: late Seventies
Britain. Hynde, alienated from her native Akron, Ohio, and still at sea after
three years as a Kent State art student, crossed the Atlantic in 1973 in
pursuit of her dream of joining a rock ‘n’ roll band, only to find that “swinging
London and Carnaby Street had finished," she told Brant Mewborn in a November 1980 interview.
But she still found the city congenial, as the seeds
were already being planted for punk and New Wave. Through the rest of the
decade, even as eked out an existence through assorted jobs such as music
journalist, working at the Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood clothing store SEX
boutique, drawing fake coats of arms, and waitressing, she met such up-and-comers as John (Johnny Rotten) Lydon, David
Johannsen, Chris Thomas and Nick Lowe. (The last two, in particular, became key to her success when they handled production duties for The
Pretenders’ first LP.)
While absorbing the sounds and textures of the
musicians in her new environment, Hynde also brought her own more far-ranging set of
influences, such as The Beatles, The Kinks, Jimi Hendrix, Iggy Pop, Dionne
Warwick, Jeff Beck, and Candi Staton.
After knocking around for serious years, trying to
hook up with one band or another, the expatriate met three musicians from
Hereford, England: lead guitarist James Honeyman-Scott, bassist Pete Farndon,
and drummer Martin Chambers. This became the lineup of the original Pretenders.
“My only
agenda in getting into a band was to not be a waitress somewhere in Akron --
and to have some fun,” Hynde said in a 2006 interview with Billboard Magazine.
“Outside of that, I have absolutely no ambitions.”
The album marked what represented part of the
opening wedge of the Second British Invasion, groups or solo artists informed
by New Wave and punk such as Elvis Costello, Dire Straits and the Police, which
paved the way for MTV-propelled musicians such as Duran Duran, Billy Idol,
Duran Duran and the Eurythmics. The
Pretenders not only eventually reached number one in the U.K. but proved
nearly as successful in Hynde’s native country, entering the Top Ten.
"Brass in Pocket," which became the first
#1 single to debut in the Eighties in the U.K. (and which reached number 14 in
America), was a fascinating amalgam of Hynde’s melodic sense, an assertiveness
that answered male braggadocio in kind, and her unwillingness to play by record-industry
rules. As an expatriate, she was intrigued by the words “brass in pocket,” a Northern English slang expression
for money on one’s person. As she built the song, the emphasis swung away from
the financial to the lead singer’s frankly sexual interests (“gonna use my
arms, gonna use my legs”). In the hands of producer Thomas, the song took on an
even more pronounced strut.
That’s when it almost came undone. Her bandmates,
manager, and Thomas were sure it would be a hit. Hynde’s contrarian streak
and her resistance to commercialism flared up as she announced that it would be released as a single over her dead
body. Thomas had to persuade her that it would be fine—and though time has proven
him right, Hynde remains ambivalent about the song, admitting a few
years ago that it seems “so obvious,” but that she continued to play it for
audiences that had come to expect it.
Hard on the success of this platinum album, the band
toured and released follow-up material. But all of Hynde’s strength and
independence would be called on over the next several years, when
Honeyman-Scott and Farndon would die because of drug abuse (Farndon’s death
coming after he was fired from the band because of the problem) and Chambers
left for nearly a decade. If Hynde wasn’t the Pretenders, she was, as
its principal songwriter, lead vocalist, rhythm guitar, and one consistent
member through the years, its anchor.
If a definitive history ever gets written of the
punk and New Wave movements, it might be impossible to top the Sex Pistols for
sensationalism, but it would also be unbelievably difficult to keep to only one
chapter on Hynde. It is not just because of the length of her career, but
because of the bright, fierce flame with which she lived. (Even the cover photo of The Pretenders is a giveaway of sorts: her bright red leather jacket not only differentiates her from her black-clad male bandmates, but testifies to a passion for music, rebellion and life.)
There was the tumultuous
extramarital affair with Ray Davies of The Kinks (which inspired the
hard-hitting “The Adultress” on The
Pretenders II), typified by them being told to go home by a justice of the
peace when they quarreled loudly just before they were to marry; an anecdote
recounted in Viv Albertine’s memoir Clothes Clothes Clothes Music Music Music Boys Boys Boys, in which Paul Simonon of The Clash tried to scrub off Hynde’s tattoo
with a pumice stone while she read aloud from the Bible; her arrest and jailing
in Memphis after a drunken barroom brawl; and the time she took Farndon to her
rehearsal space, "the scummiest basement” the bassist had ever seen.
And there are the causes: animal rights, opposition to domestic violence, anti-militarism, to name a few.
Hynde’s mercurial personality is so overwhelming that the
temptation becomes enormous to focus on it to the near-total exclusion of the
music. That urge should be resisted, as I’m about to do here, in explaining
why she—and, by extension, the Pretenders and their first LP—matter:
*Hynde is a
fine songwriter. In March, New York’s Loser’s Lounge will feature a kind of
“battle of the bands,” between the Pretenders and Blondie—or, rather, artists
covering these groups’ hits. It’s also a way of confirming that others find her
material compelling. Over the years, her songs have been interpreted by Lily Allen,
Robin Danar, Kelis, the Pernice Brothers, and Marie Schumacher. Built around
what Rolling Stone contributor Kurt
Loder called “treacherously eccentric meters,” they deal with sex and love
without, despite the frequent impression they made, necessarily being autobiographical (the narrator of “Kid” sounds like a
prostitute embarrassed by her child’s discovery of what she has done to
survive—“I know you know what I’m about/I won’t deny it”). Often, you can judge a song's durability by how well it stands up under stripped-down instrumentation. Such is the case here in this performance by Hynde from the VH1 Storytellers series of "Kid."
* Her voice is
a marvelously supple instrument. Has any other female rocker’s voice moved
so swiftly but seamlessly from snarling to caressing as Hynde’s? Her alto can
be whispering or keening, enraged or warm. Early on, producer Chris
Thomas recognized that she had a “great voice,” but he strongly suggested that
she develop her own material. Had he not done so, listeners would have focused
on her skills as an interpreter of the likes of Bob Dylan (“Forever Young”),
Burt Bacharach (“Baby It’s You”), Chip Taylor ("Angel of the Morning") and Hugh Martin (“Have Yourself A Merry Little
Christmas”). Her outstanding cover of another song is, of course, the first
single from the first album, The Kinks’ “Stop Your Sobbing.” And, for all the legion of stories about her ferocity, the vulnerability that comes through so often in the vocals expresses another quality she may be at pains to hide under normal circumstances.
*She is an
underrated guitarist. Hynde herself is probably as responsible for this as
anyone with her occasional dismissals of her work on rhythm guitar, but she
should not be. She learned from the best, paying special attention to the licks
of Keith Richards and Joni Mitchell. The Pretenders’ first LP benefited from
her instrumental interplay with Honeyman-Scott.
In its later iterations, the Pretenders continued to
have hits, but the band’s first album, all these years later, remains unique
for its go-for-it unconventionality. As a tough, take-charge female musician, Hynde
has influenced a whole set of female musicians that followed, including Sheryl
Crow, Tori Amos, Katy Perry and Madonna. (Last year, like these other artists, she finally dispensed with the formalities and issued a solo CD, Stockholm.) And, in a development that surely must
have astonished her, her wiry frame, dark bangs, kohl-rimmed eyes, black
leather pants, and brassy attitude combined to make her a sexy symbol of sorts
for many male music fans.
At the end of “Brass in Pocket,” Hynde crows, then
implores: “I’m special, so special, / I’ve gotta have some of your
attention,/Give it to me.”
“So special”? Indeed she is. Our attention? She’s
got it.
1 comment:
Damn. Great article. Thank you.
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