Anyway, one day I was asked to write a retrospective of the Velvets, cos they couldn't come up with anything better, so I thought, 'Well, screw that.' There was too much else going on." "I didn't mind getting the review copies because I didn't have a stereo, never have had since I've been in England, and so I didn't feel bad about selling the albums I had to eat, after all. But Chrissie's ambitions went further than a press card. Her coverage of the prepubescent hordes awaiting David Cassidy's arrival at Heathrow is a minor classic, for example. Some of Chrissie's pieces still stand up as good examples of shrewd rock observation. "And that's how I met Nick Kent and I started running around with him, which was great, because I was getting to see a lot of bands and one day I met one of the editors of his paper and I was bad-rapping some album or something, and he said, 'Well why don't you write a review for us, then?' Which shows where a big mouth can get you." Then I somehow got invited to this party, which seemed pretty boring, so I was coming on the loud-mouthed vulgar American chick and talking about Iggy and how great he was, and this wiry, weird-looking guy in the corner says, 'Oh yeah, I know Iggy, he's a friend of mine.' Which totally floored me. "Anyway, I was pretty pissed off with England. And, like, no one knew what the hell I was talking about when I mentioned the Stooges or Lou Reed. All I had was a couple hundred dollars and three albums by Iggy and Lou Reed, and of course it was instant disillusion – I was living in these really cheap, scuzzy hotels, having to sell leather handbags in one of those sucker tourist markets on Oxford Street and modelling at St Martin's School of Art. "I'd arrived in England naively thinking that I'd bump into Marc Bolan or Jeff Beck on every street corner. But Chrissie's career as a rock scribe was fairly brief and totally accidental. And then, of course, there's Chrissie Hynde herself. In fact, it's currently apparent that several rock hacks have reached the same conclusion: even uncle Mick Farren recently downed his felt-tip and struggled into his leather trews for a second tilt at stage credibility. You can't write about rock'n'roll if you can't play it."Īs quite possibly the worst drummer ever to work the north-east club circuit, and a man who sings flatter than Lee Marvin, I'm forced to demur. Few albums, let alone debuts, are ever this astonishingly addictive.Suddenly she grabs my arm and bellows above the Jones/Cook power riffs: "Look, you should give up all that journalism crap and get yourself a Fender, learn the piano or something.
THE PRETENDERS CHRISSIE HYNDE SERIES
Pretenders moves faster and harder than most rock records, delivering an endless series of melodies, hooks, and infectious rhythms in its 12 songs. It's a deep, rewarding record, whose primary virtue is its sheer energy. Hynde doesn't fit into any conventional female rock stereotype, and neither do her songs, alternately displaying a steely exterior or a disarming emotional vulnerability.
Guitarist James Honeyman-Scott never plays conventional riffs or leads, and his phased, treated guitar gives new dimension to the pounding rhythms of "Precious," "Tattooed Love Boys," "Up the Neck," and "The Wait," as well as the more measured pop of "Kid," "Brass in Pocket," and "Mystery Achievement." He provides the perfect backing for Hynde and her tough, sexy swagger. Although Chrissie Hynde establishes herself as a forceful and distinctively feminine songwriter, the record isn't a singer/songwriter's tour de force - it's a rock & roll album, powered by a unique and aggressive band. A sleek, stylish fusion of Stonesy rock & roll, new wave pop, and pure punk aggression, Pretenders is teeming with sharp hooks and a viciously cool attitude. Few rock & roll records rock as hard or with as much originality as the Pretenders' eponymous debut album.
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