The Pretenders: Special, So Special

Before there was Beyonce or Britney, but right around the same time as Blondie, a female force swept the rock scene by storm. Her name was Chrissie Hynde, she was born in Akron, Ohio, and the only thing she wanted to do was play music. Living in London, hanging with Syd Vicious and firmly focused on the craft, Chrissie eventually led the band The Pretenders serving in multiple roles: as lead singer, song writer and guitarist. Unlike most of her female counterparts of the day (Debbie Harry excluded) Chrissie formed her own sound, her own look and damned the consequences. This took guts, and, given the music climate, she pioneered the way, making it hot for chicks to jam on guitar, swear like truck drivers and, yet, look like sexy babes, all at the same times.

Not only is fifty-seven year old Chrissie a rock n’ roll veteran, but she’s also a rock n’ roll wife veteran, with former marriages to (and daughters with) Kinks lead singer Ray Davies and Simple Minds lead singer Jim Kerr (who later married Patsy Kensit (who went on to marry one of the Oasis brothers…) In 2005 The Pretenders was inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, with Chrissie being one of the very few women whose name made it on the highly bias and often questionable list. (If my math is correct, of the 234 acts inducted only 24 are women, as solo artists or as part of groups.) And, unlike many of her Rock Hall peers, she doesn’t rest on her laurels, but continues to create great music.

Several months ago, while listening to Chicago’s WXRT Radio (on line), I heard this fabulous two and half minute song that just blew me away: the road trip rhythm, the folk punk guitars, the visual language made me think that XRT was playing a retro track. Turned out it was “Boots of Chinese Plastic,” The Pretenders new song from the new album, Break Up the Concrete. I immediately downloaded the song from i-tunes, sat down and, with “Boots” on repeat, wrote the first date scene of my screenplay around this killer track, focusing on romantic leads Marianne and Jacob walking around downtown Cleveland, as the fast-paced song stops and starts. Repeat. In fact, towards the later part of of the screenplay process, I changed the original opening song from “So Long, Marianne,” (the song that first inspired for the story), to a song that better fit the mood that needs to be staged in the flashback scene of Mid-80’s Cleveland: “My City Was Gone.” With Chrissie singing about Northeast Ohio and a “government that had no pride,” no other piece quite sets the scene as her long-ago lyrics do.

Suddenly, I had a new respect, love and interest for The Pretenders. Thus, a few weeks ago, (and prior to knowing my surgery date) after accidentally coming across the information that The Pretenders had scheduled an appearance at Cleveland’s House of Blues, I made the decision that, even during unemployment, some things are worth the money. So, after dinner with a friend on East 4th Street, I walked into House of Blues and purchased two General Admission tickets.

This past Sunday night, good friend and former Statler neighbor Sonia came over to watch the Grammys with me. Truth be told, she came over to see how I was recovering, but a music award show and pizza was as good excuse as any to spend some quality time together. While watching the star-studded event (I thought we were both going to lose it when Coldplay performed one of the best songs written in years, “Viva La Vida”), Sonia looked at an old issue of Blender magazine on my coffee table, which featured Chrissie Hynde, and spoke about how her recent album was heavily influenced by her homecoming to Akron. (Look for the “Akron Witnessed First” t-shirt she wears in the “Boots of Chines Plastic” video, referencing, of course, LeBron James.).

“The Pretenders are coming to Cleveland,” Sonia told me. “Yeah,” I replied, “and I have an extra ticket. Wanna be my date?” “Sure.”

So, with bruises, stitches and bandages (and very recent clean bill-of-health news!), I met Sonia at House of Blues on Tuesday night, thinking we would be clever by eating dinner there, in order to cut through the back way to the concert later, thus avoiding the outside line. Well, with a forty-five minute waiting list, all of Cleveland had the same idea. Sonia and I finally found a bar table, had small meals and headed to the pavilion. I knew I would not be able to dance, jump or go crazy, and realized I’d have to spend most of the concert just standing and clapping, otherwise known as being your average white person. Also, HOB posted sings everywhere saying “No pictures!” (Damn!) But, with my own black patented (made in China) boots on, I was ready to enjoy the music.

As HOB decided the put all non-floor & bar stool seats “on reserve” (the bastards), we had no choice but to stand in a crowded mosh pit of sorts, except the average age was about 45. The opening group “American Band” sucked. Really. Bunch of stoner looking dirty tattooed dudes whose sound was more cacophonous than my ears could handle. The frustration magnified itself due to the annoying Amazon chick in front of us, who insisted on moving around. A lot.

Finally, the opening band left the stage, but this also meant that all those lazy peeps who didn’t want to stand through Act 1, now crowded the dance floor, creeping in tight, leaving little room between themselves and the already there patient audience. At one point, as territorial tensions began to fly, a fight almost broke out. My patience was expiring, my forehead was perspiring and I told Sonia “I wish I had laser beams that could shoot out of my eye balls and disseminate the people in front of me.” I mean, how cool would that be, of course, given I would be the only one with this special power?

But. Then. The lights dimmed. And. There She Was.

Looking exactly like she does on tv (and slightly grayer then when I walked past her on the Chicago intersection of Belmont and Broadway about a decade ago), Chrissie, still as thin as ever, with thick black eye liner and bangs in her eyes, took her guitar and took control of the stage immediately.

The Pretenders opened with “Boots of Chinese Plastic” and got everyone pumped. The band then went into classics “Message of Love” and “Don’t Get Me Wrong.” Chrissie paid homage to her early punk days by changing the Bridget Bardo reference in the former song to “like Morrissey.” (yeah!). The band then played a pretty song with lyrics “I keep it simple, you keep it true,” and, in case anyone thought Chrissie was going soft, after this number, she took to the mike and ripped “You wanna take my picture. Here. (pose). Take my fuckin’ picture.” And, in case, at this point anyone doubted her authentic spirit, she frankly told the audience “We’re gonna play the new stuff now. So go to the bar. Get a beer. Whatever.” When was the last time any artist had a sense of humor, especially about new material?

The Pretenders, with killer musicians, young and young at heart (the drummer has been with the band for 30 years) played some of the new songs. Good, solid stuff. I think one song was called “Rosalee.” Another was called “Love’s a Mystery,” and one song Chrissie dedicated to “my second favorite guy. This is the guy I can’t be with because I’m too busy for him.” And, later, she apologized for the sound of her voice because “I haven’t been taking care of myself. What are you gonna do?”

This vulnerability that she displayed seemed so refreshing from the highly-marketed, pre-packaged, obviously-sampled and overly-choreographed music that seems to bombard us at every corner. We’re all told how image is such a critical aspect of the entertainment industry, how you’re only worth what you look like and how your agent, publicist, producer, director, corporate vice president seems to know what is best for you, as an artist. And here’s Chrissie, approaching 60, a mother of two, who has known and partied with four decades of musicians, from the U.S., to England, to France and back to the U.S., again, with gray hair, a dry throat and absolutely no apologies. She’s still pretty, she’s still thin. And, during a few numbers, she even danced, on stage, shaking her thing and showing many of us that being a woman and being a rock star, on your own terms, are not mutually exclusive. Truth be told, she’s paid her dues, for nearly forty years. And, now, she gets to do what she wants, and how she wants it. Including, mid-song, telling us to put away cameras.

She also recognized that she is where she is because of her fans. And, after some of the new numbers, the band performed “Stop All Your Sobbing,” and the classic “Back on the Chain Gang.” Then, an odd request to us “What do you wanna hear?” At that point The Pretenders went into the song that, on the eve of Reagonomics, first put the band on the map, “Brass in Pocket.” The crowd went nuts. Who could forget the video, of gum-chewing Chrissie in a waitress outfit, with pencil tucked in that beehive, taking orders from the then-bandmates?

After “Brass”, the musicians went into a rockabilly tune, at which point Chrisse called us a bunch of “hillbillies” and then made the comment “We promised you country, but we’ll give you punk.”

Next was “Cuban Slide,” with its Bo Diddley beat (whom Jenn B. and I saw at the same stage, about 4 years ago, may he rest in peace) and performed another Bo Diddley tune, the title song off Break Up the Concrete. And just like that, the band signaled how timeless its’ music is and how it can borrow from blues, punk, folk, rock and country and morph it into the signature Pretenders sound.

Towards the end of the show, Chrissie admitted that she “used to live in Parma.” When the theater lights finally went on, despite a great encore of four tracks, to much of our disappointment, “My City Was Gone” never made it to the song list. Perhaps, now that she’s opened her veggie restaurant in Akron and has made her birthplace a second home of sorts, Chrissie has a certain pride about Northeast Ohio that the government never (and still does not) have. Perhaps, if her feelings were contagious, Ohio’s banks could remain independent, people could afford to keep their houses, the Governor would pass the film tax incentive bill into law and the state could blossom, again. That would be special.