The Pretenders
 | The Pretenders Original Recording Remastered Disc 1 – Original album, 3 ½ stars Disc 2 – The extras, 2 ½ stars Overall – 3 stars (out of 5) Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson |
The 80s was a wasteland for music. One hit disco bands and punk outfits with more attitude than talent were the rule rather than the exception. One of the poster boys for the era was Sid Vicious, who somehow became a rock icon for not being able to play the bass and murdering his girlfriend. You might be able to name a handful of bands good or bad from the 80s -- and I’m willing to bet the Pretenders are one of them. The quartet was comprised three Englishmen: bassist Pete Farndon, drummer Martin Chambers and guitarist James Honeyman-Scott, and a former waitress and boutique salesgirl from Ohio, Chrissie Hynde. Farndon, a punk poser who was more like Gene Vincent than Gene Simmons, could keep the beat sultry or sweaty amidst the group’s most chaotic compositions. Occasionally overly ambitious live, Chambers was steady and disciplined in the studio. Honeyman-Scott was the group’s marquee player, a six-stringed chameleon who absorbed the signature sounds of his heroes – Jeff Beck, Pete Townsend and Billy Bremmer – and gave them a punk/rock spin. Hynde was the Mae West of rock and roll. Disguised behind a cosmetic counter’s worth of black eyeliner, Hynde purred her compositions in a come hither tone. Confident and tough, she made music on her own terms with no apologies, and the Pretenders self-titled first album was a reflection of her I’ll spit in your eye and you’ll like it writing style.
There’s a brief countdown by Chambers before the band slams into “Precious,” a frantic, mosh pit worthy piece with plenty of Clash-like defiance. As if to prove how tough she is, Hynde lets loose with an F-bomb or two. Take that, Debbie Harry. Hynde’s the real deal, even if she does rhyme “ethereal” with “imperial.”
“The Phone Call” is more speed-freak punk, but it’s a bad connection, pushed too fast and too hard, although Honeyman-Scott’s fretwork is righteously mean. “Up the Neck” finds Hynde breathy, chock full of innuendo and on the prowl. After two hard charging cuts, “Up the Neck”'s subtlety is a welcome change and demonstrates that the flashy Honeyman-Scott could occasionally squeeze out a harmonic riff. “Tattooed Love Boys” puts the emphasis on percussion, with an inventive guitar solo from Honeyman-Scott that sounds like static electricity, and a healthy slice of sardonic wit from Hynde: “I shot my mouth off and he showed me what that hole was for,” she growls.
Other instant classics abound, including “Mystery Achievement” with the rhythm section playing as tight as a closed fist, and the acerbic, assertive “Brass in Pocket.” “Kid” is a straight ahead mid-tempo coming of age song, and although “The Wait” finds Hynde unintelligibly hiccupping the lyrics as if she’s singing in Esperanto, it’s still got plenty of in your face attitude. “Lover of Today,” is as close to a ballad as the group would get. It’s characterized by the same suicidal angst that Aimee Mann would later tap into. “Private Life” is sinister Ska, topped off with a threatening vocal by Hynde and Honeyman-Scott’s Hendrixy solo. Only “Stop Your Sobbing” a sub-par Kinks tune, and “Space Invader,” an unnecessary instrumental, fail to ignite.
Disc #2 is a grab bag of cuts that should have made the album, demos, incendiary live performances and cuts you’ll never want to hear again. “Cuban Slide,” with its shake yer hips Bo Diddley beat, ended up on a five song EP the band recorded on tour in 1981 to placate the public’s demand for new material. It could very well be the Pretender’s best song. Fardon does Larry Graham proud, shaking the floor with thick, thumping bass lines, while Honeyman-Scott’s precision slide work cuts through the arrangement like a slicer through pepperoni. Conversely, it’s hard to figure out why “Porcelain” was unleashed on a public salivating for quality material. Sporting a long intro that brings to mind the opening chords to Johnny Rivers’ “Secret Agent Man,” the song becomes a disjointed, noisy example of pissed off punk. The two demos that follow, “The Phone Call” and “The Wait,” are indeed works in progress that sounded better when they were reworked. Both have Farndon mixed to the point of invisibility, and “The Wait” sports a goose-step vocal that makes Hynde sound like 80s Teutonic icon Lene Lovich, which works for the eccentric Lovich, but not her. The demo for “Brass in Pocket” is radically different from the final version. Saddled with a snail paced beat, the song’s ire is deflated when Hynde sings “You’re special, so special,” instead of focusing the lyrics on herself. If the group had released this version, I can guarantee Hynde would still be a waitress. The demo for “Stop Your Sobbing” is more twinkley than tough, further demonstrating that plucking it from obscurity was a mistake from the start. A short band jam, “Swinging London,” invokes visions of mini-skirted birds dancing in cages, but falls short of paying homage to 60s bands that were actually there, such as the Yardbirds, Tremeloes or Dave Clark Five. (It may have sounded better had the band continued to work on it.) You’ll be glad there’s an advance button on your CD player when you hear “Tequila,” -- not the instantly recognizable instrumental by the Champs, but a grievously misguided attempt at country that once again proves English rockers should stay clear of the genre. “Sabre Dance” is also D.O.A. from its opening notes. Honeyman-Scott tries to entertain, but seems to have forgotten how the melody goes. The band’s sloppy rendition turns into a bad acid trip when Hynde attempts to sing the lyrics to “Stop Your Sobbing” (what, again!) over a completely different melody. We know you like the song, Chris, but there’s a time and a place for everything -- and this ain’t it.
Despite the aforementioned cuts, the second CD is by no means a total washout, In addition to “Cuban Slide,” “I Need Somebody” with producer Chris Thomas on piano, is an unreleased live cut with hints of James Brown funk. Honeyman-Scott zeros in on a nasty groove and the arrangement and the rest of the group obediently rides his creative wave. A live “Tattooed Love Boys” finds Chambers in hyper drive and Honeyman-Scott leveling a solo so frantic it’ll raise the hair in your arms.
James McNair’s liner notes and the plethora of candid photos make the entire package informative, fun and worth checking out while you’re listening. Sloppy or not, fans will appreciate the second disk. If you’re ambivalent, or like your music a little more orderly, stick with side one, which is special…so special.
Posted November 6, 2006 Permalink
