The Pretenders
TURN OF THE SCREW
The Pretenders Test Out New Tools on Loose Screw
Long before Lilith Fair and Riot Grrrl energized women on different ends of the musical spectrum, Chrissie Hynde was out there winging it on her own -- presenting a strong image and, far more important, crafting the kind of songs that transcend matters of gender and generation alike. Armed with a punk rocker's attitude and a soul lover's heart, Hynde has led a procession of Pretenders lineups over the years, imbuing her music with a blend of toughness and vulnerability, a spoonful of sugar and a bracing shot of overproof libation. On Loose Screw, the band's first outing since 1999's Viva el Amor, she and the Pretenders delve more deeply into the rock-reggae rhythms that have punctuated many previous efforts. There's also a palpably lighter tone, one that Hynde discussed when she loosened up with Barnes & Noble.com's David Sprague.
Barnes & Noble.com: You've said that you consider Loose Screw to be something of an "easy listening" album, but presumably not in the standard sense. What do you mean by that?
Chrissie Hynde: We wanted to keep it upbeat, keep the songs short, get in and out of there as quickly as possible. I'd call it lightweight in a way, just in that it's easy to listen to. I initially wanted to make a reggae album. I was very influenced by that from the mid-'70s on. That was all that the people in the original punk bands listened to. When I say lightweight, I just mean a little more of a party album -- something you can put on in the background, something that's easy to dance to.
B&N.com: Did you approach the album much differently?
CH: Instead of me sitting around with a guitar and a notebook, which is the way I used to always do things, Adam [Seymour, guitarist] brought technology into the picture, and that made things move much more quickly. We did a lot with computers and so on...well, I should say that Adam did a lot. I'm a real Luddite -- I've never even been on the Internet -- but I can appreciate how it helps. I'm happy if I can work the remote control for the television. That's about as far as it goes.
B&N.com: To what extent is the song "Complex Person" a piece of autobiography, and to what extent is it a character sketch?
CH: I think it could be any ordinary person. Obviously, the person singing it is me, and I'm saying these things...but it's anyone who says one thing and may mean another, someone who's trying to better themselves but keeps having personal setbacks, trying to stick to some personal moral code but ends up falling off the rails. That's what I'm talking about there.
B&N.com: The "don't ignore me" part is intriguing. Obviously, you get attention because of what you do -- but do you crave attention?
CH: Not particularly. I'm not really comfortable being the center of attention, and that's why I've always loved being in a band. I'm happiest when I'm just standing back playing rhythm guitar and watching Martin [Chambers, drummer] go to work or if Adam's doing a solo.... That's when I'm the most comfortable. Everyone wants to be acknowledged, no one wants to be neglected, but I put up with the limelight more than I go after it. I find it kind of embarrassing, actually.
B&N.com: Your celebrity has come in handy when you've done work with animal rights groups, though.
CH: Yeah, it's been useful then, but I'd be doing that regardless of who I was. It gets more attention because I have what, in some circles, is a recognizable face and name, but I'm not really on the front lines all that often. I make myself available for photo calls, for interviews and such, but I'm not in the trenches every day. I'd like to be: I think more people need to be. Whenever I go to one of those "protests," I get a little sad, because it seems like it's the same people who were there 30 years ago, and not much in the way of a new generation there. There used to be more principle.... Everyone's so obsessed with fame and this really nonsensical view of success.
B&N.com: Do you think that has anything to do with media imagery?
CH: Quite a bit. Everyone is so concerned about whether they have a flat stomach or big boobs or white teeth. Let me put it this way: In my old age, I feel like I want to be even more obnoxious on behalf of people who just think "Who cares?"
B&N.com: "You Know Who Your Friends Are" is a pretty moving sentiment -- both on the positive and negative side. Is that drawn from your own experiences?
CH: I'm a very trusting person. It's inherent in me. I trust everybody, and I find it really easy to get really friendly with people. I'm very social, although I have no social life. But that song is more dealing with a past time, say, you're in a small group of people that shares a particular vice and one person decides to leave that vice behind, they can find a lot of opposition from people who don't want them to move on.
B&N.com: Most of the songs on here are songs you co-wrote with Adam. Was that collaboration one that came together easily?
CH: It started as a byproduct of the fact that he can work the machines. I can come up with something in my head and he can find a way to translate that on computer or whatever really quickly. That made this album a lot more fun to do: I always wondered about those songwriters who'd meet every day, like at the Brill Building, to write together. I'd never been that disciplined, always thinking I needed to find inspiration to write. But I realize there's inspiration everywhere every day. You don't have to have some trauma to make it interesting: "Clean Up Woman," for instance, was written because I was getting ready to leave the house and saw that nobody had bothered to do the dishes.
B&N.com: You recently did some shows with the Stones. Was that a positive experience?
CH: They were awesome, really great. We sent them wish lists for songs that we wanted to hear them do. That's the great thing seeing them night after night. You realize how many songs they've written that meant a lot to people -- well, to me at least -- over the years. The contradiction in pop music is that it reflects the very moment in which it's made, and has a resonance for that time, but on the other hand, when you hear "Tumblin' Dice" or something, it's relevant. They weren't singing things that they had no business doing. There's a timeless elegance to what they're doing, the same kind of thing that makes us listen to Beethoven or Schubert even centuries later.
November 12, 2002
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