Raw Hynde - interview with singer Chrissie Hynde - Interview

Interview, July, 1999 by Evelyn McDonnell

The word pretender was originally used to describe royals who had to raise rebellions to get the chance to rule - and they never did. Here's a Pretender, Chrissie Hynde, who's been ruling and rebelling for over twenty years

"They don't make 'em like they used to," Chrissie Hynde sings with sarcasm and bravado on "Pop Star," her opening-track flip-off of youthful starlets on Viva El Amor (Warner Bros.), the Pretenders' eighth studio album. It's an ironically old-fogey saying from a woman obsessed with rebellion - but then again, like so many pioneers, Hynde's self-styled and self-taught frontier spirit has always been stubbornly, sometimes frustratingly unpredictable. A strong woman who's infamous for blasting feminism, a rock star and a populist, a freedom fighter who sees both bikers and vegetarians as her fellow revolutionaries, the forty-seven-year-old Hynde is a true maverick. She began her career in the mid '70s as an American she-wolf in London, eventually separating herself from the punk pack (at one point she almost married Sid Vicious) with her pop songcraft and a string of Top Forty hits - "Brass in Pocket," "Ohio," "Middle of the Road," "Back on the Chain Gang." Her voice is up there with Hendrix's guitar and Keith Moon's drums as one of rock's great instruments. Hynde has become, like a '67 Mustang or a '64 Rickenbacker, a classic - the kind that makes today's plastic models look like junk.

EVELYN MCDONNELL: I was just reading an old interview where you said, "I'm not a sentimentalist." And now you've got an album called Viva El Amor - "long live love." Do you feel you've become more romantic?

CHRISSIE HYNDE: I don't think it's good to be sentimental, so I try not to be. I actually wanted to call the album Biker; I had this whole biker concept and that's why there are some psychedelic songs. But my record company and manager just loathed the name Biker. Maybe they couldn't get someone who's knocking on fifty making this tribute to the ideal of a biker. Then I married a South American [sculptor Lucho Brieva], and that heightened my awareness of all the propagandist art work that's still on hippie stalls around the world's capitals: You know, pictures of Che Guevera and stuff. Linda McCartney shot the cover - me with my fist in the air - based on those propaganda images. She said, "I've turned down work all year, but I'm really excited because Viva El Amor is so strong, and I love strong." We did the picture exactly how we discussed it, just the one shot. And then she said, "I'm going to the States, I'll see you in a couple of weeks." And a month later she was dead. I think for a lot of her friends she left little gestures of her affection and goodwill.

EM: What was the biker concept?

CH: I wasn't thinking about a specific individual, but rather the ideal of the renegade, the man who lives outside the law with some kind of honor system and morals. I'm not talking about a murdering rapist, but rather the nonconforming one percent of society. I suppose you could say it's a romantic image, but I think of the biker as the Unabomber without the bombs - the ideals without the violence. That's why I wanted [the song] "Biker" to be more of a ballad, and I used a string quartet because they're not just a bunch of thugs.

EM: Do you have a bike?

CH: No, I don't even go on bikes anymore. I think riding is too dangerous.

EM: Do you think there are many images of rebellion in music and culture anymore? Or has that become almost old-fashioned?

CH: I think there are a lot of images of rebellion, but how much true rebellion is there and what are people rebelling against? I suppose the rebels of today are out working on boats with Sea Shepherd and Greenpeace, trying to fight against environmental destruction.

EM: I also suppose some of these people who are bombing schools or nightclubs think they're rebels.

CH: Well, I think they're disenfranchised. I don't know who lets their kid go to school saying "Bye, Mom, see you," wearing a swastika on their beret, and packing a handgun. "Johnny, don't forget your lunch. Are these your bullets?"

EM: You also have a new song called "Legalize Me," which deals with the notion of freedom and living outside the law - or wanting the law not to be there.

CH: I always have one song per album that's a little bit of a rant. At one point the title for that was "Legalize Pot," but I modified it when I stopped smoking pot. I still make a reference - "I'm just a farmer and I grow marijuana" - even though I'm not a slave to addiction anymore.

EM: Were you once?

CH: Well, yeah.

EM: You've been outspoken about being pro-pot.

CH: I think it should be legal, but I don't think it's worth going to jail for.

EM: What prompted you to stop smoking?

CH: Various things. It wasn't worth the hassle after a while. You know, it's an age thing. One day you look around and say, "Hey, I've been at this party twenty years. Can I go home?"

EM: Did it have to do with getting married and having a new life?

CH: Yeah, it had to do with everything. You know, I don't see myself as a reformed character, particularly. Things don't change much with me. My basic lifestyle remains intact. I haven't been in rehab or lost a lot of weight or anything.