It's as if two deaths in the family plus her fruitful union with Ray Davies have convinced her beyond any lingering adolescent doubt that other people are there Chrissie the fuck-off queen always had these humanistic attitudes in her, and it's good to hear her make the thin line between love and hate explicit. "I'm not the kind I used to be/I've got a kid, I'm thirty-three" is certainly a quotable quote, and whether rock-and-rolling her baby or growling at fat cats Chrissie Hynde backs it up. Which is kind of an achievement, actually.
I mean, I never thought they were such hookmeisters to begin with, but at times this relies so much on texture and flow it sounds like a punk Hissing of Summer Lawns. Anyway, it's always the words I remember, not the melodies. B+Įven though "The Adultress" comes off as an empty boast, I find Chrissie Hynde more memorable when she's dishing than when she's wishing-her tough surface has more depth than her heart of gold. All of it you've heard before, and some of it you'll hear again, when they get their follow-up album shit together. For this young band, however, it's interim product-two singles that went nowhere on the charts, one B side that goes nowhere period, one B side that goes to Cuba with Bo Diddley, and a live version of a single that already went somewhere (though live it goes even further). The medium-priced four-to-six-track twelve-inch is introductory product suited to young bands who are getting their songwriting shit together (or have already shot their songwriting wad). James Honeyman Scott's terse, slangy, suggestive guitar steals don't hurt either.
And she conveys these changes with her voice as well as with her terse, slangy, suggestive lyrics. She's out for herself but she gives of herself as well when she alternates between rapacity and tenderness you don't feel she's acting coy or fucked up, although she may be. Maybe not all of her songs are championship singles, but she's got more to offer emotionally and musically (and sexually) than any of the competition, unless Patti counts. Tough gals, tough gals-suddenly the world is teeming with tough gals.
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