Oh yes, she’s still a great Pretender

There’s a puzzle about The Pretenders. Why are they not as big as they used to be? In a lockdown sort-out way, I came across a ticket for their show at Wembley Arena in 1987. If Chrissie Hynde and co get to Wembley now, they are the support act, as when Fleetwood Mac played the stadium last year.

The Pretenders seem to be seen as a period piece. The radio stations that still rate them are the ones that play oldies. On Spotify, their five most popular tracks are all 25 to 40 years old.

You might deduce that Hynde’s songwriting is not what it once was. But then you play Hate For Sale and find that it’s exactly what it once was. The sound remains the same – a jangle with a swagger attached. It has the classic virtue of being distinctive and also adaptable.

The first song here, the title track, is a pile-driving tribute to the punks who preceded The Pretenders. The second is snappy new-wave pop-rock, perhaps inspired by their own classic debut album. The third is reggae, reminiscent of Grace Jones. The fourth is galloping glam rock with a quirky title (Turf Accountant Daddy, rhyming with Cincinnati). The fifth is a sumptuous soul ballad.

As vehicles for a voice, these tracks are top of the range. Hynde (left), who will be 70 next year, still sings like a dream, coolly exuding both strength and sensitivity. The Brits should consider her for their Outstanding Contribution To Music award. In the band, as usual, the men come and go. This time the original drummer, Martin Chambers, is back, bringing swing, while Hynde co-writes with her guitarist, James Walbourne, who brings a touch of class from his day job with the folkrock duo The Rails.

After half an hour the album is all over, leaving you with a powerful urge to see The Pretenders live. Maybe even at Wembley Arena.