Chrissie Hynde
With her punk-rock attitude intact, the Pretenders and solo star shares her thoughts – and doesn’t give a fuck what you think of her.
With her punk-rock attitude intact, the Pretenders and solo star doesn’t give a fuck what you think of her.
Chrissie Hynde doesn’t like talking about herself. It’s not that she doesn’t like talking per se – she’s got a range of voluble and unadulterated opinions on everything from animal rights to the state of rock’n’roll – but the woman who has led The Pretenders for the past 40 years isn’t big on self-promotion. “I don’t read anything about myself ever,” she says. “Why the fuck would I want to?”
The Ohio-born singer is friendly but forthright, favouring a no-nonsense approach that has marked her out as one of the most magnetic figures to emerge from the punk movement.
Your 2014 album Stockholm was credited to Chrissie Hynde, but you went back to the Pretenders name for 2016’s Alone. Why was that? With Stockholm I was just so tired of defending The Pretenders as a band. I thought: “Fuck it, I’ll call it a solo album.” This time I decided to call it The Pretenders. Now I’ve had to defend the name again.
It’s odd that you have to defend yourself for using the name after all this time. How come?
Because we’ve had various line-up changes. When Pete and James died [original Pretenders bassist Pete Farndon and guitarist James Honeyman-Scott, who died within a year of each other in 1982) I could have easily changed the name, but we’d worked really hard to establish the sound. It seemed inappropriate. There’s been a couple of line-up changes since then, but it’s not like I have a line-up change for every album.
Surely you have the right to use the Pretenders name as you want?
I get asked so many times: “It’s really just you, isn’t it?” And the answer to that is: it’s not just me, it’s a band. But if I wasn’t in it, it would no longer be called The Pretenders.
You’ve toured a lot recently with Stevie Nicks, who is coming at things from a completely different place to you. Have you discovered anything the two of you have in common?
It’s pretty weird, I have to admit. It’s kind of an oddball combination. Musically we don’t have anything in common other than The Beatles and the Stones and the obvious things. I didn’t know much about Fleetwood Mac. I never had their records. In my day it was kind of easy listening, and I was into Motörhead. In many ways she’s the opposite to me: I take the bus, I hang out; Stevie’s like a queen, and they love royalty over there. But as it happens, it was fucking awesome. I don’t think anyone expected it would work so well.
I’m a bona fide Stevie Nicks girlfriend.
You’re also on the latest Robert Plant album – another unusual collaboration, at least on paper.
That’s not unusual at all, cos he’s awesome. The thing about Robert that I particularly like is, yeah, he was sex god number one in the sixties and seventies – everyone in the world knew Robert Plant, he had that unique voice – but how does it pan out for someone thirty, thirty-five years later?
It’s not only cos I’m older too, but I find it fascinating to see if someone is resting on their laurels, if they’re out of the game or dried up. If anyone could have rested on their laurels, it’s Robert Plant – he could have done Led Zeppelin songs for the rest of his life. He keeps moving forward, he keeps doing music that he likes, he doesn’t seem to look back. That’s an inspiration to me.
That’s interesting, because Zeppelin were the enemy back in the punk days.
The truth about punk is that any guitar player from that period, whether it was Jonesy [Steve Jones of the Sex Pistols] or [The Clash’s] Mick Jones, they were huge fans of guitar-based rock, and what they wanted to do was to be great players. Every guy who plays guitar in a band is a Led Zeppelin fan – they all love that shit.
Did you buy into the idea of punk as a cultural Year Zero?
No. First of all I was two years older than everyone in the punk scene. I grew up listening to American radio – I was listening to Bobby Womack when they were listening to David Bowie and Roxy Music. I was at [London punk hangout] the Vortex club the night that Elvis Presley died and people were cheering. I thought: “You’re just a load of fucking twats.” And they were. They knew it. “Where are they now?” is all I can say to that.
You’ve said people like Brian Jones and Iggy Pop were big influences when you were growing up. Who were the female musicians who inspired you? Loads. Dionne Warwick was one of my favourite singers. I didn’t really appreciate Karen Carpenter at the time cos it was kind of sickly, but looking back on it now, I realise she’s one of the greatest singers we’ve ever had. She was an influence, even if it was subliminal. Janis Joplin – she affected everyone at the time, sort of like Amy Winehouse did. It wasn’t really new, it was a little bit retrospective, but they brought their own individual take on it, which rebooted the whole thing.
Are we missing a movement like punk today? One hundred per cent.
Kids used to rebel, but then it got very conservative. People got interested in fashion; punk was anti-fashion. Rock’n’roll had nothing to do with the fashion industry, and now it does. It’s really, really watered it down. And all of a sudden you had reality TV and all these things that have destroyed everything we love about rock’n’roll.
We’ve had videos where girls run around in bikinis and get a lot of attention – soft porn, really. I know ZZ Top love those girls in bikinis, and good on ’em cos they’re one of the greatest bands of all time. I’m talking about the artists themselves. When a lot of women realised that if they took their clothes off they could get on MTV, things started to change. People started to follow the money. And that’s when things started to change, and unfortunately these so-called artists have flooded the place. I think it’s temporary. Everything’s temporary.
And anyway, people like bands.
Bands are best. You sound optimistic about the future of rock’n’roll.
I go in waves. I’ve actually been depressed about it at times, like: “It’s over.” But one of the interesting things about the time we live in is that it’s not really ageist any more. Anyone can do anything at any time. I can remember when I was nineteen, the idea of even having a friend who was over twenty-five was unimaginable. I didn’t even know anybody who was that old. Now you’ve got a bunch of sixty-year-olds playing in bands. That used to be unthinkable.
You’ve been a vocal animal rights activist all your life. Back in the seventies and eighties, did it feel like you were doing something radical?
I didn’t think I was being radical, I was just driven to do it. I couldn’t not do it, it’s as simple as that. Since I stopped eating meat in 1969 it’s informed my whole destiny more than anything else I’ve ever done. I started an environment group in the eighties to promote vegetarianism. Then we broadened it out and made a link between the meat-eating industry and the environment and how it affects it. To be honest, I’ve always felt like it’s too late.
Why?
We’ve got a real environmental calamity and people are so numb to it. Because we’re so saturated with the media, we can actually watch a hurricane unfolding. There’s a bizarre science-fiction disconnect to reality. It’s going to be increasingly hard to ignore what’s happening.
Trump’s a huge…
[Interrupting] I’m not gonna dignify him by mentioning him by his name. But with the animal rights thing, groups are dumping me now and saying I can’t be their patron. I’ve been talking about this place called Rutland Farm, which uses a method of farming called ahimsa. It’s a dairy farm, very traditional: it’s nonaggressive, slaughter-free farming. The moment I started talking about it, these animal rights groups who I’d been a patron of for years started dumping me. They’re on these big vegan, anti-milk campaigns. I know the vegan thing, I was there years ago, but they’ve taken it to another level.
It used to be about the way animals were treated; now it’s about nutrition. So now I’ve got the feminists and the vegans gunning for me. Can everyone just fuck off? I’m sitting back and watching it, thinking: “This is what happens to everyone when they get older – they have their day and then the world moves on.”
Does your age count against you?
I don’t feel like that, but I think in society it’s quite common. People initiate things, then a new generation comes along and says: “See you later, grandad.”
Do you ever think about your legacy? No. I don’t give a fuck.
Do you ever see anybody copying what you do and think: “You owe me”? Not at all. [Jazz icon] John Coltrane said: “There’s twelve notes, I just play them all in the solo.” Everyone can have it, it’s out there for everyone. You can do what you want.
“When a lot of women realised that if they took
their clothes off they could get on MTV, things
started to change.”