The Pretenders Weren't Faking It.

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There was a club in Dallas in the eighties called the Agora. Before it was a venue for live music acts, it had been a dinner theatre-in the-round, which helps to explain its great acoustics and the fact that there was not a bad seat in the house. I saw a lot of bands there--Talking Heads, the Ramones, Iggy Pop, and on and on. But I never saw a band that could match the Pretenders for raw rock and roll exuberance.

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It was 1980, and Chrissie Hynde, along with James Honeyman-Scott (guitar), Pete Farndon (bass) and Martin Chambers (drums) were riding high on the runaway success of their debut album. The Agora was filled to its 1200 seat capacity when the Pretenders played that night, but it hardly mattered. As soon as the band took the stage, nobody was sitting anyway. And for the next two hours, the Pretenders proved the mettle of what had been committed to vinyl.

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The Rhino reissue of their debut LP, simply titled Pretenders, is a stunning reminder of how auspicious that first effort was. If there was one album that was the bridge between raw punk and the more melodious new wave, this was it. There had never been a band quite like the Pretenders, and certainly not one fronted by a woman. Sure, there were predecessors such as Patti Smith, who early on tapped into the punk sensibility, but no woman before Chrissie Hynde channeled that into head-on sexual awareness. Hynde could swagger with the best of the men, but her female perspective put her in a league of her own.

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Here, she alternately coos, snarls, teases and hisses her way through her vocal stylings, sometimes all on the same song. Particularly on "Precious", with its unforgettable exclamation "Not me, baby--I'm too precious--I had to fuck off!", and the raucous "Tattooed Love Boys", with its hard-edged look at groupie lifestyles, she makes it abundantly clear that she can express a full range of emotions, bemused sarcasm not the least of them.

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The original Pretenders lineup sounded like nobody else at the time. They were neither punk or pop, but managed to strike a chord that defied definition. Even their top forty singles "Brass in Pocket" and the Kinks cover "Stop Your Sobbing" have a sense of tension lurking just beneath the jangly pop surface. But it's on "Mystery Achievement," the album's finale, that the power and the cohesivenes of the band is most aptly demonstrated. Farndon lays down a pulsing bass line over Chambers' pounding beat to intro the song as Hynde slides into a simple rhythm riff supplanted by a vocal wail that segues into Scott's blazing lead guitar. The song jams and gains a dizzying momentum, yet never loses its anchor. It's a great jam, so tight and polished it still sends a chill through the listener. Sadly, the original Pretenders would only make one more album together. Both Scott and Farndon succumbed to the excesses of rock, and overdosed. Cocaine got Scott, and heroin took Farndon almost a year lear later.

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The Pretenders have gone through several incarnations, with Chrissie Hynde being the only constant in the makeup of the band. It was always, undeniably, her band anyway, but the groundbreaking magic of that debut album would never be surpassed. Pretenders was, and still is, one of those rare albums that happened at the perfect time with the perfect band with the perfect sound. Twenty-six years after its initial release, it still--how shall I put it?--kicks major ass.

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This reissue pays tribute to the original release, and expands on what was already a perfect album. It's been remastered, obviously, but lovingly so. Bill Inglot's production here adds a crisp, clean sound to Nick Cave's original without demeaning the original work. If anything, it enhances the individual players' performances.

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What really makes this version of Pretenders outstanding are the extras. Most notable of these is a second disc containing sixteen songs you won't find anywhere else. There are outtakes "Cuban Slide" and "Porcelain"), demo versions that add another layer to the evolution of a song, previously unreleased tracks (most notably the C&W "Tequila") and a blistering five-song live performance.

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Also enhancing this release are new liner notes chronicling the origins of the band, and, almost unheard of today, a lyric sheet. For the first time, we actually get to read what Chrissie Hynde was saying, and we find she knew how to write, on top of everything else. That tone of cynicism is offset by angst and longing, punctuated by resignation.

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Finally, there's the packaging itself. Rhino eschewed the the plastic jewel box in favor of a cardboard tryptich gatefold that neatly pockets the two discs and the booklet. As a result, the CD comes across more as an event than a reprint. It's a trend in CD packaging I'm seeing often of late, and I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner. Besides being infinitely more ergonomic than the jewel box, it makes you feel like you actually have an album.

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All that aside, Pretenders stands as one of the benchmarks of rock and roll. 1980 was a seminal year for rock--the Clash released London Calling, Peter Gabriel released is third eponymously

titled album (I call it "Melting Face"), and the Pretenders exploded from out of nowhere to change the shape of pop and rock forever.

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The Rhino reissue of Pretenders is essential listening for anybody with even a casual interest in the evolution of rock.