Space Invaders? Glad you asked - it was the first Pretenders song I’d ever heard, and man, it sounded like nothing else at the time. Instantly addicting, like the arcade game that it celebrates (and presumably was intended to serve as a soundtrack for).
According to an James Honeyman Scott interview I once read, the song arose out of a jam session between himself and Pete Farndon, and aside from Stop Your Sobbing, it’s the only song on the first album that Chrissie didn’t get a writing credit for.
Why does it fit so neatly in its album slot? That would be a good question to ask Chris Thomas, who produced the album after Nick Lowe abandoned the project, thinking the band was “not going anywhere”.
I was the same way, lapping up what MTV sprinkled over my Cheerios at the expense of other bands who didn’t take full advantage of the massive promotional opportunity. In college I strayed a bit further toward the edge but remained loyal to Big Rock. I don’t know exactly when my playlist turned sour–maybe I’d just gotten enough life under me to grow nauseous of highly polished variations on the same 3 or 4 subjects. Indie/punk bands get a little goofy at times, but little bits of the musicians get stuck onto the music somehow and bring it to life. Ugly at times, but far more real.
Once while I was shuttling my teen daughter to someplace, I had Pretenders playing. She asked who is this? Pretenders. Silence, then, are they just pretending not to suck? I almost threw the little heathen from the car. Today, she is almost old enough to appreciate them.
I knew, like Debbie Harry, she was older (like 29), when she finally got her band together and started blessing the world with her gifts. The backstory, adventures, misadventures, false starts, etc. leading up to that time really drove that home, however (jeez, is this crazy chick ever going to catch a break?). She was one of the first people to the Punk dance hall, and one of the last to find partners. Odd to think how everything would have been different if she’d disrupted the ultimate formation of The Sex Pistols, The Clash, or The Damned, or if she’d facilitated the breakup of an outfit like Motorhead. Funny to see how some talent just does or doesn’t click, and that’s OK. It’s a good read. If you like (or are at least familiar with) the 1970s London punk scene it’s cool to see the interwoven threads of everyone’s story. But even if that’s not your thing, at its core it’s a tale of someone who just refused to let life kill her, literally and metaphorically.
I suppose as autobiographies go it’s as good as any, but it really helps when you already are interested in & respect the author.