Grrls with Guitars

Is there anything more exciting than a girl with an axe singing her heart out into the mic? Last Sunday night, I saw the Pretenders at the Riviera. Chrissie Hynde is the only remaining original member of the band -- half of them died of drug related issues years ago -- but truth be told she's the only member that's needed. The Pretenders were always her husky voice, her lyrics, and her stage presence. Even at 57 -- rock and roll keeps pushing that line of when is someone too old to rock and roll -- Hynde hasn't lost a bit of what made her so exciting when she came on the scene in the late 70s/early 80s.

Her voice has not lost a bit of its range and nuance. There are few singers in any genre that can hit a minor key with as much control as Hynde. The plaintive notes of that minor key coupled with her contralto voice make all her songs -- even the hard pounding rockers -- sound melancholy and hungry for something not quite known. Shortly into the band's 90 minute set, she said to the crowd, "I won't bore you with the new songs. I'll just bore you with the old ones." The crowd erupted in appreciation. The Pretenders new album is strong -- particularly the first release "Boots of Chinese Plastic" -- but Hynde knew that the crowds who gather for her are anxious to hear the soundtrack of their youth. She isn't so stuck on herself to deny them this pleasure. At this point in her career, it isn't so much about touring to promote album sales -- though, of course, that's always a concern -- but more about feeding the relationship that she's had with fans for two and a half decades. She understands that performance is about the people in the room.

I have to admit that I get nervous going to rock shows of my favorites from days gone by. Sometimes, you wish that you hadn't given in to the urge. Those hard living years come back to roost for many of the aging rockers, and it's not pretty. They can't sing the same, their voices shot from years of screaming and recreational substances. They can't command the same presence. Tight jeans don't make an aging girl's heart race when they're eclipsed by a bulging belly. (Don't get me wrong, father time has come to visit my house too, but I'm not jumping around on a stage in front of hundreds of people). The crowd is more concerned about getting home to babysitters than downing a few shots of tequila and rocking out.

The crowd for The Pretenders was definitely more populated with architects wearing cool glasses escorting their new trophy wives and surburban housewives out for a "wild night" with the car pool gang than the aging and exotic underground crowds that I've seen come out for performers like Patti Smith, but it didn't matter. My attention was focused on the lady on the stage. The set was bare. The light set up simple. The Riviera hasn't changed a bit in the last twenty years only now the peeling paint and smell of stale beer hit me as poignant versus kitschy as it did the first time I attended a concert there oh so many years ago. Hynde doesn't try to romp around the stage -- thank god -- like she doesn't realize she's not still 25. But, she doesn't need to. She commands every eye in the room just but standing at the mic, belting out her songs in that irreplacable voice and hammering away at her axe.

I don't care how old she or I get -- whenever Chrissie Hynde comes to town, I'm there. If you're smart, you will be too.

Actor's life/Actor's craft

Late Thursday night, I watched an interview between Charlie Rose and Mickey Rourke about Rourke's career and his performance in The Wrestler. Rose was intent on drawing the connection between Rourke's personal life and the main character in film, Randy the Ram. That's been commented on in numerous reviews of the film, and I wonder if people are paying enough attention to the performance, which I think is a great one. It is interesting how Rourke's life resonates with the film, but should that even be taken into consideration? Aren't great actors supposed to be able to create characters that are nothing like themselves? Is it easier to perform a role that is close to your life? Or, is it harder because it's too close to the bone?

What makes me think about this even more this year is the "competition" that the media is setting up between Rourke's performance and Sean Penn's in Milk. (Interestingly, the two actors are long time friends, and Penn has tried to help Rourke with his career during lean times). Penn is one of the great actors of our generation. I think Rourke, perhaps, is too, though his career has been much more uneven and tumultuous. Will the Academy Award Committee be looking at the performances only?

On the flip side, how often do actors get a chance to bring their lives into their roles? Should that be the reason that Rourke wins the Academy Award this year? There isn't likely to be another time when his life and his art will intersect this closely.

The interview made me think about how a reviewer should -- or maybe shouldn't -- separate the actor for the role.