You asked me for advice, I said use the door

But you're still clinging to someone you deplore

And now you want to use me for additional black-mail

I just feel pity when you lie, contempt when you cry from "Private Life," or

I'm going to make you see

There's nobody else here

No-one like me

I'm special, so special

I gotta have some of your attention

Give it to me

However, unlike Blondie or even Patti Smith, who often provide a similar message, Hynde writes songs too immobile to be enjoyable. This is not a "clarion-call for the Eighties" album: in fact, it has very little vision at all. Instead, it relies on the craftwork of an artisan--Scott--and the strange, appealing voice of this sophisticated woman to pull the music through. It just doesn't pull far enough.

The Pretenders is an important, state-of-the art album. Neither the musical technique nor the message is new, but both are here to stay for awhile. As the new decade begins, the music world has split into rival camps: the "energy-makers," spearheaded by the Clash, Elvis Costello, Blondie, and even old rockers like Neil Young and the Who; and the "under-controls," which includes the whole disco scene, groups like Yes, Styx, Foreigner, and, unfortunately, this new generation of semi-new-wavers.

Perhaps this album provides the listener with a realistic sense of life--experience over innocence--but if this is life today, sugar-coated pop would be easier to bear. And that may be the major failing of this album: its portrayal of the new, jaded world is too accurate to be enjoyable, too controlled to be authentic.