Chrissie Hynde, bites of femininity | Catalonia

Chrissie Hynde, bites of femininity |  Catalonia
Chrissie Hynde, and Cap Roig.DAVID BORRAT / EFE

I was in Cap Roig among perfumes, linen shirts, three-figure shoes and a general smell of mooring in the marina that combined with the fragrances of the gardens, the vapors of the kitchens and the sparkles of jewelery and watches with titanium case. In the queues to access the seats, a spectator complained “look, they didn’t let me get the gin and tonic in the stalls, and it was Hendrick’s !!” few and before being used, elegant. The more affluent bourgeoisie on the coast would go to see Chrissie Hynde and she, oblivious to everything, seemed to be playing in any slum. Jeans and a black Elvis T-shirt, fancy shoes and a direct and unambiguous tone that did not differentiate those staff from the one who might have encountered when arriving in London in the late seventies to find a place among so many naked male. Even Martin Chambers, his eternal drummer, came out to do the encores, throwing himself a beer in a punk style. There are things that not even time changes.

Chrissie Hynde is one of them. A woman of courage and humor capable of evaluating the interest of the members of a couple who were in the front row, she seemed better to him than he, he seemed to say, always the protagonist of some comments that suggested that working with so many men in the group has something to do with it. run a kindergarten. Half jokingly or seriously, he said he did not know where he was playing, he said Barcelona several times despite asking a spectator about it, who answered that it was Calella. It did not matter, she is where she wants. Dominant artist swimming in her pool of security and self-confidence, she also maintains an unfailing voice and a pose that suggests not kidding herself if she doesn’t give room. From time to time, in his most youthful and carefree gesture, he would pull up his jeans from behind with both hands since the weight of the micro flask tended to lower them. It is already a gesture so typical of her that the day she does not need a flask she will put lead in her pockets so as not to lose that gesture. A personality as charismatic as frank. A whirlwind of confident walking and firm step so natural that at no time did she seem overactive at sixty-five, looking lost for a youth that left.

Logically she was the show, figurehead of hair cascading over eyes eternally shadowed by black. She and an old songbook that she squeezed out with the inclusion of some new songs without too much history, and a reappropriated version of Kinks, “Stop Your Sobbing” plus another to open the encores, “I Go To Sleep” in a repertoire she wanted. vary as you go by entering “I Hate Myself” in place of the intended topic. It is alive, not everything is immutable. And above all, songs that are not only verve and denote that Chrissie also has a lot of tenderness – “Don’t Get Me Wrong”, “Back On The Chain Gang” -. The Pretendres did not come to change the world with their music, only to survive it. And they continue on, not differentiating a dump from a fine coastal festival. She is always the common element.

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Chrissie Hynde, bites of femininity | Catalonia