In Hynde Sight
Cheesy Ode to Chrissie
Written After a Pretenders Show
She towered over them, a denim-clad demi-goddess. Her venomous glare, her spit-shined voice, her mannish charm - it was all there. The package for whom they queued-up, for whom they'd braved vapid tales of rock 'n' roll lore, the payoff for whom they'd feigned commraderie, finally leapt into their lives.

Chrissie hammered away at a glimmering pearly white Gibson. She let the guitar hang low on her hips, and as her hand emerged from a final strum, her middle finger would greet the audience with good humored vengeance.

Yah, she was one pissed-off mama that night. But the fire only served to fuel her radiant passion. As she stormed the stage, it seemed to recoil in awe of her seething magnificence.

She told the story of a biker who spent an entire grueling Canadian winter working on his chrome companion. "There's one last thing," Chrissie mentioned nonchalantly, "He's in love with me."