So I know some of you have already heard it, but here's my other Chrissie Hynde story … I think I've mentioned before that the Cleveland Agora was the club in Cleveland for seeing rock n' roll shows when I was a teenager. It had a low ceiling and a low stage that you could stand right up against without any barricade between audience and band. There was a wooden dance floor in front of the stage and behind that, a maze of tables and chairs. Behind those tables—towards the back of the room and up a few steps—were tall circular tables with tall chairs. There really wasn't a bad spot in the whole club.
Meanwhile, the club itself was one of the country's hottest live venues. Everyone who was anyone played there when passing through Cleveland, and from 1976 to 1982, I saw most of them. One memorable show featured a reunion performance by Cleveland's very own original punk band, The Dead Boys. From the size of the crowd that night, you never would have known that the city had originally turned its back on Stiv Bators, Cheetah Chrome, Jeff Magnum, Johnny Blitz, and Jimmy Zero; forcing them to move to NYC and take up a semi-permanent musical residence at CBGB's. The club was packed, the amps were set to 11, and electricity was in the air.
The show was a snarling, clawing, musical frenzy and at the center of it all was a short, spikey haired, whiskey guzzling, leather-clad punk named Stiv Bators spitting venom into the microphone. A runaway train looking for a wreck, who somehow managed to dance, sing, drink, and spit in one continuous motion. An unforgettable performance to be sure.
Halfway through the band's set I sensed
a commotion behind me. I turned around to see a tall, slinky, dark haired woman dancing precariously atop one of the tall round bar tables. Two security guards waved their arms frantically and mouthed the words: “get the hell down.” The woman gestured back profanely; weaving a double-barreled middle finger salute into her gyrations without missing a beat. Finally I realized that the dancer was none other than Chrissie Hynde from The Pretenders — in town to personally pay tribute to some fellow Cleveland punk rock legends. She was moving like a deranged go-go dancer and it took three beefy security guards to finally end her fun and pull her down from her personal dance floor which had begun to wobble like a gyroscope when it loses its momentum. She shook herself free and then strode off in the direction of the bar, hissing invectives you didn’t need to be a lip reader to make out in the clamor of the dark club. The song Chrissie was dancing to? The Happy Medium Song of the Day: “I Need Lunch” by The Dead Boys. (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)
Halfway through the band's set I sensed
a commotion behind me. I turned around to see a tall, slinky, dark haired woman dancing precariously atop one of the tall round bar tables. Two security guards waved their arms frantically and mouthed the words: “get the hell down.” The woman gestured back profanely; weaving a double-barreled middle finger salute into her gyrations without missing a beat. Finally I realized that the dancer was none other than Chrissie Hynde from The Pretenders — in town to personally pay tribute to some fellow Cleveland punk rock legends. She was moving like a deranged go-go dancer and it took three beefy security guards to finally end her fun and pull her down from her personal dance floor which had begun to wobble like a gyroscope when it loses its momentum. She shook herself free and then strode off in the direction of the bar, hissing invectives you didn’t need to be a lip reader to make out in the clamor of the dark club. The song Chrissie was dancing to? The Happy Medium Song of the Day: “I Need Lunch” by The Dead Boys. (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)