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| Scene Magazine December 7, 1995 by Kymberli Hagelberg As a diehard Pretenders fan, I was half ready to raise a disdainful eyebrow when word first surfaced that an unplugged (yeeetch!) collection of songs was on its way to stores with a companion video, but I'll admit the snobbery was premature. Isle Of View is far from the tired rehash that repackaged versions of past classics (filmed in however intimate the setting) generally turn out to be. For starters, even the word "unplugged" is a misnomer — the guitars are electrified acoustics and the drums are mic'd, though drummer Martin Chambers did use brushes (and occasionally, though I didn't catch it on film, ball point pens and whatever else he thought might get a desired sound). Most importantly, the 16 songs performed before a live audience at London's Jacob Street Studios were not so much stripped down as reorchestrated. With the help of Duke Quartet's arranger/viola player John Metcalfe, a string ensemble whines, stutters and soars over familiar rhythms, happily proving Chrissie Hynde's songwriting stands firmly on its own merit, even without her familiar rocker's snarl. Trading the oomph of big-gun amplification for the depth of the Duke Quartet, The Isle Of View is as much a collection of new moods as familiar sounds. "I Hurt You" draws palpable disillusionment from an atonal climax while strings underscore "The Phone Call's" rhythm guitar line to transform the original version's insistent momentum into a runaway force. Admirably, there's also a strong thread of restraint running through Isle's 16 cuts. With such talent at arm's length you could almost forgive the occasional corset-stuffing violin solo, but no unnecessary frills bind "Brass In Pocket" or "Night In My Veins," yet the cracked and careworn high vocal break in the cover of Radiohead's "Creep" seems somehow just the right fit. If there's a short side to Isle Of View it's visual, and predictable: no band so comfortable with rocking a house can be expected to sit like a good little lady and gentlemen for very long — at least not without looking like an impatient pack of teenagers hoping to cut their next class. Never much for small talk anyway, Hynde also seemed uneasy off her feet, maybe even a little prickly when she explained to the crown/camera the difference between a viola and a cello: "for our rock audience." Also unsettling, though I'm sure unintentional, was the baffling misdirection of shots that began with Hynde at the top of a guitar solo then resolved with Adam Seymour's wonderful leads. Even with the beginners lesson and the unneeded video sleight-of-hand, The Isle Of View is unexpected sanctuary for Pretenders fans, and a nice trip even if you're not. |
| Rolling Stone December 14, 1995 by Jim Farber You'll hear a whole new Chrissie Hynde on her first-ever live acoustic album. Unlike the clichéd performances of MTV Unplugged, in which most artists simplyturn down the volume without bothering to rethink a song's scope, Hynde's acoustic stint casts her music in a fresh light. Recorded in England last May, the show finds Hynde setting aside her usual don't-fuck-with-me rocker persona to assume the role of an early '70s-style confessional singer/songwriter: Joni Mitchell with a shag. In a way it's a part Hynde was born to play. Since she has always written autobiographically, the intimacy of the new arrangements only make obvious her unusually personal points of view. A song like 1986's "Chill Factor" — in which Hynde juts an accusing finger at ex's Ray Davies and Jim Kerr for leaving most of the child rearing to her — never seemed more scathing. To savor her lyrics and put a stamp on her melodies, Hynde slows her songs down. Tunes like "I Hurt You" or "The Phone Call, which earlier relied on surfing riffs, gain grace and authority taken at this gradual pace. On the more pop-leaning hit "Back on the Chain Gang," Hynde deflates the old buoyancy to concentrate on the song's sense of loss. Similarly, she transforms "Kid" from a swooning ballad to a reverent hymn. An equal sense of formality informs the whole project, thanks to the ever-present string quartet. While a round of cellos and violas could easily have rendered Hynde's songs twee, they instead add an aching sense of restraint. Nearly every song recalls the prim beauty of the Rolling Stones' "As Tears Go By," exuding a gorgeously English sense of understatement. This clipped quality both mirrors Hynde's diffident character and contrasts with the sensual huffiness of her voice. Never has Hynde's singing sounded more wise or her songwriting more accomplished. Stripped of all amplification, Pretenders' music draws its electrical charge from an interior source. (Rating: 3 stars = Good) |
