Review: Lots to Love About 'Hate For Sale'

Over the last 12 years, Chrissie Hynde has remained pretty active. Having recorded a collaborative effort with J.P. Jones ("Fidelity" in 2010), two solo albums ("Stockholm" in 2014 and the brilliant left-turn jazz album skewing experimental "Valve Bone Woe" in 2019), penning a memoir ("Reckless: My Life as a Pretender" in 2015),

Hynde's full-time gig releases "Hate For Sale" after two ambitious and under-appreciated artistic resets (2008's rootsy "Break Up the Concrete" and 2016's "Alone"). The new album was recorded with the current incarnation of the band – James Walbourne (guitar), Nick Wilkinson (bass), and founding member Martin Chambers (drums). Despite the fact this lineup has been together since 2008, this is the first Pretenders album in 12 years to feature Walbourne and Wilkinson, both of whom made their band debut on "Break Up the Concrete," and it's the first album in 18 years to feature Chambers (who last appeared on the reggae-heavy "Loose Screw," in 2002).

All of that said: Where does "Hate for Sale" stand in the Pretenders' oeuvre?

All ten songs were co-written by Hynde and Walbourne. Much like Hynde herself, the album is taut, gets in and out, clocking in at just a little over 31 minutes, with no bullshit to spare. If this were any other band, one might call it a "return to form" – but such an assessment is far too lazy and reductive when the band's previous effort, "Alone," ranks near the top of their catalogue. Rather, "Hate For Sale" trades in the sonic touchstones that run like a thread through their catalogue: Punk, rockabilly, reggae, and Stones-styled rock, with a couple side-closing (that is, if vinyl is your preferred listening method) ballads thrown in for good measure.

The songs are sequenced like a live show, with the most varied tracks placed up front while the second half of the album scorches. The blistering title track opens the album in classic Pretenders mode, a punky nod to the band's peers The Damned, replete with frantic blues harp. Directed at an entitled guy who "dines on calves," washes it down with "tankards of wine" in his "handmade suits and shoes and socks." Despite the fact "he's got a curly tongue and curly tail," Hynde dismisses, "he's so predictable."

"The Buzz" follows, with a lyric about the addictive properties of love and affection. The song is kin with the band's more jangle pop-oriented tracks like "Kid," "Talk of the Town," "Back on the Chain Gang," and "Love's a Mystery" (among others). Another stylistic left-turn, "Lightning Man" is a minor-key slice of reggae – a genre as crucial as punk to their sound, and deployed tastefully throughout the band's catalogue. The swaggering rock of "Turf Accountant Daddy" takes down a philandering and excessive man.

Closing out the album's first half, "You Can't Hurt a Fool" is a gorgeous R&B-inflected ballad that shows off just how supple Hynde's vocals have remained. Here, Hynde seems to suggest that the fool in question is self-aware, and that regrets don't matter because "a fool never puts a foot wrong, she's living her dream and singing her song; look at her now, she's center stage, too old to know better, too young for her age."

The second half of the album flat-out rocks. The punk-inflected, blues harp-laden "I Didn't Know When to Stop" moves briskly. "Maybe Love is in NYC" is a moody uptempo rocker, acoustic and electric guitars intertwined. Searching for a romantic entanglement, Hynde intones, "I've been to Barcelona, Lima, and Hong Kong; if it was here, I never knew it, if it was here all along." Whether or not it was intentional (and I'm guessing it wasn't), the lyrics almost read like a dispatch, 26 years down the line, from Hynde's protagonist in "Hollywood Perfume" (from the band's excellent 1994 album "Last of the Independents").

An odd punk sing-along replete with a Joan Jett-style clap-along chorus toward the end, "Junkie Walk" essentially taunts and mocks addicts ("here's the list, you can lie, look your mother in the eye, steal her pills, make her cry, every junkie has to die"). Another track that demonstrates Hynde's unvarnished vocals, the rockabilly shuffle of "Didn't Want to Be This Lonely" is a kiss-off: "I'm still not sure I did the right thing, to forfeit danger for good sense." Despite the fact he'll "find somebody else to suffer" and Hynde will "feel pity for the next one," the loneliness sets in like she hadn't expected.

Album closer "Crying in Public" is the most obviously divergent track, with piano and a tasteful string arrangement that builds dynamically toward the end without ever losing sight of the song's subtlety. Hynde sings of commonly felt emotions, "she might look a million or only ten cents; when mascara runs, there's no recompense; aristocrat, pauper, or bourgeoisie, all know what it feels like when life's misery means crying in public."

The band's previous efforts, "Break Up the Concrete" (2008) and "Alone" (2016), are good records that find Hynde exploring what the Pretenders have to say in the 21st century. But from start to finish, "Hate for Sale" is their most water-tight album since "Viva el Amor" (1999). From its inspired songwriting, stylistic consistency, cogent sequencing of tracks, and astute production (by Stephen Street, who helmed the boards for "Last of the Independents"), this album demonstrates the strength and versatility of the band's current incarnation. It would be fun to hear these songs played live – and maybe we will after the pandemic. "Hate For Sale" ranks among the Pretenders' best, and points to a lot of promise in Hynde/Walbourne as a songwriting team.

The Pretenders
"Hate For Sale"
$14.98 (CD) and $22.98 (vinyl)
The Pretenders Official Store