Blondie - New wave with a heart of glass

From the Spectorian influences of their early days, reinterpreted with punk vigor, to the state-of-the-art pop of their more mature work, Blondie's journey has always been a quest for the perfect pop-rock formula. Catchy melodies, driving rhythms and killer choruses can be found in virtually all of the New York band's output. But Blondie certainly didn't limit themselves to writing sparkling, infectious songs: they took innovative, oddly structured tracks like "Heart Of Glass", "Atomic" and "Rapture" to the top of charts worldwide, blending rock with the most varied forms of black music (disco, funk, reggae, even rap). These cross-contaminations, this tireless urge to explore everything and anything, helped make Debbie Harry, Chris Stein, Clem Burke & co. among the most credible urban messengers of their beloved city: New York City. Few other bands, in fact, can boast such a close relationship with their own hometown. Blondie remain to this day a vivid example of New York cross-pollination: just consider the impact of a landmark track like "Rapture", a hybrid of funk, disco, rap, jazz, rock and whatever else you want to throw in, which was the first song to bring hip-hop to a white audience. In the video shot for "Rapture" itself, you can commercial unconventional artists of the caliber of Fab 5 Freddy, Lee Quiñones and a very young Jean-Michel Basquiat, proof that – even at the peak of their popularity – Blondie never gave up incorporating every influence, every sound, every street trend into their music, with no distinction between high and low culture, and no racial prejudice whatsoever. Just as they had been among the first to use synthesizers, merging electronics with traditional instruments (the case of "Heart Of Glass" is emblematic: high-class disco music in which Harry's sensual vocalizing coexists with exuberant proto synth-pop keyboards, in a joyous odd-time-signature celebration danced to all over the world). Without ever giving up their underlying pop sensibility, Blondie pointed the way forward, introducing radical ideas into mainstream music and being the first to introduce Top of the Pops audiences to the underground New York they were so proud to come from.

The very fact that they were a band that defied neat categorization is further proof of their greatness. Thanks to the open-mindedness of the Harry-Stein pairing, Blondie quickly absorbed the most disparate influences, then put them all together. There was room in their music for new wave, for punk, for power pop, for garage rock, for disco music, for reggae, for hip-hop. They fought against musical preconceptions, driven by a healthy dose of recklessness and a total indifference to criticism. From the very beginning, after all, Blondie offered a different perspective on the NYC punk scene, perceived as an anomaly within CBGB, a sort of loose cannon (even if there were, nonetheless, some points of contact with the Ramones and the Talking Heads).
And yet, despite Blondie having been a crucial link between two eras, one of the bands that best defined the transition from the '70s to the '80s, and despite their look and sound having been widely imitated since, their historical importance hasn't always been acknowledged. Critics, especially the more snobbish and intellectual ones, and Italian critics in particular, have often underestimated Blondie in the past, essentially guilty of being "too pop" (as if that were some kind of mortal sin) and of exploiting Debbie Harry's image beyond what was deemed acceptable; moreover, for some purists, Blondie are also the band that sold out with disco. Most of the analyses of the time were marked by an irritating cynicism toward the band and toward Debbie herself, but even in more recent times Blondie have occasionally been superficially lumped by some critics into the more lightweight, frivolous side of new wave. Blondie's hedonistic side is plain to see, and it's undeniable that the singer's beauty partly contributed to the band's success (while, at the same time, damaging their strictly musical reputation), but these are simply ingredients within a much richer and more varied dish, one that shouldn't be belittled or taken any less seriously because of it.

Blondie themselves had already further complicated matters, choosing – almost as a joke – the most misleading name possible, one immediately associated with the platinum-blonde singer, to the point that even today many people aren't aware that Blondie and Debbie Harry are two separate, distinct entities. The slogan "Blondie is a group!", which accompanied every public appearance of theirs in the late '70s, did nothing to prevent the huge disparity in media treatment given to the other band members compared to their blonde focal point. Over time, this situation became frustrating and unbearable for the rest of the group, unfairly sidelined, if not treated as mere session musicians; the mutual resentments this created would indeed lead to the band's stormy breakup in 1982.
As a result, it was above all Blondie's musicians who paid the price in terms of general recognition, rarely given the credit they deserved. The only one to escape this rule, at least in part, was Chris Stein, generally described as the "mind" and visionary genius behind Blondie, as well as Debbie Harry's right-hand man – and soulmate, for almost fifteen years. Without him, Blondie would never have existed. It was Stein, in fact, who gave his partner the support and push she needed to emerge, helping her believe more in herself and overcome her shyness, becoming her spiritual counterpart. Together, they still make up a single creative force, one that has managed to write a number of songs that have become part of our collective consciousness.

I always thought Debbie was a fantastic person, in many respects. So I felt it was justified that she should get so much attention.
(Chris Stein)

The same can't be said for her other partners in crime, eternally underrated, never praised as much as they deserved. Starting with the extraordinary drummer Clem Burke, whose complete and versatile style could range from the frenzied drumming of "Dreaming" to the complex Teutonic groove of "Heart Of Glass" with laughable ease. Fast, powerful and technically well-grounded, Burke can be considered the perfectly successful fusion of Hal Blaine and Keith Moon, and to this day remains the driving force and rock'n'roll soul of Blondie.
Equally important was the contribution of keyboardist Jimmy Destri, author of several classics for the band, from "Atomic" (a futuristic blend of rock, disco, electronics and... spaghetti western!) to "Maria" (the successful comeback single). A multi-instrumentalist particularly admired by David Bowie, he was equally at home with the distinctive Farfisa organ (at the heart of the sound on Blondie's debut album) and with synthesizers (he was, to all intents and purposes, one of the pioneers of the Polymoog).
But all the other members who came and went over the years, who apparently played a more supporting role, actually contributed plenty to the cause as well. Gary Valentine, the first bassist, was for instance the author of two genuine power-pop gems like "X Offender" and "(I'm Always Touched By Your) Presence, Dear", singles that were crucial to Blondie's breakthrough. His replacement, Englishman Nigel Harrison, gave the band some memorable bass lines, like the ones that define the aforementioned "Heart Of Glass", "Atomic" and "Rapture" (as well as the lesser-known "Fade Away And Radiate" and "The Hardest Part"), and co-wrote - with Harry - songs like "One Way Or Another" and "Union City Blue". Just as the blistering riffs and solos delivered by second guitarist Frank "The Freak" Infante cannot be ignored. And, in their own small way, even the members who joined in the post-reunion period didn't just sit on the sidelines. In short, Blondie has (almost) always been a democratic band, in which everyone had their own space and contributed to the songwriting.
Be careful, though, not to make the opposite mistake, falling into the trap of believing that Harry was merely the "body" (as well as, of course, the voice) of Blondie: a disrespectful little tune, repeated for years, irritatingly sexist and, above all, not true in the slightest.

The press always tried to play down Debbie's importance within the band, saying that I was her Svengali. It's a completely sexist attitude.
(Chris Stein)

Light eyes, prominent cheekbones, a heart-shaped mouth, an attractive, mischievous smile, a frequently sulky expression: Debbie Harry's face is one of the most iconic in music history. A face immortalized by artists of the stature of Andy Warhol (who never made a secret of considering her his favorite popstar), H. R. Giger and Shepard Fairey, as well as by many of the most important music photographers (one of them, Mick Rock, claims that Debbie Harry is "the greatest gift photographers have ever received from rock music"), who welcomed her photogenic quality as a blessing. But her looks were certainly not her only distinguishing trait.
Debbie Harry can in fact be considered one of the most imitated frontwomen of all time: her stage presence, the fierce independence that still shines through in her lyrics, her cutting wit, her way of dressing, her inventive hairstyles, her ever-changing looks would all be borrowed - and then reshaped - by countless female artists. From Madonna to Gwen Stefani, from Annie Lennox to Shirley Manson, to name but a few, many would point to Blondie's singer as a primary source of inspiration. Her refusal to be manipulated by any authority would also have a profound effect on the riot grrrl movement. And still today, more than 40 years after her first appearance on the scene, Debbie Harry remains an unrivaled fashion icon.

Debbie Harry's influence can be found in any band fronted by a woman.
(Rodney Bingenheimer)

Brazen, cheeky, irreverent, provocative, subversive, inauthentic (because of the many personas she played), a pure sex object, even a threat to society. Debbie had to endure plenty of accusations. In hindsight, though, they can only raise a smile, considering everything that happened afterwards (after all, the dominant mindset back then was that of the 1970s - Madonna hadn't yet arrived to legitimize any kind of feminine attitude in the world of pop music). What probably rankled at the time was the fact that Debbie Harry was among the first singers to present herself in a certain way, refusing the role of designated victim and showing that, even in the male-chauvinist world of rock, one could be sexy without losing credibility. Her intent was to distance herself from the prevailing model of the woman as loser, defeated from the start and without any hope.

I loved Billie Holiday and Janis Joplin, but I never wanted to portray that kind of woman, submissive and suffering over love, that came through in their lyrics.
(Debbie Harry)

On the contrary, Debbie's lyrics were often explicit, but also strange and convoluted, not easy to interpret, seasoned with verbal ramblings and improbable neologisms (from the pseudo-Hawaiian "my paka lola luau love" of "In The Sun" to the "mucho mistrust" of "Heart Of Glass"). And the Blondie persona was deliberately cartoonish, an ironic parody of the great divas of the 1950s. Debbie Harry managed to create a new style, blending - with astonishing nonchalance - Hollywood glamour, Warholian glitz and punk aggression into a single, multifaceted personality.
She didn't die at the peak of her fame; rather, she had to face a rapid decline, a sharp drop in popularity and inspiration, even a forced withdrawal from the music world, as well as serious personal problems and the inevitable indignities of advancing age. All of this made Deborah a more down-to-earth figure, subtly complex and, ultimately, even more fascinating, with her highs and lows. Behind Blondie's apparent pop glamour, in fact, lies a very different story...

I can't say for certain where I come from, because I don't know who my real parents are. Chris is convinced I'm an alien.
(Debbie Harry)

I wanna be a Platinum Blonde

Rock's blonde icon par excellence was born on July 1, 1945 in Miami, Florida, under the name Angela Tremble, but at just three months old she was adopted, through an agency ("my first agent", she would later quip), by Richard and Catherine Harry, a couple who sold fabric labels for Manhattan's fashion district. They were the ones who named her Deborah Ann Harry. Little Debbie's childhood was humble and modest, spent in a small town in New Jersey, Hawthorne, which she described as "a typical little commuter suburb". Discovering she had been adopted was traumatic: she fantasized that Marilyn was her real mother, perhaps influenced by the fact that Marilyn too had been adopted. Years later, discussing this childhood belief, Debbie would give it a more philosophical meaning: "I saw Marilyn Monroe as the mother of invention". Even as a child she felt misunderstood by her parents, so anxious and worried about their daughter's reputation, with a mother who envisioned only one future for her: marriage. But Debbie had no intention of living a dull existence as a housewife: "Unfortunately for my parents, I was always determined to become an artist". She describes herself as "a big dreamer", trying to escape everyday life by imagining a parallel universe populated by the great movie divas of the 1950s, to whom she clung as a way out of a world that didn't seem to belong to her. Debbie recognized herself in the youthful unrest of James Dean in "Rebel Without a Cause", played by James Dean, and at the same time was deeply struck by Hollywood's great platinum icons: Jean Harlow, Marlene Dietrich, Lana Turner, Jayne Mansfield, Diana Dors and, of course, Marilyn Monroe, with whom she practically merged.
From a very young age, then, certain telltale signs emerged that would come to define the future Blondie singer. A strange idea began to take shape in her head, one that would become an obsession: what would happen if a great, beautiful and desirable Hollywood star found herself working in the music world, perhaps fronting a rock band? Debbie's first-ever song, "Platinum Blonde", would be an explicit statement of intent (“I wanna be a Platinum Blonde/ Just all the sexy stars/ Marilyn and Jeane, Jayne, Mae and Marlene/ Yeah they, they really had fun”). But it would take several years before that eccentric - and in its own way brilliant - hunch turned into reality: first, Debbie Harry would have time to live through her hippie phase, to have her first traumatic encounters with drugs, and to work the most varied odd jobs.
In 1959 she started dyeing her hair: the first attempt, not exactly a success, nearly gave her parents a heart attack, as they watched their daughter try out something like twelve different colors! The relationship Debbie built with cosmetics was more significant than one might think, since it's the earliest evidence of her innate ability to reinvent herself.

The beatnik dream, the hippie utopia and harsh reality

New Jersey was unbearably confining for Debbie Harry. As soon as she hit her teens she started sneaking off to New York, hanging around the West Village, visiting cafés and clubs, listening to music and poetry, dreaming of meeting William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg ("I wanted to be a beatnik", she would later reveal).
"I was a very curious and adventurous girl, but with my head in the clouds - I had no idea what I could actually do in New York. I was shy, I didn't talk much, but on the other hand I was a keen observer, eager to learn. I studied human nature. I learned a huge amount from all those strange people I hung around with in those years". Debbie, like an explorer searching for the path she was best suited to, drew closer and closer to music, which had already been an obsession of hers for a long time ("I sang everywhere: at home, at school, in the church choir"). She's a jazz devotee, admiring Peggy Lee, Patti Page, Ella Fitzgerald, as well as Fats Domino and Fats Waller; she would also cite as major influences figures of the caliber of Paul Desmond, Dave Brubeck and Cal Tjader. She never missed a free jazz concert in Washington Square Park, and also got into rock, catching unforgettable performances by the Doors, the Fugs, the Velvet Underground, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix. She listened to everything, ranging from Terry Riley and Sun Ra to girl groups, with a particular fondness for the Shangri-Las, both for their melodies, more melancholy than the average of the period, and for their bad-girl image (which would also bewitch other 70s bands, like the New York Dolls, the Ramones and the Damned).

During those years Debbie, in the meantime voted the prettiest girl at the school she attended (her early-blooming sexuality got her used to boys' stares from a very young age), became practically unmanageable for her parents. Once she graduated, she moved to the Big Apple, "to interact with artists, to meet new people, to communicate, to express myself and to escape the monotony of small-town life". Her passion for music was still her constant companion: her first band, in which she sang and played percussion, was called First National Unaphrenic Church And Banks. She even recorded an album (avant-garde jazz steeped in hippie ideals), never released, which was supposed to be called "Psychedelic Saxophone". She was then spotted by Paul Klein, founder of a hippie outfit with the poetic name Wind In The Willows, which Debbie joined as a backing singer in 1967.
With Wind In The Willows she took part in the Summer of Love and released a record of psychedelic folk-pop, naïve and hopelessly dated, though not entirely without merit. A sort of hybrid between the Mamas & Papas (with Harry, at the time, sporting a look very similar to that of the gorgeous Michelle Phillips) and a more relaxed Jefferson Airplane. The best songs, the single "Moments Spent" and the psychedelic nursery rhyme "Djini Judy", are among the few actually sung by Debbie Harry, who for the rest stayed in the background, playing various instruments. Curiously, it was Peter Leeds, Blondie's future, much-maligned manager, who got the band signed to Capitol Records. Wind In The Willows would also record a second album, which, however, would never see the light of day. Debbie was not at all enthusiastic about the project, to which she contributed only marginally; feeling undervalued, she decided to leave.

Difficult years followed, marked by drug abuse, heroin in particular. "I was destroying myself", she would later admit. Deborah shared an apartment in Harlem with a drug dealer, but managed to escape that world of ruin, moving back to New Jersey to live with her adoptive parents. During the same period she took on various jobs. She got a job as a waitress at Max's Kansas City (she even got to serve the Jefferson Airplane the night before their performance at Woodstock), a place that allowed her to meet prominent figures from the Warhol entourage. She then worked as a secretary at the BBC's New York office, as a shop assistant in a cosmetics store, and, for seven months, even as a Bunny at a Playboy Club. An experience she would never be particularly proud of: "I didn't feel cut out for that job, it wasn't what I was aiming for, I simply needed some money". She posed for a few glossy photos, but in any case the media would end up giving disproportionate weight to her brief stint as a Playboy Bunny. All in all, it was a period in which Debbie Harry was thoroughly bored and disillusioned, unhappy with the direction her life had taken.

Hey, Blondie!

Chris Stein was born in Brooklyn into a (non-practicing) Jewish family, the son of a painter and a writer, both with communist sympathies. From his father he inherited a sarcastic, typically Yiddish sense of humour. He had a fervid imagination, fell in love with horror films and their soundtracks, was bewitched by blues and by the West Village folk scene (as well as, inevitably, the Beatles and the Stones), and spent whole afternoons playing guitar in his bedroom. From the start Chris developed an unorthodox approach to the instrument that would also define his later career. He founded his first band at 15: the Morticians, a group that would eventually spawn the Left Banke. With his second band, First Crow To The Moon, who cut a solid garage-psych 45, he got the satisfaction of opening for the Velvet Underground. Stein was a strange character, fascinated by black magic and the occult, a non-conformist with rebellious impulses (he was expelled from school for refusing to cut his long hair). He spent his time hanging around Greenwich Village, a gathering place for all kinds of artists: beatniks, poets, painters, street musicians, jazzmen. In 1967 he flew to San Francisco to enjoy the Summer of Love and had a devastating experience with LSD, which led to him being hospitalized for three months in a psychiatric ward for acid abuse. Once he recovered, he enrolled at the School of Visual Arts in NYC, where – at the height of conceptual art – he honed his skills as an aspiring photographer, picking up a few tricks of the trade that would later prove extremely useful. In the early '70s he discovered glam and the American glitter scene: he started frequenting the Mercer Arts Center, became a champion of the New York Dolls, and dressed himself up like Alice Cooper.

October 1973: in a small bar on 24th Street called Bobern Tavern, the fateful first meeting between Debbie Harry and Chris Stein takes place, destined to change both their lives. Chris is in the crowd watching a performance by a cabaret-style trio, comic and distinctly theatrical, with a thoroughly modern camp sensibility. It's the Stilettoes, ironically mistaken for a beauty salon, since the trio is made up of a Black singer (Amanda Jones), a redhead (Elda Gentile, partner of Eric Emerson, agitator of the New York underground scene as leader of the Magic Tramps, as well as Stein's own roommate) and a platinum blonde (Debbie Harry). After the show Chris introduces himself and before long joins the Stilettoes as guitarist. Debbie is immediately struck by this all-devouring character, who "seems to have the ability to understand anything."

Chris was a captivating guy, he combined a really sophisticated mind with childlike behaviour.
(Debbie Harry)

The two begin seeing each other, developing an instant telepathy ("We understood each other right away"), an immediate psychic connection. Chris is able to grasp the unique side of Debbie's personality and helps her overcome her fears, giving her the confidence she needs to come into her own. At the time Harry is described as a fragile, insecure, even somewhat paranoid woman, in need of the backing and emotional support of the eccentric Stein.

I saw in her what a few years later would become obvious to everyone. But I was the first to notice it.
(Chris Stein)

Meanwhile the flashy Stilettoes, who belong to the local drag scene and draw a mostly gay audience, debut at a venue that has just opened on the Bowery, run by a certain Hilly Kristal: Cbgb. On May 12, 1974, opening for Television, the Stilettoes become the second band ever to play the newborn club, still frequented mainly by bikers at this point. Their set is made up of covers by Martha & The Vandellas, the Shangri-Las, Labelle, the Rascals and plenty of R&B. As the relationship between Chris and Debbie grows more and more intimate, the desire grows in both of them to start a new band, less theatrical and more rock-oriented. And so it happens. Together with two other Stilettoes musicians, bassist Fred Smith and drummer Bill O'Connor, joined for a while by guitarist Ivan Král, the newly formed couple put together the very first incarnation of Blondie, originally called Angel & The Snake.

In August 1974 Angel & The Snake make their debut at Cbgb, with four oddball characters claiming to be the Ramone brothers as the support act. Their early performances are not exactly memorable: Debbie, overcome with nerves, often forgets the lyrics, while Chris doesn't use a pick and plays guitar as if it were a banjo. Before long the band changes its name to Blondie. The idea, naturally, comes from Debbie Harry, daily hailed with "Hey, Blondie!" by truckers who pass her on the street. It's an easy name to remember, tongue-in-cheek, tied to the singer's look, and accepted without much fuss by the rest of the band, since it also nods to "Blondie & Dagwood," the stars of one of the most popular American comic strips — and Chris Stein and co. were all huge comics fans. At this point the group also includes two blonde backing singers, Jackie and Julie, who are in turn replaced for a short period in early 1975 by sisters Tish and Snooky Bellomo. Blondie are still undecided about which musical direction to take, experimenting with a bit of everything, desperately searching for the right sound. A small – and still unconscious – taste of that tendency to absorb and blend different styles which would go on to make the band's fortune.

The Band Least Likely To Succeed

A long period of instability follows, with old and new members coming and going from the lineup. The first to leave is the anxious drummer Billy O'Connor, torn between pursuing a career as a musician or pleasing his parents by getting a law degree (the latter wins out). For a brief spell he's replaced by ex-New York Doll – and future Heartbreaker – Jerry Nolan. An ad then appears in the Village Voice: "Freaky, energetic drummer wanted." Forty people show up for the auditions, but the chosen one is last on the list, a guy barely out of his teens from New Jersey who calls himself "the new Keith Moon": his name is Clem Burke. The audition is odd to say the least, with Chris Stein first complimenting him on his shoes and then launching into a long discussion with him about the Ronettes and Iggy Pop.
Raised on rock'n'roll, an Anglophile obsessed with every hero of the British Invasion, sporting a Beatles-esque look ("The Fab Four and Ziggy Stardust changed my life"), Clem is one of those rare personalities born to be a rock star, as Chris has repeated many times, still convinced to this day that he "couldn't have done anything else." Incredibly fast and powerful, Burke can rightly be considered the most credible heir to Keith Moon, from whom he also borrows a flair for stage spectacle. But among his main stated influences, besides his idol Ringo Starr, are also Hal Blaine and Earl Palmer, drummers who help him refine his style, making it more creative and varied. With a drummer of this calibre, regularly courted by every other band at Cbgb desperate to poach him from Blondie, Debbie and Chris finally start finding the musical alchemy they'd been searching for. What's more, Clem's unbridled passion for rock mythology helps to balance out the more artistic side of the band represented by Chris Stein.

I was looking for what would become my Marc Bolan, my David Bowie or my Mick Jagger. And I found that someone in Debbie Harry. Her charisma struck me right away, I instantly realized I was standing in front of a future star.
(Clem Burke)

However, after Ivan Král's departure (he moved on to the Patti Smith Group), the two leaders have to take another hard blow, a bitter pill to swallow: Fred Smith, under pressure from Patti Smith (at the time infatuated with Tom Verlaine), suddenly announces he's leaving Blondie for Television, committing what photographer Roberta Bayley will later call "the biggest mistake of his life." It's the last straw: Deborah is furious and for months won't speak a word to her rival Patti, whom she holds responsible for masterminding the whole affair. For Debbie and Chris it's a devastating blow: penniless, with no one backing them, they find themselves forced to start all over again.
Harry, deeply embittered, seems on the verge of quitting altogether. After all, record labels show no interest in Blondie either, and reviews in the local press are few and far from flattering. And while Chris proves resilient to criticism, the same can't be said for the platinum-haired vocalist, whose self-esteem is hardly helped by reading pans like the one published by an NME journalist in 1975 ("Debbie Harry will never become a star because she isn't good enough – and she knows it – but for now I hope she's having fun"). In this delicate phase, the enthusiasm and optimism brought by 19-year-old Clem Burke prove crucial in lifting the spirits of his discouraged bandmates. It's the young drummer himself who finds Fred Smith's replacement on bass: a childhood friend of his, an aspiring poet named Gary Lachman (quickly rechristened Gary Valentine). He's a good-looking guy who, behind his angelic face, hides a turbulent recent past: he got his underage girlfriend pregnant, causing a local scandal, and was thrown out of the house at just 18 for his habit of coming home late at night. Despite the heavy label of pedophile (!) and rapist (!) that follows him around in the puritanical America of the time, Gary is a philosophy enthusiast who spends most of his free time studying Nietzsche. Skilled with words, somewhat less so with instruments: he joins Blondie despite never having held a bass in his life (he can barely strum a guitar or plunk out a tune on piano). With nowhere else to stay, he moves into Debbie and Chris's apartment.
In the spring of 1975 the line-up is finally complete with the arrival of Jimmy Destri, a talented keyboardist inspired by Ray Manzarek. He's a guy from Brooklyn with a past in Milk And Cookies, a band the Talking Heads had also shown interest in; he attended art school and studies medicine. Jimbo will soon earn the nickname "the good looking one," being the male member of Blondie most popular with female fans. With his trademark Farfisa organ he enriches the New York band's sound, strengthening its ties to the '60s (particularly the Doors, the Rascals and garage rock bands).

The place where Blondie would get the chance to grow, mature and improve is the venue that symbolizes one of the most fascinating and mythologized periods in all of rock history: Cbgb, the ideal commercial to express freedom, a laboratory where you could experiment and build up experience. It was one of those magical, exceedingly rare moments when a stimulating cluster of standout personalities, each so distinct in their own uniqueness, find themselves in the same place at the right time. A vibrant period captured, at least in part, in Amos Poe's legendary amateur documentary, "Blank Generation," in which Blondie naturally also appear (with their versions of "Platinum Blonde" and "Out In The Streets" playing in the background). Debbie Harry herself writes a long article for an independent paper about the Cbgb scene, stressing the importance of what she calls the "three Es" (EEE): eccentricity, eclecticism and eroticism. All the bands playing at Cbgb influence one another, and the scene develops the way it does because the people who frequent it number at most a hundred, most of them musicians.
But once record labels start taking an interest in the Cbgb bands, competition suddenly increases, mutual solidarity evaporates, and hostility and envy spring up. Patti Smith, Television and those pranksters the Ramones start being on everyone's lips around town, while nobody seems to care about Blondie at all. Even their rivals, while appreciating their open-mindedness, are convinced they won't get anywhere. In fact, they mockingly dub them "The Band Least Likely To Succeed." For a while they're even unwelcome at the club, due to a veto imposed by the domineering Patti Smith, who can't stand the thought of any girl stealing her spotlight and sees Debbie Harry as a threat to her status. A fierce exchange between the two battling rivals would go down in history, brutally summing up their characters and highlighting Patti's aggression against Debbie's cool sarcasm. The maudit poet approaches the blonde girl and tells her, in a challenging tone: "Hey, there's no room here for both of us." Harry's retort is cutting: "There's no room in New York for both of us?" After all, the two rivals play the same role in very different ways ("If Patti Smith was the moon, Debbie Harry was the sun," director Jim Jarmusch, a young Cbgb regular at the time, would later say). Patti Smith has a more masculine, intellectual relationship with music, while Debbie – with her vamp poses – is something else entirely.

I didn't want to approach rock'n'roll from a male point of view. Blondie was a girl. I wanted to create a character who was desirable, feminine, but also flexible, tough and independent.
(Debbie Harry)

Blondie roll up their sleeves and – before returning to Cbgb's, where they'll play every weekend for seven straight months – perform at Max's Kansas City and other venues around town like Mother's and Monty Python. With the new lineup now complete, Blondie are gradually reassessed by everyone on the scene and become the revelation of the 1976 Max's Easter Festival, an event also featuring the Ramones, the Heartbreakers, Suicide and Pere Ubu. It's there that they get noticed by producer Richard Gottehrer.

Blondie were an exception at Cbgb: they were young, good-looking and had a positive attitude. What's more, their songs were full of vivid hooks. They really embodied the pop dream.
(Marty Thau)

The whole band moves into a seedy loft on the Bowery, halfway between Burroughs's apartment and Cbgb. A completely different Bowery, worlds away from today's, now teeming with high-fashion boutiques and luxury hotels. The members of Blondie are broke, and to make ends meet Deborah works days in a belt-buckle factory while Chris sells pots and pans. As if that weren't enough, a boiler breakdown in the building they live in leaves them spending an entire, grim winter freezing. But every cloud has a silver lining, because they discover they have a talented Andy Warhol collaborator as a neighbour, Stephen Sprouse, who will play a crucial role in shaping Debbie's image, effectively becoming her personal stylist (he's the one who designs the famous one-shoulder dress she wears in the "Heart Of Glass" video).
During this same period, along with newfound musical confidence comes a visual cohesion, with the guys cutting their hair (the first to do so in New York, following the lead of England's Dr. Feelgood) and rummaging through old Manhattan warehouses for secondhand clothes, suits, jackets, skinny ties (in short, the look seen on the covers of their early records). This is how a certain indie aesthetic is born, a youthful, street-smart yet fashionable style, later widely copied and successfully revived in the early 2000s by bands clearly inspired by Blondie, such as the Strokes and Franz Ferdinand.

We wore our hair short because everyone else had it long.
(Clem Burke)

Harry, for her part, perfects her glamour persona, performing on stage in recycled mini-dresses and torn outfits, sometimes even made from actual garbage bags — flourishes that reveal considerable imagination and an innate fashion sense. A band that turns necessity into virtue, a perfect example of New York creativity.

Hey! Psst! Psst! Here she comes now

In June 1975 Blondie record their first demo, raw and unpolished, badly mixed and with practically no acoustics; it contains four songs: "Platinum Blonde", "Puerto Rico", "The Thin Line" and a cover of the Shangri-Las' "Out In The Streets". "Once I Had Love", the prototype for "Heart Of Glass", is dropped at the last minute. Bucking the general consensus, that shrewd old fox Marty Thau — a man who knows his business (he was the first to believe in the New York Dolls, Suicide and the Ramones) — declares himself convinced that Blondie will be the only band from the New York scene to break through into the mainstream. He is especially complimentary about their sense of arrangement: they know how to find the right chords, the effective hooks. It's Marty Thau himself who recommends Blondie to Craig Leon (then working on the Ramones' landmark debut) and Richard Gottehrer (already the author and producer of the Crystals' classic "My Boyfriend's Back" and the McCoys' hit "Hang On Sloopy", as well as co-founder of Sire Records alongside Seymour Stein), who will go on to produce the early singles and the debut album respectively. During the first studio rehearsals the execution is still rough, but the ideas are already there, the melodic hooks are anything but ordinary — in short, there's real potential.

They had brilliant ideas, but weren't always able to put them into practice. It's no coincidence that many of the songs they were playing at the time would later end up on "Parallel Lines".
(Richard Gottehrer)

No major record label, however, seems to believe in Blondie, who find themselves forced to sign with the small (and little-known) independent label Private Stock. The band can't get taken seriously; the commentary is full of clichés and all focused on the singer's looks, seen as the only draw. It's Chris Stein himself, the author of many of Harry's most iconic photos, who knowingly plays up his partner's photogenic image to promote the band. Debbie thus ends up on the cover of the first issue of New York Rocker and becomes one of the leading figures — often alongside her close friend Joey Ramone — of the legendary fanzine Punk: the photo-stories shot by photographer Roberta Bayley help fuel interest in this mysterious, seductive platinum-blonde vocalist. Private Stock's marketing is far more cynical: to promote the debut album they use an image of Debbie undressed, against her own wishes. "They weren't presenting us the right way, they wanted to use me as a sex doll, twisting the band's image. But I rebelled" — Deborah recalls. As a result, only photos of the full band will be distributed to the press.

Not for a single moment did we think of making porno rock'n'roll. We wanted to use Debbie's image with tact and irony.
(Chris Stein)

At the same time, Peter Leeds — who had previously worked with the Wind In The Willows — reconnects with Debbie Harry and manages to become Blondie's manager. His presence will grow increasingly intrusive and unwelcome, soon putting him at loggerheads with every member of the band (particularly with the less-than-diplomatic Gary Valentine). Completely ignorant of the business side of things, Blondie hastily sign a contract with him without a lawyer present, the first in a long series of legal and managerial blunders. Peter Leeds will deceive them, failing to keep the promises he made; he will handle all the finances, secretly pocketing a hefty slice of the pie without their knowledge. With his intimidating manner, Peter Leeds wants Blondie to believe he holds the power of life and death over the band. As far as Leeds is concerned, everyone except Debbie is replaceable, and he makes a point of repeating this at every turn. His goal seems all too clear: to steer Deborah Harry towards a solo career, which he predicts will be far more lucrative. The band will respond to these provocations by selling the legendary t-shirts bearing the slogan "Blondie is a group".

In the summer of 1976 Blondie release their first single, "X Offender/In The Sun", which serves as the passport to recording a studio album. "X Offender", later placed as the opening track of their debut record, is written by bassist Gary Valentine and was originally meant to be titled "Sex Offender" (the label will force them to change the title, deemed too explicit for American radio). The song carried clear echoes of the delicate episode Valentine himself had been involved in some time earlier (the "sex offender" referenced in the title), branded by the self-righteous as a depraved rapist simply for having gotten his 16-year-old girlfriend pregnant. The lyrics, however, will be rewritten by Debbie Harry, who recasts them from a female perspective. The result is the story of a prostitute trying to seduce the policeman who has just arrested her; what's groundbreaking is that a subject still taboo like sex is here tackled from a woman's point of view. The song, with its melancholically joyful mood, pays tribute to the early-60s girl groups and to the Spectorian wall of sound. The memorable melody is carried by Clem Burke's drumming, as he tries to channel Hal Blaine, and by Jimmy Destri's Farfisa organ. "X Offender" achieves modest success (it's picked by Sounds as single of the week despite failing to chart anywhere), but it secures Blondie a record deal and the chance to record their first album. Drummer Clem Burke has no doubts: "'X Offender' is the best song we've ever made. It's like a work of art." Indeed, it's a track that abruptly changes the minds of many who, up to that point, had little faith in Blondie's real abilities.

Debbie and Chris have seven songs they consider ready for a record, Jimmy has two and Gary just as many: and so Blondie is born. The album is recorded essentially live, and "fun" is the watchword. What comes through is the band's blunt sense of humour, cheeky yet wildly infectious, charming in its naivety.
The album, fresh and personal, is a collection of songs packed with melodic hooks, with frequent nods to Phil Spector. A 60s update, with girl groups and beat music reread through a punk lens, with a strong garage-rock streak, most evident in the Farfisa organ played by Jimmy Destri, a key element of the record ("Not since 'Light My Fire' has the organ been played so well", critic Robert Christgau would write). The drumming is forceful, with Burke pounding away like a man possessed, while the guitars lean largely surf. The album also features a contribution from Ellie Greenwich (a true heavyweight of the previous decade, co-writer of masterpieces like "Be My Baby", "Leader Of The Pack" and "River Deep – Mountain High"), one of Debbie's childhood heroines, who provides backing vocals on "In The Flesh" and "Man Overboard".

We wanted to make a record that sounded fresh and current, but that was at the same time inspired by the music we grew up with.
(Gary Valentine)

Blondie is steeped in a bubblegum sensibility, with sticky choruses, irreverent, provocative lyrics, and plenty of humorous touches throughout. The overall mood is comic-book-like, just consider sensationalist titles such as "X Offender", "A Shark In Jets Clothing", "Kung Fu Girls" or "The Attack Of The Giant Ants". The passion for science fiction, B-movies, pulp stories, comic books (with Brenda Starr name-checked in "Rip Her To Shreds") and pop-trash culture in general is plain to see. The dominant themes in the lyrics, spiced up by Debbie Harry's surreal humour, are violence and shootouts: "It's prime television on record!", as they would put it.
Gottehrer's production is a touch too polished and "tidy", softening the punk attitude Blondie displayed in their live performances. But the songs remain outrageous and fun, energetic and danceable, as feisty as they are melodic.
"Little Girl Lies" is a deconstructed R&B number written by Harry, driven along by its trademark hand-clapping. "In The Sun", kicked off by Debbie's cry of "Surf's Up!", is a clear homage to surf-rock. Explicit sexual references surface in the brilliant "Look Good In Blue" ("I could give you some head and shoulders to lie on"), which moves to a tango rhythm, while the melodramatic "A Shark In Jets Clothing" — which closes with an epic, last-gasp duel between Stein's guitar and Destri's organ — carries a nod to "West Side Story". "Man Overboard" is marked by a Latin-tinged sound and is, rhythmically speaking, the most intricate track on the album. "Kung Fu Girls", meanwhile, is the punkiest cut of the bunch, with Debbie Harry letting loose at every show, throwing flying kicks à la Bruce Lee. The closing "The Attack Of The Giant Ants", a half-rumba, reveals the full extent of the band's love for sci-fi horror (the title nods to "Assalto alla Terra" [US title: "Earth vs. the Spider"], a 50s film classic; there are also "Godzilla"-style sound effects, plus primal screams and tribal rhythms that seem to come from some deep, unexplored jungle tribe — touches that anticipate the style of Adam & The Ants). A track that is, in its own way, essential to understanding the more ironic, comic-book side of early Blondie.

By far the most gripping track on the whole record is "Rip Her To Shreds", carrying a bitchy message from Debbie aimed at more or less every girl on the New York scene at the time (the line "Oh, you know her, Miss Groupie Supreme" may well be aimed at Nancy Spungen or Sable Starr), a track that showcases the leader's full sarcasm and sharp way with words, here at her very best. The guitars are razor-sharp, as grimy as only CBGB's infamous bathroom could be, but it's Harry's punk delivery that makes all the difference: she mocks everyone, male and female alike, mixing invective with irresistible outbursts ("ugh", "bleah"). A full-on frontal assault against all those who wallow in gossip. As a near-ritual repeated at almost every show, during the performance of "Rip Her To Shreds" Debbie wears a wedding dress, which by the end of the song she literally tears to shreds. Even back then it was already clear she'd never actually make it to the altar...

In October 1977 Blondie will unexpectedly land their first hit: "In The Flesh", a precious sixties-style ballad paying tribute to the Shangri-Las and inspired by the crush Debbie once had on David Johansen (frontman of the New York Dolls). It gets played by mistake instead of "X Offender" on the Australian show Countdown and unexpectedly shoots to number two on the charts. The success of "In The Flesh" will push the debut album into the Australian top 20. Against all odds, Blondie thus become the first band from CBGB to achieve any real international success, even if limited to Australia alone. It will be the start of a long climb that, within a few years, will carry them to the top of the world.
Blondie catches the attention of industry insiders and is met with a largely positive response from critics, with plenty of U-turns from journalists who, not long before, had taken pleasure in trashing that New York quintet fronted by a daring blonde. Even the most skeptical begin to reconsider the band's real substance. Blondie is in fact one of the most original and distinctive debuts of the entire punk & new wave scene, almost unique in its kind, an isolated case that blends girl-group innocence with punk's typical brashness ("Rifle Range", whose lyrics were written by their friend Ronnie Toast after a likely acid trip, stands as a manifesto of this new style). It doesn't reach the formal perfection of Parallel Lines, but the end result is just as irresistible and reveals a side of the band less familiar to the wider public. Blondie thus find their own way of presenting themselves, setting themselves apart from every other CBGB act: they don't share Patti Smith's poetic streak, Television's intellectual ambition, Richard Hell's self-destructive edge or Suicide's avant-garde leanings; they're closer to the comic-book, parodic aesthetic of the Ramones, but that makes them no less interesting or stimulating. And once they find their own personal recipe for standing out, they will gradually start to become ever more appealing.

To celebrate the release of their first album, Debbie & co. throw a party, to which Richard Hell, Joan Jett, the Ramones and the Miamis are also invited. Blondie wrap up their prolific 1976 with a concert at Central Park on New Year's Eve, one of their first shows for which they actually get paid.

We'd conquered New York by beating the Ramones. All of a sudden we'd become the most in-demand band around. We were outgrowing our own little world — the Bowery clubs were starting to feel too small, and requests to see us play live were multiplying like crazy.
(Chris Stein)

From New York's underground clubs to conquering England

1977 is a year Blondie spend almost entirely on stage. Thanks to a string of shows in Los Angeles and San Francisco, they gain real popularity in California, finding fertile ground there also thanks to the crucial promotional efforts of Rodney Bingenheimer, one of America's most important disc jockeys and the first in the country to play punk & new wave bands on the radio. The press carries weight too, with the Los Angeles Times describing Blondie as a strange fusion of the Shangri-Las and Lou Reed, with Debbie Harry adept at playing both roles with ease. In early May, Blondie set off on their first English tour as support act for Television, from whom they steal the show completely, becoming one of the bands most idolized by the kids of '77 and laying the groundwork for the success that was about to follow. English audiences respond with wild enthusiasm at every show, and Britain instantly becomes Blondie's second home.
Debbie is encouraged by her new audience, but is irritated by the prurient attitude of the British press, which seems to pay more attention to her looks than to her music. On this point, she always quotes a review (?!) that opens with exactly these words: "Her head is too big for her body." The articles are full of sexist accusations, with Harry portrayed as a woman manipulated by Stein, as well as political ones, with Blondie accused of having no political message to spread. The male members of the band, for their part, begin to worry that Debbie's image (by now identified everywhere as Blondie) might overshadow the rest of the group.
Even more prestigious is the tour that follows, this time on American soil. David Bowie and Iggy Pop had heard Blondie's debut album in Berlin and were blown away by it: they immediately decide to invite the band on Iggy's first solo tour (with the Thin White Duke on keyboards). A friendly relationship forms between these major figures, with Bowie offering Harry valuable advice on how to move on stage and taking a particular interest in Destri, whose Polymoog instantly catches his eye (he'll even go on to propose they collaborate). On one occasion, David even saves Jimmy from jail time (after he smashed the windows of a luxury hotel while drunk), putting in a good word with the authorities. What's more, as a amused Iggy — who would become one of Debbie's best friends — later admitted, both of them shamelessly hit on her backstage, but without success, always getting the same answer: "Maybe another time, when Chris isn't around."

Blondie are the greatest attempt at playing mass-appeal rock. And Debbie is a fantastic person, full of energy and irony. A lot of people have completely underestimated that side of her. Debbie often teases you with that blank smile on her lips.
(David Bowie)

But a new headache looms over Blondie: Gary Valentine wants more space, wants to play guitar and sing his own songs — in short, he's angling to become the band's leader, which is obviously unthinkable. The definitive break between him and the three principal songwriters (Debbie, Chris and Jimmy) comes during the sessions for the follow-up to the debut album. Gary is disappointed that they rejected his song "Scenery" (actually a little gem worth rediscovering, included on the 2001 reissue of Plastic Letters); on top of that, he digs his heels in and refuses to perform the cover of "Denis" proposed by Harry. All of a sudden the idealistic Valentine becomes a liability, a sort of Blondie's own Brian Jones. Peter Leeds notices, calls him up and tells him he's fired, without further explanation. The authoritarian manager is in fact convinced that he could fracture relations within the band. Gary Valentine will soon after form the Know, a power-pop trio responsible for a handful of solid singles that, however, never lead anywhere further. In 1981 he'll join Iggy Pop's band, then step away from the scene altogether, starting a new and well-regarded career as a journalist and writer specializing in mysticism and the occult. Having reclaimed his real name, Gary Lachman will also write one of the most comprehensive books on the mid-Seventies New York scene, "New York Rocker: My Life In The Blank Generation, With Blondie, Iggy Pop And Others, 1974-1981."

Blondie thus find themselves recording their forthcoming new album without a steady bassist. They find a temporary fix by calling in a guy who, at first glance, could easily be mistaken for an Italian-American gangster. His name is Frank Infante, a guitarist by trade, with Keith Richards and Johnny Thunders as his musical role models. Nicknamed "The Freak" for his pockmarked face and pallor, Infante will play both bass and guitar on Plastic Letters, alternating with Chris Stein, though without being credited as an official member (and without appearing in the cover photo).
At the same time, Peter Leeds breaks the contract with Private Stock and turns to Chrysalis, whose president, Terry Ellis, is left speechless after seeing just one photo of Debbie Harry and exclaims: "Oh my God, this woman is a star!" And so Blondie move to Chrysalis for half a million dollars, an unheard-of sum for a band that, after all, still hadn't broken through. No investment could have paid off better: Blondie's boom would allow the British label — which at that point had little under contract besides Jethro Tull — to enjoy a new golden era that would continue throughout the Eighties.
In those months Blondie write so many songs that they consider releasing a double album, an idea the label vetoes. The New Yorkers' goal, in any case, is to combine hard guitars with a dash of electronics, with Jimmy Destri tinkering with polyphonic synthesizers.
With Plastic Letters, then, the band wants to record a tough, energetic work ("high voltage rock," in Deborah's words), one capable of winning over hard-rock fans while also striking a chord with the young punks who had taken over England. Less nostalgia, fewer bubblegum flourishes and callbacks to the Sixties — these are some of the new directives. Plastic Letters is in fact a schizophrenic collection of vibrant power-pop tracks, shot through with a far-from-negligible dark streak.

What secures the album's commercial fortunes, however, is a cover of a forgotten doo-wop hit, "Denise" by Randy & The Rainbows, turned into "Denis" and reworked from a female perspective, with a few improvised French lines added by Debbie. A delightful marching-rhythm ditty, it reaches number two on the UK charts and becomes a huge hit across Europe, earning Blondie their first appearance on Top Of The Pops (with Debbie Harry taking the stage wearing nothing but a long fire-red shirt and matching red boots, stoking the audience's imagination and sending an entire nation into a frenzy). The follow-up single, "(I'm Always Touched By Your) Presence, Dear" — the song with which Gary Valentine had taken his leave — also performs well on the British charts, reaching the top 10. It's a song about the supposed telepathy developed by the ex-Blondie bassist's girlfriend, who would invariably call him every time he brought a girl back to his hotel room. A simple coincidence, or something else?!

The record is actually darker and more adventurous than its two excellent lead singles might suggest. The most prolific writer is Jimmy Destri: six of the songs on Plastic Letters are his compositions, each one different from the next. The driving "Fan Mail," written by Destri in exactly one minute, kicks the album off gloriously. "Contact In Red Square" has the whiff of a Cold War spy film ("I got a job to do/ Hid the microfilm in the lining of my shoe," "I got my papers and a cyanide pill/ My Polaroid's a taser in disguise"), while "I Didn't Have The Nerve To Say No" carries an emphatic tone, carried by the singer's vital performance. The title of this last song likely refers to a phrase David Johansen often repeated: "You could see Debbie's nerves... That made the show interesting." What the New York Dolls' singer meant was that, behind the facade, Debbie Harry hides a certain insecurity, an emotional instability you can catch by watching her ever-changing stage performances closely — a trait that makes her all the more irresistible.
"No Imagination" is the album's most unusual and sophisticated track, explicitly influenced by Lou Reed's "Lady Day," with a decadent night-club atmosphere. Jimmy, who wrote the song, plays a baroque piano part, while Debbie plays the femme fatale role tailored to her. The rollicking "Detroit 442" is a clear tribute to Iggy Pop, complete with a punk video-parody, with Harry dressed as a sexy biker. It's an aggressive track that peers into the mind of a Motor City nihilist while at the same time capturing the spirit of Blondie during their first English tour: "Toughness, desperation, intense alienation." Destri also pens "Kidnapper," a pub blues/rock'n'roll number, with Debbie adopting a deliberately parodic intonation.
The melancholy "Bermuda Triangle Blues (Flight 45)" manages to move, with Debbie Harry's voice sounding more otherworldly than ever. Great fun are the more loopy, carefree episodes, somewhat in the mold of Devo, like "I'm On E" and "Love At The Pier." The first tells of the frustration of being broke and out of gas ("I'm On E" stands for "I'm On Empty"), despite the fact that "two weeks ago, Saturday, I was on TV." The second is a comic skit depicting a girl's date with the classic tanned, musclebound showoff, slathered in oil from head to toe, who — at the crucial moment — slips into the water thanks to all that grease he'd smeared on himself.
Of an altogether different tone is the tirade "Youth Nabbed As Sniper," a disturbing monologue from a disturbed teenager who might take his own life or carry out a massacre like Columbine at any moment. A track that must have influenced the ghostlier side of Sonic Youth (it's no coincidence that Kim Gordon has named Plastic Letters as one of her favorite albums). The grand finale is entrusted to the sinister "Cautious Lip," marked by an alienated mood in which drugged, sickly Velvet Underground-esque atmospheres echo. A slow build broken by Debbie's chilling scream of horror, which precedes the closing solo.
The nocturnal allure that seeps through the album is well captured by its intriguing cover, which evokes the Rebel Without A Cause youth of the Fifties. Leaning against a stolen police car and surrounded by her all-male gang, Debbie Harry wears a mischievous little pink dress, designed for her by her best friend Anya Phillips.

Plastic Letters, recorded in 1977 but released only in February 1978, reaches the top 10 in the UK and Germany, and does well in France, Holland and Belgium too, largely on the strength of "Denis." It can be considered a transitional album, since with it the New York band takes a decisive step toward what would become its most recognizable sound. At the same time, though, it stands apart from all of Blondie's other work (and should be rediscovered precisely for this reason) thanks to that dark element, which would be explored further later on (think of "Fade Away And Radiate" or "Victor"), but never again so pronounced. Kris Needs' review in ZigZag would prove prophetic: "Blondie are about to become huge… and it's spelled out in plastic letters."
Once the album was finished, Peter Leeds tracked down the new bassist in Los Angeles: Nigel Harrison, a seasoned musician with plenty of experience behind him. He's English, has played in a solid glam-rock band, Silverhead, has worked with Ray Manzarek and Kim Fowley, and even played bass as a session man on the first Runaways album. Nigel had watched a few Blondie shows and taped them on cassette, which allows him to show up at the audition already able to play the band's entire catalog. Frank Infante moves permanently to second guitar, completing the definitive line-up — also the best-known incarnation of Blondie.

Plastic Letters is ready for release, but its launch is postponed at Chrysalis's express wish, as the label reissues the debut album in the meantime and organizes a small world tour for Blondie, who spend the final months of '77 and the early months of '78 far from their New York. The first stop is in kangaroo country, Perth to be precise. The local audience has no idea who Blondie really are, knowing only one song, "In The Flesh," which had been a huge hit in Australia, and so expects to see a whole set of nostalgic ballads. They're left stunned, instead, by an incendiary, punk-inflected show.
Then comes another return to England, with audiences on fire for Blondie's first headlining tour, the band now perceived as the sensation of the moment. Amid the general euphoria there's no shortage of tense moments, like the time Chris Stein smashes his guitar over the head of a guy who'd been spitting at him since the start of the show. At the time, Debbie still has the bad habit of reading press reviews, and she's disappointed that the English press criticizes her for being too sexy on stage. The following night, the platinum-blonde vocalist decides, provocatively, to stand stock-still, glued to the microphone the whole time so as not to embarrass anyone; the next day, though, she's attacked again, this time for moving too little on stage. From that point on, thankfully, Deborah stops paying attention to the tabloids altogether, ignoring them and no longer letting them get to her.
The tour continues through Japan, Thailand (in Bangkok, audiences had never before seen a rock band!) and then back to Europe again, to promote Plastic Letters at the start of 1978. The reviews this time are uniformly positive, with the media praising Harry's huge stage presence and the band's vast potential. Debbie's image is starting to be everywhere. But this is only the beginning…

Gentlemen prefer blondes (especially ones with a heart of glass)

After more than six months on the road, the band returns to New York in March 1978. Almost no American radio station, meanwhile, has had the nerve to play Blondie's songs, precisely because of their ties to the punk scene, which US DJs looked down on — a stance that reveals just how wary Americans were of anything new. "We won't play you until you give us the right song": that's the line they hear over and over. And, as everyone knows, in the States it's hard, if not impossible, to sell records without radio airplay.
The band resumes its live activity, playing CBGB's and New York's Palladium alongside Robert Fripp: those lucky enough to catch those shows coin the term "trance-rock." Blondie, however, are condemned by the rest of the punk community for daring to play Donna Summer's "I Feel Love": accusations of having sold out their artistic integrity pile up endlessly. This, once again, shows just how much nerve Blondie would display in later recording "Heart Of Glass," coming as they did from a scene that was certainly open-minded but at the same time rigid and intolerant, particularly toward disco music, viewed at the time as the embodiment of evil. Even Clem Burke and Nigel Harrison, for that matter, will feel a certain embarrassment, while Debbie and Chris quietly decide to keep going their own way.
For the production of the third album, the choice falls on hitmaker Mike Chapman, an Australian who had struck gold in the UK, making the fortunes of glam artists like Suzi Quatro and Sweet. "I was the one who pitched myself to Blondie," Chapman recalls. "I first saw them at the Whisky a Go Go in '77, and I couldn't believe my eyes: they were fun, they played with incredible intensity, and they were making new music without turning their backs on the past. I immediately saw enormous potential in them. About a year later I went to see them in New York, but I wasn't exactly welcomed with open arms: they eyed me with suspicion, convinced the label had sent me to manipulate them. To ease the tension, I asked Chris Stein to let me hear some unreleased material. The songs weren't finished yet, but I was lucky enough to witness a real explosion of creativity — he showed me one original idea after another. I immediately understood I was looking at the seed of a masterpiece."

I had half a mind to offer them a song I'd just written, 'Some Girls,' which would go on to become a big UK hit in 1979 in the version by Racey. But after they played me the primitive versions of 'Sunday Girl' and 'Heart Of Glass' I felt deeply embarrassed, and realized they were songwriters far more gifted than I was.
(Mike Chapman)

Blondie are like a rough diamond, a band on the verge of exploding, but still missing something to make that final leap in quality. And that something is discipline: before meeting Mike, they weren't used to working professionally — they played and recorded spontaneously, with no real through-line. Chapman, even more than for his obsessive attention to the arrangements, proves decisive in the process that brings the band to an enviable level of studio maturity. With the meticulous Australian producer — nicknamed "Mr. Perfection" by Debbie — maximum focus and precision are demanded. Chapman has a soft commercial for Destri (his favorite songwriter) and champions Infante, whom he rates highly as a guitarist, while he has some friction with Burke (over his need for the spotlight) and Harrison (who, given his experience, won't accept being treated like a rookie). With a perfectionist like the Australian producer at the helm, the sessions are intense, but all that hard work — carried out, what's more, in a sweltering New York summer — will pay off. Parallel Lines will reach number one in Britain, number two in Australia and Canada, number six in the United States, and will spawn no fewer than six singles, five of them massive hits. Equally famous is the cover photo, forced through by the controversial manager Peter Leeds and loathed by every member of the band (Debbie especially), but destined to become one of those covers that leave a deep mark on the collective imagination.

On the first album we'd just show up in the studio and play, recording the best takes. On the second album we didn't have a steady bassist. On 'Parallel Lines,' though, the quality of the musicianship is really high. We'd been playing together for almost a year, and we'd grown so much.
(Debbie Harry)

Parallel Lines opens with a ringing phone, and it's none other than Deborah Harry who picks up the receiver: the irresistibly catchy "Hanging On The Telephone" is the best possible preamble to the record. It's a cover of The Nerves, the cult Californian band led by Jack Lee, which Debbie and Chris discovered thanks to a tip from one of their biggest fans: Jeffrey Lee Pierce, president of the LA Blondie Fan Club and future leader of the Gun Club. There's barely time to catch your breath before the famous riff of "One Way Or Another" materializes, devised by bassist Nigel Harrison and played by the band's other guitarist, Frank "The Freak" Infante. With a frenzied, over-the-top delivery (perfectly captured by the brazen "I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha"), Harry tells us about being stalked by an ex-boyfriend. The track is also notable for its frantic, unhinged finale, which catches the listener off guard.
Next comes the anthemic "Picture This", the only song credited to the prolific Harry-Stein-Destri trio, embellished by a gorgeous solo from Infante. The lyrics, written by the iconic frontwoman, are particularly suggestive and explicit, too much so for American radio at the time. In particular, the line "I will give you my finest hour/ The one I spent watching you shower" is a striking reversal of roles: now it's the woman watching the man, who becomes the sexual object.
But it would be a huge mistake to see Parallel Lines as merely a lethal singles-spewing jukebox, because — even among its lesser-known tracks — there are several gems of absolute value hidden away. Take the seductive "Fade Away And Radiate", one of the earliest compositions by the Harry-Stein songwriting duo, which sat in a drawer for a long time. The platinum-blonde singer silences any critics with a surprising vocal performance, delicate and intense at once, enchanting and tinged with decadence. The lyrics are also compelling, containing what American critic Rob Sheffield considers the greatest line in the history of rock'n'roll ("Dusty frames that still arrive/ Die in 1955", a tribute to James Dean), dealing with an infatuation with deceased film stars. It's a theme close to Harry's heart: adopted as an infant by a family from New Jersey, as a child she convinced herself that Marilyn Monroe was her real mother. The rest is handled by the icy guitar of Robert Fripp, a friend and supporter of the band with whom he performed live several times during that period, elevating the track and carrying it into a dreamlike dimension. After such a dark song, the mood quickly turns joyful and carefree again with "Pretty Baby", a delightful, retro-flavored pop gem dedicated to the very young (and controversial) actress Brooke Shields; in the brief spoken interlude, Debbie's voice sounds at the peak of its sensuality.

“The beams become my dream/ My dream is on the screen”
(“Fade Away and Radiate”)

Blondie keep jumping from one thing to the next, song after song, and here we are at the energetic "I Know But I Don't Know", which puts guitarists Stein and Infante front and center and seems to anticipate much of the alternative rock of the following decade. "11:59" and "Will Anything Happen?", two irresistible, instantly knockout power-pop hooks in pure Blondie style, could easily have been singles in their own right. No matter, since the choice ultimately fell on "Sunday Girl", one of the biggest UK hits of 1979 and still one of the fans' most beloved classics, which opens with a barely perceptible nod to The Ronettes' "Be My Baby" and continues with a melody so memorable you can't help humming along. Legend has it that Chris Stein wrote it to cheer up a saddened Debbie after the death of their cat (named Sunday Man); Jimmy Destri, however, finds that story hard to believe, and has no doubt it's simply a declaration of love ("I know a girl from a lonely street/ Cold as ice cream but still as sweet").

"Heart Of Glass" inevitably deserves a discussion all of its own — the disco/new wave crossover that would turn Blondie into a global phenomenon and Debbie Harry into the forbidden dream of an entire generation of teenagers, a kind of musical answer to Marilyn Monroe. At the same time, it's also the most innovative — dare we say experimental — track on the album, as well as the one with the longest gestation. "Heart Of Glass" was actually born in 1975 under the working title "Once I Had A Love (Aka The Disco Song)", but contrary to what you might expect, the disco element was originally absent. When, during the recording of Parallel Lines, Mike Chapman asked the band if they had another song to offer, Debbie and Chris remembered that old composition of theirs, which had flirted with black music. It was the Australian producer himself who suggested making the song more electronic, gifting keyboardist Jimmy Destri a Roland Rhythm Machine he'd just bought in Japan.
Influenced by Kraftwerk and by Donna Summer's "I Feel Love" and Giorgio Moroder, Blondie completely overhauled the old version of "Heart Of Glass", starting with the unusual simultaneous presence of live drums and a drum machine. Clem Burke, who considers himself a reincarnation of Keith Moon, is the most resistant: he stubbornly refuses to play on a disco track, and it takes a while before he's finally won over. But the meticulous work Burke puts in is remarkable, and together with Nigel Harrison's rubbery bass and the pulsing "heartbeat" generated by Destri's synths, it forms an astonishing rhythmic framework. No less striking is the alien sound of Frank Infante's guitar, which seems to come from another galaxy. The vocal part is added last: somewhere between a siren's call and a lullaby, Harry's voice fits perfectly and is the classic icing on the cake. In short, a song meticulously crafted down to the smallest detail, where every piece falls into place; the final result is one of the highest peaks ever reached by pop music. A smash hit that reached #1 in more than ten countries, including the UK, Australia, Canada, Germany and, above all, the US (in Italy it only reached number 3). Blondie are in Milan when the call comes through from the States with the news that "Heart Of Glass" has hit number 1 on the American charts. They celebrate as if they'd won the World Cup — it's a huge vindication for "the band that never had a chance of breaking through" (back in New York, inevitably, everyone becomes jealous of Blondie's success).

'Heart Of Glass' is one of our best songs, I don't see why I should be ashamed of it. The truth is that if it hadn't become a massive hit, nobody would have accused us of selling out or any of that nonsense. The comments would have been: 'Oh, Blondie recorded a disco track, isn't that nice?'.
(Debbie Harry)

The iconic video made for "Heart Of Glass" has also become legendary: a few knowing glances from a gorgeous, radiant Debbie Harry are enough to unleash all of her erotic charge, while the rest of the band have fun playing with a mirror ball. MTV doesn't exist yet, but there's no doubt that Blondie are among the first to grasp the potential of music videos.

At this point, the album could really end here. It's hard, after all, to add anything after a track of such magnitude. And the only flaw of Parallel Lines is precisely its slightly underwhelming ending. "I'm Gonna Love You Too" is a Buddy Holly cover that maybe could have been left out, adding little to the original version. Strategically chosen by the record label as the album's lead single in the States (to coincide with the reissue of a lot of material by the ill-fated rock'n'roller), it flopped on the American charts in the fall of '78. "Just Go Away", one of the very first songs written by Deborah Harry, dating back a full four years earlier, closes the album with the usual self-deprecating humor, an essential ingredient in Blondie's music. A fun, carefree ending, neatly summed up by Clem Burke's words: "It was just like – bye bye – we'll se ya!".

The reception from both audiences and critics is unanimous, and it's immediately clear that this is an album destined to go down in rock history. The famous critic Robert Christgau, who had been fairly lukewarm about the band's first two records, writes: "Parallel Lines is closer to God than any pop-rock album before or since". New York Rocker crowns it "the most inspired album of the last five years", and Debbie Harry beats Patti Smith in every year-end poll (including Italian magazines like Popster) as best female vocalist of 1978. Still, the record doesn't go without its detractors: punk purists who won't forgive Blondie's supposed "betrayal", and plenty of early friends who accuse them of having sold out. The same old story, in other words. The reality is that Blondie, indifferent to punk dogma, had set out to avoid having a rigidly defined style, aiming instead for one that was constantly evolving and free to roam across any musical territory.

In any case, to fully appreciate Blondie's music and step into their world of parallel lines, it's essential to understand the close connection between Debbie Harry's band and the city they come from: New York City. Because everything about Blondie, from their varied musical approach to their always-cool style of dress, is damn New York. Parallel Lines pulls off the difficult feat of incorporating a good deal of the musical currents that defined the Big Apple throughout the '70s. There's room for the refined disco of "Heart Of Glass", of course, but also for the Broadway musical flavor of "Picture This" and "Pretty Baby", for the jazzy atmospheres of "Fade Away And Radiate", for the punk aggression of tracks like "Hanging On The Telephone" and "One Way Or Another", and for the urban alienation of "I Know But I Don't Know" and "11:59". An eclectic process that Blondie would bring to completion two years later with "Rapture", adding in a new cultural revolution that was just emerging at the time — and, of course, also born in New York: hip-hop. It's hardly surprising, then, that in a popular 2012 poll run by the Village Voice, Blondie were voted the band that best symbolizes NYC (alongside John Coltrane, The Velvet Underground and the Wu-Tang Clan), nor that a magazine like Rolling Stone would claim that "no other band has managed to distill the essence of Downtown New York quite like Blondie".

Blondiemania, Warhol and the atomic success of an eternal dreamer

In 1979, an actual blonde hurricane sweeps through the world of music. Blondie are the number-one band in Europe, and thanks to "Heart Of Glass" they're about to conquer the States too. Audiences have found their new, old-fashioned superstar: a gorgeous, enigmatic Hollywood pin-up on loan to rock'n'roll, blonde the way only Marilyn had been before her. Blondie's success transcends the punk phenomenon, the rise of new wave, or any other genre. The attention paid to the band, and to their vocalist, following the success of Parallel Lines, is surreal. In the UK, in particular, Blondie generate a climate of absolute collective hysteria. Every show turns into pandemonium, with frenzied fans regularly climbing onto the stage to hug, kiss, or simply touch Debbie Harry. The crowd is in a constant state of delirium, with chants of "Blondieeeee! Debbieeeee! We love you!" ringing out nonstop for the entire length of their shows. There's one moment when "Blondiemania" (a term first coined by Sounds in early '78) becomes obvious to everyone: the band arrives on Kensington High Street to sign autographs and is swarmed by thousands of fans who've shown up to get their copy of Parallel Lines signed. Traffic is brought to a standstill, streets are closed off, and Blondie's tour bus is chased by an ecstatic mob. It looks like a scene straight out of "A Hard Day's Night". But in America too, little by little, Blondie-mania explodes. So much so that contests are organized to crown the girls who most resemble Harry; at the same time, bands spring up that are shameless Blondie copies (the case of California's Needles & Pins is particularly striking). Last but not least, there's even the cover of Rolling Stone.

Eat To The Beat is, inevitably, the child of that climate — an album born in the midst of a sudden, overwhelming success that catches the band off guard. Pressure from the record label to make the new album more commercial grows ever more frequent, with the stated goal of widening their market, and Chrysalis wanting, at all costs, a new "Heart Of Glass". Blondie, however, want to keep exploring new musical territory; success hasn't satisfied their curiosity. Everyone around them wants a slice of the pie, jumping on the bandwagon and trying to cash in on the golden goose. This is probably what Debbie is referring to when, during the recording sessions, she comes up with the cryptic title for the new album: Eat To The Beat.
Blondie are being watched closely, because following up a bestseller like Parallel Lines is no easy task. As if that weren't enough, the band members often seem distracted from the music, pulled away by social events or encounters with famous personalities. For instance, Andy Warhol throws a party at Studio 54 to celebrate Blondie and Debbie Harry, who ends up on the cover of his magazine Interview (and would later be immortalized in some of his most famous polaroids). On top of that, drugs begin circulating dangerously, in huge quantities. Mike Chapman would later repeatedly reveal how difficult it was to record an album under these conditions: "To motivate them I told them I considered them the new Beatles, because they were six genuinely different musicians, each one bringing their own ideas, and everyone contributed to the songwriting".

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it", and so Chapman is confirmed as producer once again. Eat To The Beat is recorded at the Power Station, New York's most expensive studio at the time, also frequented in that period by Chic, The Kinks and Bruce Springsteen (during the long recording process for "The River"). The sessions move more slowly than usual and are often interrupted by the most eccentric of characters. There are also signs of tension within the band, which starts to feel less cohesive and — according to the Australian producer — splits into three smaller groups: Debbie and Chris, obviously, are always together; Clem and Jimmy form an alliance; Frank and Nigel work as a team. During the recording of the album, Blondie finally break ties with their manager for good. The situation with that ruthless opportunist Peter Leeds had become untenable: besides pocketing a large share of their earnings, he treated the members of Blondie like children, paying them minimal wages. He's replaced by Shep Gordon, who had previously managed Alice Cooper.

Debbie and Chris always have tons of ideas for songs, and Frank, Jimmy and I could each make an album of our own. So every time we end up with a huge amount of material. That's exactly why we need someone like Mike Chapman to come in and tell us: 'No, I want this, not that'. That way Mike brings together all our different styles and personalities, and the result is what you hear on the record.
(Nigel Harrison)

With Eat To The Beat, Blondie manage to match their previous success. The album debuts straight at number one in the UK and sells well in America too: although it doesn't go higher than #17 on Billboard, it stays on the chart for more than a year, becoming one of the best-selling albums of 1980. The popularity of Blondie's fourth album rests mainly on two hugely successful singles, "Dreaming" and "Atomic" — dazzling examples of studio "cut and paste" laced with psychedelic echoes and ethereal vocals — which reached number two and number one respectively on the UK chart.
"Dreaming" is, first and foremost, Clem Burke's masterpiece (listening to Blondie's albums focusing solely on his frenzied drumming is an experience worth having at least once in a lifetime), but it's also the best tribute imaginable to the great girl groups, thanks to the wall of sound created by Jimmy Destri's keyboards. But what makes the song so special is Harry's sincere, autobiographical lyric. It was an idea born almost by accident, sparked by an offhand line tossed out by Chris Stein, who wrote the music: "Dreaming Is Free". Just a handful of words, yet enough for Deborah to write the most heartfelt lyric of her entire career. The platinum-blonde vocalist makes things clear right away, admitting she's no longer a "debutante" ("When I met you in the restaurant/ You could tell I was no debutante"). But this isn't a song about seduction, nor self-pity — it's more of an intimate confession, one that also tackles themes like the fleeting nature of cheap thrills and the dangers of fame (“I don’t want to live on charity/ Pleasure’s real or is it fantasy?/ Reel to reel is living rarity/ People stop and stare at me”). In the bridge, which harks back to the girl groups, we sense that clinging to dreams and daydreaming might be the only way to fill the empty spaces of a disillusioned life: “Dream dream, even for a little while/ Dream dream, filling up an idle hour/ Fade away, radiate”. A concept restated with even greater force in the closing lines, moving in their lyrical power, where it becomes clear that by "dreaming" Debbie is trying to make up for everything missing (or that was missing) from her real life. And so even that opening line, "Dreaming Is Free", seemingly so plain, takes on considerable emotional weight.

“I sit by and watch the river flow/ I sit by and watch the traffic go/ Imagine something of your very own/ Something you can have and hold/ I’d build a road in gold just to have some dreaming/ Dreaming is free”
(“Dreaming”)

Written by keyboardist Jimmy Destri (who took a full year to finish it), "Atomic" opens with one of the most recognizable guitar riffs in all of new wave (and beyond), and is Blondie's answer to everyone who kept demanding a new "Heart Of Glass". The New York band picks up its disco leanings once again, but adds an unusual, spaghetti-western-style epic quality, a brilliant reinterpretation of Morricone-esque themes. For the occasion, Debbie Harry writes the most minimal lyrics possible, with nonsensical lines like "Uh-huh make it magnificent tonight" and "Oh, your hair is beautiful"; at the same time, though, it's also one of Blondie's hardest songs to sing, especially during the final crescendo. The video is distinctive, too: a post-apocalyptic nightmare that sharply contrasts with such carefree lyrics, filmed in a hypothetical post-atomic nightclub, with Blondie — among the few survivors — performing while wearing garbage bags, in front of an audience of pseudo-zombies that includes supermodel Gia Carangi. Blondie's twin aim is, on one hand, to poke fun at the fear (all too widespread at the time) of a possible nuclear conflict, and on the other, to depict an apocalyptic future scenario that's, all things considered, not so far-fetched. "Atomic" still sounds unique today and breaks every rule of what makes a hit, having no real chorus and being instrumental for much of its runtime. It is, in every sense, one of the strangest songs ever to top the charts.
The third single released, "Union City Blue", deserved greater commercial fortune: with its sweeping, wide-open sound, it offers a preview of what in the '80s would come to be called Big Music (U2, in particular, owe a great deal to this track). In the US, instead of "Union City Blue", the funky "The Hardest Part" was released as a single — a dance-rock number that would delight Franz Ferdinand, complete with a fine solo from Infante.

The first side of Eat To The Beat is beyond reproach, delivering further gems like the ethereal ante litteram dream-pop ballad "Shayla" — in the words of writer Chris Stein, "a psychedelic country song from outer space" — complete with a singalong hook. Or the infectious "Accidents Never Happen", with its insistent riff, the epitome of the kind of classic song that never wears thin. And the title track too, a cartoonish punk number, gets bodies moving. The second half of the album is perhaps a touch more uneven, though the only truly unsuccessful episode is the lullaby "Sound-A-Sleep", stretched out too long. Better, then, the sugary "Slow Motion", with its whiff of ABBA, which was meant to be the fourth single (before "Call Me" came along and changed those plans). We also find the first — and perhaps the most intriguing, at least rhythmically — of a long line of reggae numbers, more curse than blessing for Blondie fans, who from this point on would have to put up with a Caribbean-flavored track on every album. That's "Die Young Stay Pretty", a bitter meditation on the fleeting value of beauty. After the gothic "Victor", a condensed dose of madness set to music by Frank Infante, with Debbie Harry screaming like a woman possessed, the record closes with the explosive "Living In The Real World".

“Hey, I’m living in a magazine, page to page in my teenage dream/ Hey, now, Mary, you can’t follow me/ Without a satellite – I’m on a power flight/ ‘Cause I’m not living in the real world”
(“Living in the Real World”)

Eat To The Beat also confirms Blondie as pioneers of music marketing: it can indeed be considered the first video-album in the history of pop-rock music. Videos for all twelve songs were shot in a single weekend, then released on VHS. Needless to say, the band was showered with criticism for an operation so far ahead of its time. Yet it's not hard to understand that visual imagery is part and parcel of Blondie's art, inseparable from the music itself. It would have been foolish not to exploit Debbie Harry's explosive image.
The band closed out its triumphant 1979 with a new tour, first across America and then Europe. On December 31st, Blondie were immortalized in Glasgow, in a historic event broadcast live by the BBC (the full version would be released in 2010 on the double album At The Bbc), with Harry, on tracks like "Shayla", "Union City Blue" and "Atomic", showing off the full breadth of her vocal range. The show a few days later, at London's Hammersmith Odeon, would be their last for over two years. A gig opened by David Bowie himself (with "Beauty And The Beast") and featuring other illustrious special guests, such as Robert Fripp (with whom Blondie delivered excellent covers of "Louie, Louie", "I Feel Love" and "Heroes") and Iggy Pop, who closed the show in style with "Funtime", in a veritable rock'n'roll orgy.

Amore, chiamami

At the start of 1980, Debbie Harry was the most photographed and sought-after diva around, dominating magazine covers the world over. Blondie were regularly invited onto America's most-watched TV shows, such as Saturday Night Live and The Midnight Special (with Debbie, in the middle of performing "Heart Of Glass", delivering a speech against the exploitation of nuclear energy). Deborah achieved such credibility that, during this same period, she was able to perform in New York's avant-garde clubs alongside the Contortions while also appearing as a guest star on several episodes of "The Muppet Show", delighting younger audiences: memorable is her duet with Kermit The Frog on a tender rendition of "The Rainbow Connection". She received a flood of advertising offers to endorse the most varied products, and turned them all down except one: Murjani jeans. The commercial, shot at NYC's Mudd Club, is emblematic of the way Debbie and Chris thought. Against a jazz backdrop, Blondie's singer enters the club, greets her friend James Chance, and watches a performance by a band led by Walter Steding and saxophonist John Lurie (leader of the Lounge Lizards), before delivering the tongue-twister line "When you know where you're going, you know what to wear". In short, the couple used a commercial product to pay tribute to New York no wave (in those same months, Chris Stein was in fact busy producing unknown local artists at Bob Blank's Blank Tapes Studio, the epicenter of that thriving scene).

Blondie took a brief hiatus, which Debbie used to cultivate her other great passion: acting. Surprisingly, for her first proper film role (not counting appearances in two underground films, "Unmade Beds" and "The Foreigner", both directed by Amos Poe) she chose a low-budget production, a psychological thriller set in the 1950s titled "Union City". Chris Stein naturally handled the soundtrack, while his partner played a sexually repressed housewife, at odds with a jealous, possessive husband who neglects her. Worth mentioning is a scene in which Debbie Harry — a brunette for much of the film — tries to jolt her marriage back to life by dyeing her hair platinum blonde, thus paying tribute both to the ever-present Marilyn and to her own Blondie alter ego. Also released in 1980 was "Roadie", a forgettable film starring Meat Loaf (a sort of poor man's "The Blues Brothers"), in which Blondie — along with Alice Cooper and Roy Orbison — play themselves, performing a version of "Ring Of Fire" in Texas, the country classic immortalized by Johnny Cash.

The one to commercial Blondie's natural affinity for cinema was Giorgio Moroder, then at work on the soundtrack for "American Gigolo". The Italian producer presented Debbie Harry with a backing track called "Man Machine", over which — within a matter of hours — the platinum-haired vocalist wrote both lyrics and melody. She chose "Call Me" as the title because it's a line Richard Gere repeats throughout the film (the song also features a line in Italian, "Amore, chiamami", and one in French, "Mon cherie, appelle-moi"). Debbie was also struck by the colors used in "American Gigolo" and their intensity: hence the opening line of the song (“Colour me your colour, baby/ Colour me your car/ Colour me your colour, darling/ I know who you are”). The track was recorded in two separate stages: first the instrumentation, then Harry's vocals alone.
"Call Me", with its martial rhythm and that guitar riff that sounds like a western cavalry charge, redefines the very concept of epic scale: a chart-crushing juggernaut that spent six weeks atop Billboard and became Blondie's fourth UK number one in less than a year. "Call Me" would be the biggest hit of all 1980 and, in the US, the eighth best-selling single of the entire decade. Blondie truly seemed unstoppable.

Moroder listened to all our records, and together we made the definitive Blondie song.
(Chris Stein)

(Auto)American Eclecticism

For their fifth album, Blondie considered several producers: Moroder first and foremost, but also Phil Spector, who had approached them before. In the end, though, loyalty and gratitude toward Mike Chapman won out, and he convinced them to record the new record in Los Angeles, in the studios along the Sunset Strip. Even though they left Manhattan for the first time, Blondie would end up making a record that was New York through and through — even more urban than its predecessors — with no trace of West Coast influence. An extremely ambitious work right from its intentions.

We wanted to expand, we were tired of restrictions, we no longer wanted to be limited by our past, making the kind of music everyone would have expected from us. 'Autoamerican' is in some ways an unsettling record, because it demands a varied palate.
(Debbie Harry)

Blondie had no intention of giving up their unpredictability, and they wanted, at last, to be taken seriously: this too is why they came out with such a bold, adventurous record, exaggeratedly eclectic and undeniably disjointed (every track belongs to a different genre). Chapman, who would later call the album "pure delirium, brilliant in its self-satisfied madness", was the first to urge the band to go beyond rock conventions.

Having moved to LA without a car, Blondie chose to buy a Japanese one, and were scolded for not supporting local products. Ironically, they decided to title their latest effort Autoamerican. A daring project, composed almost entirely by the Harry-Stein duo, who took full creative control of the band, with the exception of a couple of tracks written by Destri and one co-written with Harrison. Also, somewhat in the vein of Talking Heads' superb "Remain In Light", they expanded their lineup: a huge number of musicians took part in making the record, from the thirty-piece string section on "Europa" to the jazz combo on "Faces" to the contribution of Tom Scott, who plays sax on several tracks. The liner notes (on a gorgeous oil-painted cover by New York artist Martin Hoffman) specify that Blondie is a product, Autoamerican a particular model, and the band members its standard accessories.

The album opens with the grandiloquent "Europa", dark and dramatic in tone, an orchestral piece composed by Chris Stein and arranged by conductor Jimmie Haskell. It closes instead on the dreamy notes of "Follow Me", plucked who knows how from a 1960 Broadway musical called Camelot. In between, there's a bit of everything. It opens with the smooth, danceable "Live It Up", which once again blends rock and disco; continues with "Here's Looking At You", on which Debbie pays tribute to Marilyn Monroe; then arrives at "Angels On The Balcony", the album's hidden gem (industrial at the start, more conventional pop-rock as it unfolds, but brilliantly written). There's also the Mexican-tinged "Go Through It", the esoteric, sensual "Do The Dark" and the atmospheric "Faces", with Debbie playing the part of a night-club singer, a preview of her future jazz turn that highlights her vocal talent.
Finally, there's the return of Spector's wall of sound on "T-Birds" (with Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman, leaders of the Turtles and of Flo & Eddie, on backing vocals) and the jittery "Walk Like Me", the track most readily linked to new wave.
But however interesting — or not — these various episodes may seem, depending on taste (most of them deserve rediscovery regardless), Autoamerican is, inevitably, above all the album of two songs destined to wreak havoc on charts worldwide: "The Tide Is High" and "Rapture". Yet another confirmation that record labels should never be trusted: Chrysalis hated Autoamerican, deemed it too strange, and claimed it contained no potential hits. Needless to say, both singles pulled from it went on to hit number one on the Billboard chart.
"The Tide Is High", a cover of a Jamaican classic written by the Paragons in 1966, is probably the most famous foray by a white band into reggae. It's not among Blondie's finest moments, and for once the accusations of opportunism aren't entirely unfounded (even though Chris Stein's passion for reggae was genuine); still, behind a certain saccharine quality there are a few interesting little details (the percussion, the mariachi trumpets, Walter Steding's violin, Debbie Harry's unconventional vocal delivery at the end). The B-side of the 45, featuring "Susie And Jeffrey", is of real quality and would have deserved a commercial on the official tracklist.

After punk and disco, a new subculture was exploding in New York: hip-hop. Blondie were among the first white artists to take notice, as well as among the first to be let into the underground events of the Bronx and Harlem — thanks to their close friendship with writer Fab 5 Freddy (an underground world that Debbie and Chris, thrilled by this new alternative culture, would go on to introduce to the Clash as well: the result of those encounters would be "The Magnificent Seven"). "Rapture", perhaps Blondie's most visionary peak, was born precisely as a tribute to that emerging scene. The deliriously rambling hip-hop verses are a hilarious improvisation sprung from Debbie Harry's imagination. "Rapture" is a song that tears down every fence, six revolutionary minutes in which Blondie glide with nonchalance from the most unsettling disco to irreverent hip-hop verses, blending funk and jazz arrangements, before a liberating closing rock guitar solo. The video, shot in the East Village, reframes "West Side Story" in the Bronx, and features appearances by street artists like Lee Quiñones and Jean-Michel Basquiat (the latter playing a young, clumsy DJ), as well as Fab Five Freddy (name-checked in the lyrics, alongside another pioneer of the New York hip-hop scene, Grandmaster Flash, who would later return the tribute by scratching the track on his own single "The Adventures Of Grandmaster Flash On The Wheels Of Steel").
"Rapture" would go down in history as the first rap song to top the American charts and the first to be aired on MTV. Curiously, it's also the only Blondie single to do better in the States than in the UK, where it stalled at number five. Many rappers, including Snoop Dogg, would later state that hearing "Rapture" was their first contact with the world of hip-hop. The first American television appearance by a hip-hop group, the Funky Four Plus One, also happened thanks to Deborah Harry, who got permission to share the stage with them on a famous episode of Saturday Night Live.

Debbie and Chris were always one step ahead of everyone else. Blondie always made the best videos.
(Andy Warhol)

The members of the band, joking among themselves, speculated that the album would either become a massive commercial flop praised by critics, or, conversely, sell millions of copies while getting savaged by the press. In reality, Autoamerican, with its distinctly dated charm, caught everyone off guard, and to this day remains Blondie's most controversial album. Sales rewarded it (platinum in under a month in the US), but no small number of fans drifted away from Blondie after its release, pointing to it as the beginning of the end.
While reviews of the first four albums had mostly been positive, those for Autoamerican were sharply divided. NME, Sounds and the New York Rocker, for instance, panned the record, judging it too pretentious, a confused grab-bag with no clear direction, essentially a Debbie Harry vanity project. The Rolling Stone review (frankly over the top) caused quite a stir, describing the album as "an anthology of intellectual onanism, the rock equivalent of a Ken Russell film", and even accusing Chris Stein of trying to destroy pop music (!). It's more than a little curious that Blondie, early in their career, were snubbed by the very same critics who would later accuse them of having become too intellectual.
A few months after the album's release, an irritated Chris Stein, firmly convinced that Autoamerican represents Blondie's peak, got a few things off his chest in an interview: "I think there's a kind of racism in the rock community that wants to push the idea that white musicians can't play black music. Our only goal is to try to do something different and interesting. We're topping the charts, we're selling millions of copies, that's true, but it doesn't mean we have to keep writing the same songs. We're constantly evolving."

We were all trained, like art students, to think conceptually, and that's how we approached every one of our pieces. For many bands, a single idea was their whole world. Blondie, on the other hand, was constantly changing.
(Debbie Harry)

Debbie and Chris don't rest on their laurels, and instead of simply enjoying success, they throw themselves into a series of side projects. For a few years already, in fact, the couple has been regularly appearing on Tv Party, the anarchic and chaotic American cable show that ran from 1978 to 1982, directed by Glenn O'Brien, a writer who came out of Andy Warhol's circle. On the show, which talks indiscriminately about art, music and fashion, chaos reigns supreme: anything goes, from phoning in to insult the guests to watching Debbie Harry, in one episode, give a demonstration of what the pogo actually is (still unknown in the US at the time) — in short, a punk TV show in every sense. Tv Party, which David Letterman called "the greatest television show of all time," gives plenty of space to street artists and to the emerging New York hip-hop scene, as well as to established musicians (David Byrne, Robert Fripp, Nile Rodgers, Mick Jones and members of the B-52's are just a few of the notable guests). The show, which cements Debbie and Chris's friendship with godfather figures of the stature of Warhol and Burroughs, will close up shop in 1982 — curiously, the same year as Blondie.

H. R. Giger's acupuncture needles and the misunderstood solo debut

Between 1980 and 1981 Blondie are everywhere, a constant presence on radio, TV and in magazines. Yet the band's peak of fame coincides with a period of isolation and quiet neurosis among its members, who decide to take a break and stop performing live. Rumors of an imminent breakup start to spread, fueled also by Debbie Harry's solo ambitions, as she grows tired of the endless daily squabbling. Debbie and Chris are increasingly drawn to black music, which is why they get close to Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards, who in turn are keen to venture into rockier territory than they'd explored up to that point. This meeting of intentions will lead to an inevitable stylistic marriage, the foundation of Debbie Harry's solo debut: KooKoo. Expectations are sky-high: everyone anticipates a sublime combination of Blondie's fizzy new wave and Chic's polished disco music, but the end result will alienate both audiences and critics.
Recorded in five weeks, in a thoroughly playful studio atmosphere, KooKoo is the product of a collaboration between several musicians, an all-star cast that even includes Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald Casale of Devo (credited under the pseudonyms Spud and Pud Devo). Four tracks are credited to Debbie and Chris, another four to Nile and Bernard, while the remaining two are co-written by all four. The album features a range of styles, whose common thread is the fusion of rock and R&B, with funky grooves and Harry's voice shifting between sensual, childlike, tender and neurotic — all while she's gone back to being brunette, further distancing herself from her main persona. It's a much-maligned record that doesn't enjoy a good reputation at all, but one that genuinely deserves serious reappraisal, because it delivers several fine moments, starting with the piano intro of "Jump Jump" right through to the closing "Oasis," which has the scent of Eastern nights about it. The two best tracks are the evocative "Chrome," with its Frippian guitars sliding away into a sinister, percussion-driven finale, and "Now I Know You Know," a sinuous jazz ballad with a cinematic feel and noir atmosphere, beautifully sung by Debbie. Her performance on "The Jam Was Moving," by contrast, is positively hysterical — a driving funk number with vocal contributions from the two Devo men. The goofy "Under Arrest" sounds like a meeting between Blondie and Devo, followed by the rap military march of "Military Rap" (nomen omen).
There's also "Backfired" (released as the first single) and "Surrender," which are the quintessence of the Chic sound: maybe not especially original, but still well played ("Surrender," among other things, contains what Nile Rodgers himself has called one of the best solos of his career). Among the most successful episodes, finally, is "Inner City Spillover," the most convincing of Debbie Harry and Chris Stein's frequent forays into reggae.

KooKoo, despite not being propelled by any hit singles and despite being almost sabotaged by Chrysalis (unwilling to risk losing Blondie), reaches number six on the UK chart and is certified gold in the United States. Only the most devoted fans, however, actually buy the album — partly due to the shocking H. R. Giger cover art, which frightens much of the public and gets banned by the BBC and by numerous stores. The cover image, with Debbie Harry pierced by large needles (the acupuncture points represent the four elements), is in fact deemed too realistic and disturbing. A cover that has become iconic over time, turning KooKoo into a highly sought-after LP among collectors. The collaboration with Giger also produced two videos, "Backfired" and "Now I Know You Know", which further showcase the Swiss artist's macabre fascination with bones, skeletons and skulls.

I wanted to radically change my image for my first solo album. It was important for people to recognize me as Debbie Harry and no longer as Blondie.
(Debbie Harry)

Ultimately, KooKoo is a bold experiment (made even more so by Deborah's sudden, disorienting change of look), one that retains a perverse, spectral allure, masterfully conjured up by Giger's cover art. An experience that will prove extremely useful for Rodgers's future productions, as he develops and shapes on KooKoo the very sound he would later refine on Madonna's early albums and on David Bowie's "Let's Dance." A forward-thinking choice in hindsight, then, but one that doesn't pay off as hoped. It's Debbie Harry's first misstep, and it sounds like a warning bell.

Blondie was a group: the rapid decline

To break the prolonged silence, Blondie's first The Best Of comes out in 1981, featuring some tasty remixes by Mike Chapman: it includes, in fact, the definitive version of "Heart Of Glass," with a wonderful percussion-driven coda by Clem Burke. The record proves to be yet another inevitable success: number one in Australia and New Zealand, top five in the UK, and over 2 million copies sold in the US alone.
A year later, the first two books devoted to Blondie are published. The first, controversial to say the least, is written by none other than Lester Bangs, one of the very first journalists to give a positive review of Blondie's performances at CBGB. Over the years the famed rock critic builds a friendship with Debbie Harry and Chris Stein, a relationship spoiled precisely by this book, which the two leaders strongly disapprove of (actively advising fans against buying it). In essence, Lester praises the band and acknowledges its merits, but he attacks the persona created by Debbie Harry, openly criticizing her strong sexual image and launching into a moralistic, finger-wagging analysis that comes across as baffling given the author's own lifestyle. The second book, meanwhile, is an essential document: titled "Making Tracks: The Rise Of Blondie," it's written in the first person, in a sharp, witty style, by Debbie Harry herself — an autobiography enriched by numerous previously unseen photos taken by Chris Stein.

Meanwhile, Clem Burke and Jimmy Destri turn to production work, with the latter — besides appearing on Saturday Night Live alongside David Bowie — also finding time to release a solo album ("Heart On A Wall," produced by Michael Kamen and recorded with some of Bowie's own collaborators, such as Carlos Alomar and Earl Slick). Chris Stein, for his part, founds his own record label, Animal, through which he will produce the soundtrack for "Wild Style" (the first, landmark film about hip-hop and graffiti art), the bizarre "Zombie Birdhouse" (perhaps Iggy Pop's most challenging record, somewhere between Suicide and Zappa), and above all the astonishing "Miami" by Gun Club. The latter are led by Jeffrey Lee Pierce, who is genuinely obsessed with Debbie Harry: his identification with her is so strong (bordering on the pathological) that he dyes his hair blonde and wears any item of clothing or accessory he can connect to Blondie. He will even dedicate an album to her, "The Las Vegas Story," in 1984.

Despite having stopped seeing each other socially, Blondie still have a contractual obligation to fulfill, which calls for the release of one more album. Disheartened and reluctant, they head into the studio. The band is divided and exhausted, by now at the end of the road and out of steam. The first to notice is Mike Chapman, who immediately senses that this will be Blondie's final album. A general lack of interest hangs over the new record, which is therefore born under anything but exciting prospects. Thrown together in haste, The Hunter is the sound of a band collapsing — especially in terms of personal relationships: Frank Infante, increasingly marginalized, is by now a stranger within his own group. After the release of Autoamerican, the guitarist had even sued the band, accusing his bandmates of having blocked every idea he brought to the studio. A clear demonstration of just how fragile Blondie had become by that point.

The twilight mood is the most fascinating element of The Hunter: the end is near, and the atmosphere is cold and detached, utterly joyless. Too many tracks, though, are made on autopilot. Some are simply bad, like "The Beast" (a failed attempt to repeat the formula of "Rapture") or "Little Caesar." Others just never take off: that's the case with "For Your Eyes Only," rejected by the producers of the 007 franchise (Blondie, annoyed, would refuse to record the version that — sung by Sheena Easton — would go on to become the definitive one), and with "English Boys" (dedicated to the Beatles, written by Debbie Harry after the assassination of John Lennon).
So is the whole thing a write-off? No, there is actually something worth salvaging. Starting with the dark, obsessive opening track, "Orchid Club," carried along by tribal percussion. Despite its similarities to "Call Me," the anti-militarist "War Child" also does its job well, with lyrics about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict that remain, sadly, all too relevant today. The melody of "Dragonfly" isn't bad either, with its odd sci-fi lyrics, nor is Debbie's performance on the jazzy "The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game," a cover of a song written in 1967 by Smokey Robinson for the Marvelettes. Also solid are the two numbers penned by Jimmy Destri, "Danceaway" and "(Can I) Find the Right Words (To Say)," which confirm him as Blondie's most reliable and consistent songwriter. The loping "Danceaway," with its distinctly sixties liveliness recalling Motown, is also the track with the greatest commercial appeal, mistakenly never released as a single — a fate instead reserved for the wretched calypso of "Island Of Lost Souls," a sorry testament to just how low Blondie had sunk.

The Hunter also fares badly commercially: barely scraping into the UK top 10, a dismal 31st place on the US chart. It's the end of a brief era — a decline made all the more apparent by the obscene cover art, which is, frankly, indefensible. The original idea was for each member of Blondie to wear make-up that was half-human, half-animal. The end result is a tough pill to swallow, with Debbie done up as a feline, sporting an implausible lion's mane and a vacant, faraway stare.
The subsequent tour turns out to be a disaster: poor ticket sales, terrible relationships within the band, and the first symptoms of the terrible illness that will floor Chris Stein. Blondie's fall from popularity is incredible — and in some ways inexplicable — even faster than their meteoric rise had been. Frank Infante, long estranged from the rest of the band in all but name, is finally pushed out for good (replaced by Eddie Martinez, who appears in the 1982 Farewell Concert in Toronto, later released on VHS and DVD). And after one last show in Philadelphia, alongside Genesis and Elvis Costello, the tour is cancelled: Chris can no longer stand on his own two feet, and can't go on.
In November 1982 comes the official announcement, blunt and final: "Blondie have broken up." Jimmy Destri will blame drugs, Clem Burke will point the finger at the various members' egotism, while Deborah Harry will lash out at the music industry's management, "populated only by sharks." With the contract broken, Blondie will in fact find themselves saddled with crushing debt.

If you want to be a successful artist, you also need to be someone who pays close attention to business. We weren't at all, and we paid a heavy price for it.
(Debbie Harry)

“During the 80’s everything went to shit…”

Debbie is reluctant to talk about the hardest period of her life: in the 1980s, in fact, her whole world comes crashing down. Between the mysterious illness that strikes her partner, the end of Blondie, a solo career that falls short of expectations, the arrival of feisty pop stars far younger than her, depression, and addiction to hard drugs, nothing seems to go right. And to think that the decade — which Debbie Harry will end up watching from the sidelines — had opened under Blondie's own sign, with the band scoring three consecutive number-one singles in the US between 1980 and 1981.
In 1982 Chris Stein grows increasingly pale and starts losing weight, until he's reduced to a living skeleton, his whole body covered in painful blisters. It turns out he has contracted an extremely rare autoimmune genetic disease called pemphigus vulgaris. The guitarist is only treated thanks to a massive injection of steroids, and for nearly two years he remains in a constant state of confusion, unable even to get out of bed. Deborah, in effect, gives up her career to stay by his side. The two manage to disappear from view, with no one finding out what had really happened — until Jerry Hall, Mick Jagger's partner, checks into Lenox Hill Hospital in New York to give birth to her daughter, and the paparazzi discover that Chris Stein is also secretly admitted to the same clinic. From then on, they start following Debbie everywhere, eager to learn more.

I had a genetic predisposition, but my illness was made worse by drug use. I can only blame myself. Although it wasn't entirely negative, since it allowed me to have some extraordinary out-of-body experiences. I really can't complain too much.
(Chris Stein)

Between 1983 and 1985, Debbie Harry vanishes from the scene. She releases only two singles: "Rush Rush", again produced by Giorgio Moroder and now a minor cult favorite thanks to its inclusion in the film "Scarface", and "Feel The Spin", a track produced by John "Jellybean" Benitez, the man who discovered Madonna. Deborah devotes herself mainly to theatre (playing a champion wrestler in the show "Teaneck Tanzi") and film. Worth mentioning here is Nicki Brand, the seductive, masochistic radio host she plays in David Cronenberg's visionary masterpiece, "Videodrome". A femme fatale at the center of some truly disturbing scenes, which once again crown Debbie Harry as an undisputed sex symbol.
With Debbie Harry out of the running, the crown passes into the hands of the fierce Madonna, who will never let it go again. Ciccone, along with two of the decade's other most popular pop stars, Annie Lennox and Cyndi Lauper, names the former Blondie singer as a key source of inspiration and — with cynicism, cunning and intelligence — manages to claim some of her ideas as her own. As for the rest, aside from the feisty Pat Benatar, most of the 1980s Debbie Harry wannabes focus solely on replicating her more swooning side: just think of femme-fatale types like Kim Wilde, Belinda Carlisle, Hazel O'Connor, Patsy Kensit of Eighth Wonder, Wendy James of Transvision Vamp and Tracy Tracy of The Primitives. We'd have to wait for the following decade to find imitators — or possible heirs — with greater personality and talent.

So how are the other ex-Blondie members doing? The busiest by far is drummer Clem Burke, who over the years works with Pete Townshend, Bob Dylan, Iggy Pop, Joan Jett, the Fleshtones, The Romantics and above all Eurythmics (during their commercial peak). For two nights in 1987 he even joins his friends the Ramones, going by the name Elvis Ramone. Keyboardist Jimmy Destri, after taking part in the sessions for U2's "War", unexpectedly drifts away from music and goes on to run a successful business. Bassist Nigel Harrison, together with frontman Michael Des Barres (his old bandmate from Silverhead), former Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones and Clem Burke himself, forms Chequered Past, a supergroup that puts out a self-titled album of forgettable hard rock. Guitarist Frank Infante, finally, plays with Iggy Pop, Joan Jett, Stiv Bators and Australia's Divinyls.

A tentative solo comeback

Having left the darkest period behind her, Deborah Harry decides to get back in the game in 1986. She does so with an exquisitely pop, immediate album, shaped by the new dictates of MTV. With Rockbird she tries to relaunch her career after several years of silence. It's an album with no great pretensions, though pleasant and lively enough, with a couple of memorable tracks. It's about as far as you can get from the previous KooKoo; on the contrary, several tracks recapture that typically youthful, carefree euphoria so dear to the never-forgotten girl groups (though the sixties-style backing vocals on "I Want You" and "You Got Me In Trouble" do feel a bit anachronistic). A record that, at least on the surface, seems to run counter to Harry's actual mood at the time (a therapeutic effect of music, perhaps?). The production by Seth Justman, keyboardist of the J. Geils Band, bears all the hallmarks of typical 1980s standards and inevitably sounds dated. The cover art, designed by Stephen Sprouse with the help of none other than Andy Warhol (who, a year earlier, had painted a digital portrait of Debbie Harry on the day of the official unveiling of the Amiga 1000), serves as a reminder of the singer's iconic status.

Rockbird, despite not being promoted all that heavily by Chrysalis (who evidently have little faith in a commercial comeback for the 41-year-old singer), does reasonably well in sales, though nowhere near the numbers of Blondie or the chart-topping records of the era's biggest pop stars. The catchy single "French Kissin' In The USA" reaches the top 10 in the UK and Australia (and even charts in Italy!), while the languid "In Love With Love" (which will top Billboard's dance chart) and "Free To Fall" (a classic power ballad of the era, which at louder volumes would have been perfect for a hair-metal band) also fare decently.
Debbie Harry isn't in the right physical or mental state to capitalize on this favorable moment, and she doesn't feel up to embarking on a stressful tour. In her attempt to get clean, she has in fact been taking substantial doses of methadone, which will unfortunately have damaging side effects on her body, causing her to gain weight, as can be seen in videos from the period. She will later admit to having suffered a nervous breakdown during those terrible years.

In 1987, the intense relationship between Debbie and Chris comes to an end, without the two ever having married or had children; they nevertheless remain on excellent terms, continuing to collaborate. Two years later, in fact, they write Def, Dumb & Blonde together, generally regarded as Debbie Harry's best solo album, as well as the one closest in style to Blondie.
Behind the scenes, the trusty Mike Chapman returns, in a project that also involves other producers such as Arthur Baker and Tom Bailey. The first half of the album is uneven: some strong moments (see the Bowie-esque "Lovelight", featuring Ian Astbury of The Cult) alternate with others that are merely decent (like the modestly successful single "I Want That Man", dedicated to actor Harry Dean Stanton, and "Kiss It Better", both typical examples of late-80s FM rock) and still others that are questionable (as in the case of the R&B of "Get Your Way", with an old-school hip-hop-style interlude that has aged very badly).
The album regains momentum with "Maybe For Sure", the most Blondie-like track of the bunch, with echoes of "Union City Blue". Naturally, there's no shortage of the usual Caribbean-flavored number ("I'll Never Fall In Love"), while "Calmarie" comes as a surprise, sung in Portuguese and co-written with the legendary Brazilian percussionist Naná Vasconcelos. The danceable "Sweet And Low" has untapped commercial potential, while "He Is So" and "Bugeye" lead the listener toward the finale, which suddenly perks up the ears. The melancholy "Brite Side", possibly a reflection on the end of her love story with Chris Stein, is, in this writer's opinion, one of the best songs in Debbie Harry's entire career. The closing "End Of The Run", a seven-minute elegy to the New York where Blondie grew up, is instead something of a missed opportunity: the poetic spoken-word passage is highly evocative, but it's somewhat undermined by a weak, toothless chorus. The version released specifically on compact disc contains three additional tracks ("Bike Boy", "Comic Books" and "Forced To Live"), in which some proper punk-rock even makes a comeback.

Def, Dumb & Blonde (a title that once again shows off the singer's self-deprecating wit) is well received by critics, but sells less than its predecessor. Debbie Harry, who has in the meantime moved to Sire Records (owned by Warner), finds herself held back by the label, which barely promotes the album in America, mainly to avoid any risk of competing with Madonna (who, incidentally, is in the middle of her triumphant Blond Ambition Tour), signed to the same label. After all, Madonna has by now, for several years already, been the new explosive blonde on everyone's lips, while Debbie Harry is little more than a faded memory. Such are the cruel laws of the music business, darling!

I wanted to leave the Blondie persona behind for good, to offer something more mature and reflective, but unfortunately no record label seemed interested. I was too old for them.
(Debbie Harry)

Her strong identification with Blondie proves to be a boomerang for her solo career, which will never fully take off. As a symbolic escape route from the overwhelming persona she created fifteen years earlier — one she simply can't shake off — she chooses, for the first time, to use her full name: Deborah Harry. Our heroine will nevertheless manage to get some small satisfaction, for instance by returning to the live stage after seven long years (with future Underworld member Karl Hyde on guitar), filling Wembley Stadium.
It's from this period that her collaborations with the Ramones date ("Go Lil' Camaro Go", taken from the 1987 album "Halfway To Sanity") and with Iggy Pop (in 1990, their fun reinterpretation of the Cole Porter classic "Well, Did You Evah!" is released as a single). During these same years Deborah is also very active in film: she appears in the segment of "New York Stories" directed by Martin Scorsese, plays the witch at the center of the horror anthology "Tales From The Darkside: The Movie", and above all takes on the role of the wicked Velma Von Tussle in the musical comedy "Hairspray", the film that introduced the subversive American director John Waters to a wider audience.

A new release has to wait until 1993, the year Debravation hits the market, an album that — at least in its original intent — was supposed to be considerably more experimental than its predecessors. However, the record is effectively sabotaged by the label, which cuts all the passages deemed too difficult; the final result is therefore quite different from what Deborah had intended. The strongest trace of those original ideas is the electronic closing track, the futuristic "Dog Star Girl", the result of a collaboration with William Gibson, the pioneer of cyberpunk.
Debravation, for the rest, is an uneven record, lacking cohesion (unavoidable, given the six producers involved), hampered by too many mediocre tracks, some of them downright embarrassing (better to say nothing about "Keep On Going"). Still, there are some touches of class, such as the singles "I Can See Clearly" (with stadium-sized epic grandeur à la Simple Minds) and "Strike Me Pink" (a refined ballad with jazzy tones), or otherwise thoroughly enjoyable tracks like the intense "Rain", the house-flavored "Lip Service" and the punchier "Dancing Down The Moon" and "Standing In My Way" (the latter written for Joey Ramone).
Among the bonus tracks are two old covers, "My Last Date (With You)" (recorded together with R.E.M.) and "Tear Drops".

Debravation passes almost entirely unnoticed (charting only in England), despite the fact that the 1990s coincide with a rediscovery of Blondie's catalog. It's a period, in fact, when Debbie Harry's influence can be traced across various fields, starting with mainstream pop: Gwen Stefani of No Doubt has never hidden the fact that she grew up idolizing the Blondie singer; Kylie Minogue has repeatedly called her an untouchable icon; the elegant swagger of another icy blonde, Sweden's Nina Persson of The Cardigans, also recalls her, as does the way Róisín Murphy of Moloko picks up on her fashion-forward side. And shifting the discussion to alternative rock, Blondie's influence on Garbage is plain to see (with Shirley Manson proving, for a few years at least, to be a credible heir), as is their influence on britpop bands shamelessly chasing that sound halfway between post-punk and pop-rock, like Echobelly, Elastica and Sleeper (who even cover "Atomic" for the "Trainspotting" soundtrack), not to mention Blur's tribute, dressed up as Blondie for an issue of NME. But even someone like PJ Harvey, whose style is certainly closer to Patti Smith, has declared herself an admirer of Harry, who is seen as an important figure for the riot grrrl movement as well.
In short, these are years in which her influence is more alive than ever. And perhaps the most spontaneous tribute of all comes from longtime friends the B-52's, who, on a greatest-hits compilation, release a previously unreleased track titled "Debbie", which settles once and for all who the "Queen of the Underground" and the "Supersonic Blonde" really was.

All of this, however, matters relatively little to Deborah. She has other plans in mind, such as returning to her first musical love: jazz. In 1995, in fact, she joins the Jazz Passengers, a New York collective specializing in abstract jazz, a genre she has always felt at home in, as a full-time vocalist. In this new role, Debbie is driven by the ambition to prove, first and foremost to herself, that she isn't just a pop or rock singer. A goal she fully achieves, judging by the two albums released with the Jazz Passengers, which take industry insiders by surprise. The first, Individually Twisted from 1997, is a studio album in which Harry shows off her vocal talents on tracks like "Imitation Of A Kiss" and "Angel Eyes". "The Tide Is High" is also revisited, and there's room for a duet with Elvis Costello on the standard "Don'cha Go 'Way Mad" (which the pair also perform on the David Letterman Show). The second, Live In Spain from 1998, is instead recorded live, during a tour that also takes in Italy (including an appearance at the Umbria Jazz Festival in '97).

A reunion with a happy ending

The public's affection for Blondie has never faded, and their records have kept on selling. For this reason, Chris Stein gets the idea of reforming the band, which had broken up amid controversy in 1982. He shares his crazy proposal with Debbie, who responds with a hearty laugh, followed by an unequivocal "Honey, you're completely crazy". Clem Burke and Jimmy Destri react similarly, not taking their old bandmate seriously and assuming he's joking. In the end, though, Chris manages to convince everyone: "Let's at least try doing a series of shows and see what happens". Surprisingly, they also reach out to Gary Valentine, the bassist on the debut album, who had cut ties with the rest of the band decades earlier. And so the original five-piece reforms: who would have thought? Frank Infante and Nigel Harrison, however, are not invited back, a decision that leaves them bitter enough to take legal action against their old bandmates. The newly reborn Blondie's first performance takes place on May 31, 1997, and it only takes a handful of shows in the States to realize that the chemistry has remained intact despite the long absence from the scene.

Deborah, initially the least convinced, lays down some precise ground rules: no nostalgia allowed, and at all costs they must avoid the cover-band effect so common in reunion projects like this. The goal, then, is to avoid slavishly rehashing past glories, and instead keep exploring new sonic territory. Before returning to a recording studio, a few changes are made to the line-up: Paul Carbonara joins the band as second guitarist, while bassist Leigh Foxx (with a long and respected career as a sessionman behind him, having played with Iggy Pop, Patti Smith, Cyndi Lauper and even Yoko Ono, as well as on Debbie Harry's last two solo albums) replaces Gary Valentine, who is shown the door in rather inelegant fashion, because – to paraphrase Chris Stein – Blondie needs a musician, not a writer.
Having finally shed the Chrysalis dead weight, Blondie move to the small Beyond Records label, which allows them to keep everything under their own control. Craig Leon is brought back in, the man who had contributed heavily – perhaps even more than Richard Gottehrer himself – to the production of the first album. All of a sudden it feels like 1976 again, with the same studio arguments among the various members each trying to push their own ideas. The band appears tight-knit once more, and the end result is satisfying. "Maria" is the comeback single: a radio-friendly pop-rock tune that allows Blondie, exactly 20 years after the release of "Heart Of Glass", to climb back to the top of the European charts (particularly the British one: no other American band had ever managed to reach number one in the UK charts across three different decades). It's a record-breaking comeback that, in February 1999, even earns Debbie Harry a commercial in the Guinness Book of Records as the "oldest" woman, at 53 and a half, to take a song to number one in England (a record snatched away from Cher, a year younger, who had set it herself only a few months earlier with the monster hit "Believe"). "Maria", in truth, isn't particularly loved by Deborah, who considers it too retro (the judgment of its author, Jimmy Destri, is even harsher, as he considers it nothing more than a dumb song for high-schoolers).

No Exit, the album featuring "Maria", debuts at number three in the UK and sells over a million copies across the rest of Europe; performance in America falls below expectations instead (peaking at number eighteen), and from this point on the band would no longer enjoy commercial success there. Critical reaction is mixed: there's no shortage of praise, though most reviews are lukewarm. The truth is so many years have passed that no one really knew what to expect, so the final product inevitably couldn't please everyone.
With No Exit, Blondie pick up right where they left off, carrying forward that tendency toward stylistic variety already amply demonstrated on Autoamerican. The record makes room for energetic pop-rock tracks (like "Maria" and the lively – if less successful – second single "Nothing Is Real But The Girl"), but also ska numbers ("Screaming Skin"), dance ("Forgive And Forget"), jazz ("Boom Boom In The Zoom Zoom Room"), blues-rock ("Happy Dog"), country ("The Dream's Lost On Me"), reggae ("Divine") and world music ("Dig Up The Conjo").
There's no shortage of tributes either, such as the emotional "Under The Gun" (dedicated to the late Jeffrey Lee Pierce) and a cover of the Shangri-Las' "Out In The Streets" (though in a less convincing version than the one released as a demo back in 1975). Not every episode can be called a success (just think of the improbable fusion of rap, metal and classical music on the title track, featuring Coolio, or the cloying treacle of "Double Take"), but it's still reassuring to find that Blondie still have something to say. Debbie Harry's vocal versatility is the backbone of the album and elevates its more sophisticated moments, like the enveloping, angelic "Night Wind Sent" (later covered by Mina as well).

Riding the wave of their renewed success, Blondie also release a live album, which only partly captures the energy of their concerts. Better, in this respect, to seek out Picture This Live, released two years earlier: not all the recordings are flawless (the excerpts from the 1978 Philadelphia show have the sound quality of a bootleg), but the extraordinary versions of "One Way Or Another" and the medley with "Bang A Gong (Get It On)" and "Funtime" are worth the price of the album on their own.

The Blondie Curse

Between tours, Chris Stein finds time to marry actress Barbara Sicuranza, with whom he'll have two daughters (Debbie will be godmother to both), while Deborah Harry resumes her parallel career as a film and stage actress. At the dawn of the new Millennium, Blondie begin recording the follow-up to No Exit. The process, however, proves especially troubled: first the Beyond Records label goes bankrupt, an event that leads Blondie to sign with Sony; then the tapes recorded at the World Trade Center are lost in the chaos following the tragic terrorist attacks of September 11th. The album thus has a long gestation and is only completed in 2003. In the meantime, a new Greatest Hits hits the market, gathering all the New York band's major successes: a solid starting point for newcomers.

The Curse Of Blondie, with its grandiose and ironic title, is perhaps the least "Blondie-like" and most experimental album, suffering from excessive length (65 minutes) and composed mainly by Debbie and Chris, with Jimmy taking a back seat. The attempt to modernize their sound is evident right from the lead single, the techno-dance-rock number "Good Boys", which reminds younger generations that when it comes to danceable rock, Blondie have no rivals. These are, after all, years that saw the emergence of a host of bands who grew up with a Blondie poster on their bedroom wall, starting with fellow New Yorkers the Strokes and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, all the way to Canada's Metric and Scotland's Franz Ferdinand.
Presented with great fanfare by Deborah Harry ("It's our best record"), The Curse Of Blondie is an eccentric work from the opening notes of the indefinable "Shakedown" onward, a surprising blend of funk, rap, rock and electronics, full of ideas and stylistic shifts. The conventional "Undone" (never mind the annoying "la-la-la", it's still a decent rock tune) is followed by three tracks – "Rules For Living" (Jimmy Destri's last real spark), "Background Melody" (with Latin horns and trip-hop rhythms) and "Magic Asadoya Yunta" (a curious cover of a traditional Japanese folk song) – that melodically swing between delightful and irritating. The oddities continue with the Mexican-flavored "End To End" and "Hello Joe" (a poetic tribute to the memory of Joey Ramone), before returning to more straightforwardly rock territory with the muscular "Golden Rod" (Chris Stein's guitar has never sounded so incendiary) and "Last One In The World", and to pop with the catchy "The Tingler". The ending is a shock, caught between the free jazz of "Desire Brings Me Back" and the melodramatic ballad "Songs Of Love", which sounds like it's lifted from a James Bond film.
The album receives a modest reception and falls far short of its predecessor's sales figures. Critical reviews are once again divided: where Uncut calls it "a diamond", Rolling Stone dismisses it as "faceless". Among their post-reunion records, The Curse Of Blondie is certainly the strangest and most enigmatic, the least immediate, but perhaps also the one with the most interesting moments waiting to be rediscovered.

In 2004, keyboardist Jimmy Destri, who had long been at odds with Debbie Harry, is pushed out of the band, not without controversy, for failing to shake off certain old habits (read: cocaine). His commercial is temporarily filled by Kevin Patrick. 2006, meanwhile, is the year Blondie are inducted into the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame. The ceremony is charged with tension and partly marred by a scene staged by former members Frank Infante and Nigel Harrison, who put Deborah in an awkward position by begging to be allowed to perform alongside the rest of the band (a request declined, in front of a bewildered audience, by the singer herself). An unpleasant scene, standing in stark contrast to the moving speech given by a visibly emotional Shirley Manson, her voice trembling as she honored what for her is a true idol. A few months later, Blondie take part, alongside the Dictators and Patti Smith (who finally buries the hatchet for good, performing an unexpected version of "The Tide Is High"), in the closing concert of CBGB, soon to be turned into a John Varvatos clothing store.

I made 'Necessary Evil' to express myself. To be part of what's happening today. It represents exactly who I am right now, not who I was thirty years ago.
(Debbie Harry)

New life

Nearly 15 years after Debravation, and after collaborating with Moby on the fine 2006 single "New York, New York", Deborah Harry picks her solo career back up. She has her new songs produced by the tight-knit duo of Barb Morrison and Charles Nieland, better known by their stage name Super Buddha. Necessary Evil, released in 2007, is a solid, cohesive work, the first in Debbie's post-Wind in the Willows career not to feature a collaboration with Chris Stein. It's an album firmly anchored in the present, drawing on sounds and technologies with a thoroughly contemporary feel.
On Necessary Evil we find three types of songs, all interconnected with one another. First there are the adult-leaning tracks, not too far removed from AOR, such as "Two Times Blue" (the lead single), "If I Had You" (as shamelessly crowd-pleasing as it is, incredibly, effective) and the elegant ballads "What Is Love" and "Needless To Say". There's also room on the tracklist for more energetic, aggressive numbers: this category includes the engaging "School For Scandal", the RHCP-style funk-rock of the title track, and the punk fury of "Whiteout". But what really makes the album an interesting, far-from-predictable listen are above all its more modern tracks, marked by contemporary electronic production that never feels forced. Take "Deep End", "Love With A Vengeance", "Dirty And Deep" (which nods a bit to Madonna's "Music") or the closing "Chart Alarm" (featuring the androgynous Miss Guy, former frontman of the Toilet Böys): none of them sound remotely like the work of a singer now well into her third age.
Finally, there's no shortage of oddball episodes either ("You're Too Hot" would be worthy of the most unhinged Gorillaz) or brief experimental interludes ("Charm Redux" and "Heat Of The Moment"). Chris Stein appears on only two of the three bonus tracks (the Afro-chant "Jen Jen" and the tribal techno of "Naked Eye").
Also in 2007, Deborah reaffirms her commitment to humanitarian causes, organizing a tour with Cyndi Lauper aimed at promoting human rights and civil liberties for the gay community.

In the years that follow, Blondie's live activity remains constant, but the long gap between studio albums continues until 2010, when the band, now signed to the independent label Five Seven Music, records Panic Of Girls in the studio at Chris Stein's house. The album is largely produced by Jeff Saltzman, the man behind the Killers' breakthrough. The New York band continues to defy genre classification, though this time with the stated aim of "making a classic Blondie album", in order to please the bulk of the fanbase who hadn't warmed to the previous 2003 effort.
The opening run is as promising as it gets, a 1-2-3 worthy of the old glory days. The trio kicks off with "D-Day", which pairs Clem Burke's vigorous drumming with an electro-rock sound: it's rare to see a band with so many years behind them still able to sound fresh and modern. For Debbie Harry, "an album should open with an energetic song that grabs the listener's attention right away, a punch in the face, because rock'n'roll should be athletic": "D-Day" certainly meets that standard. The following track, "What I Heard", which had already received very positive reactions during the band's 2010 UK tour, is an instant classic, with everything it needs to be a new hit (sadly it would be largely ignored by radio); it would go on to become a staple of Blondie's live shows. It's written and composed by new keyboardist Matt Katz-Bohen, the most prolific of the band's recent additions. Born in New York but of German descent, Matt studied piano, violin and composition at LaGuardia High School Of Music & Performing Arts (the "Fame" school, to be clear) and played in several camp-rock bands in the Nineties (he was a regular fixture at SqueezeBox, the gay and drag hangout club). He therefore has all the right credentials to join Blondie. And speaking of New York clubs, "Mother", a kind of "Maria" 2.0 chosen as the first single, is dedicated to a now-closed nightclub that was all the rage in the Seventies, a regular haunt of Debbie and Chris, both increasingly nostalgic for a New York that no longer exists (telling lines like "Mother's left the building" or "We are the missing children"). The video recreates the club, now populated by zombies, Blondie included (Kate Pierson of the B-52's even makes a cameo in the crowd).
It's a shame, though, that the next two tracks – "The End, The End" and "Girlie Girlie" (the latter unearthed by Chris Stein from a compilation of old Jamaican hits) – make you curse Blondie's love of reggae and Caribbean rhythms. More tolerable is "Sunday Smile", a cover of Beirut (complete with Zach Condon on trumpet), the Blondie guitarist's favorite indie band.
More conventional pop-rock numbers get the album back on track, like "Love Doesn't Frighten Me" and "Words In My Mouth" (originally written by Debbie for Shirley Manson of Garbage). Just three songs, the last on the tracklist, bear Chris Stein's name. "Wipe Off My Sweat" is a terrifying Latin-dance mix that apes Lady Gaga and Shakira (sigh!). The parodic intent is obvious, but it's not enough to justify such a lapse in taste, an unworthy bit of Spanglish for a band with Blondie's history ("Papi, Papi": there's a limit to everything!). More pleasant, on the other hand, are "Le Bleu" (a tribute to Serge Gainsbourg, sung in French) and the refined ballad "China Shoes". The two bonus tracks on the Deluxe Edition, "End Of The World" (which, incidentally, contains the line that gives the album its title) and "Sleeping Giant", are more than decent as well.
Repeatedly delayed, Panic Of Girls is released in 2011 also in a collector's edition that includes a magazine covering the band's history, interviews, reviews of all their previous albums, and a set of pins and photos of Debbie Harry. The bonus tracks included here are the punk-powered "Horizontal Twist" and "Mirame" (the fascination with Latin music would carry on into Ghosts Of Download).

The original artwork is the work of painter Chris Berens, who creates a highly distinctive cover, with an almost unsettling effect, carrying something menacing about it. The fantastical creatures he draws evoke real-life animals, while the band members' faces are distorted, in a kind of plea for the survival of the species (the theme of the human race heading toward extinction recurs throughout the lyrics).

Blondie 4(0)ever: between Latin influences and wild downloading

The years go by, but Chris Stein remains a tireless seeker, still hungry for new music and new sounds. The guitarist, in fact, develops a passion for Latin American electronic music, with a particular fondness for the Colombian scene. In various interviews, he reveals that his new touchstones – while working on the new Blondie album – are Systema Solar's records and the radio station Mega. He also manages to bring in as guests Systema Solar themselves, the Panamanian hip-hop duo Los Rakas, and DJ Héctor Fonseca.
On Ghosts Of Download, Debbie and Chris's passion for fusing the most varied musical genres remains intact, now with the addition of South American grooves, Latin drumbeats and Jamaican dancehall. The end result is the most synthetic and danceable record of Blondie's career, its electronic sound echoing the album's futuristic title. As Deborah Harry told Rolling Stone, "the album was made by communicating over the Internet, really taking advantage of what the Internet makes possible: not so much in terms of the sound, but logistically. We practically never all met up in the same studio together. Chris would structure the tracks at his place, then send them on to our producer in San Francisco. It was the songs that traveled back and forth, not us." Debbie Harry, always known for her reserve, is actually rather skeptical – and even a bit uneasy – about the web's intrusiveness, which by contrast her ex-partner Chris Stein, very active on social media, embraces wholeheartedly. This small difference of outlook between the band's two guiding minds is what gave the album its title.

To the public I only want to show a part of myself, not all of me. I've always fought to keep a certain degree of anonymity and privacy. That's why I don't use any social media. I've never sought that kind of public attention. I'm very selective.
(Debbie Harry)

Ghosts Of Download, complete with cover art by a former DC Comics artist, is a messy record, despite the best intentions of the band's two leaders. Blondie tried to force themselves into modernity, with results that are, this time around, rather questionable. Starting with the constant use of that twenty-first-century scourge known as the vocoder (Harry's voice still holds up and retains a lovely timbre: so why cover it up so shamelessly?). Jeff Saltzman's overly intrusive production, confirmed after Panic Of Girls, proves to be an outright disaster, ruining even the handful of worthwhile ideas on offer.
The opening of Ghosts Of Download is not for the faint of heart: "Sugar On The Side" would have a reason to exist on melodic grounds alone, but the terrible reggaeton cameo ruins everything. A similar fate befalls its sister song "I Screwed Up", with Blondie once again flirting with Latin American sounds. The opening track is followed by "Rave", featuring Miss Guy, whose chorus recalls a certain strain of 90s German dance music.
At the end of the day, the best showing comes from "A Rose By Any Name", released as the lead single a year before the album came out and met with a fair amount of suspicion from Blondie fans. Overlooking the use of the vocoder and the blatant attempt to court Lady Gaga's audience, the melodic idea is strong, the chorus is catchy, and the duet with Beth Ditto of Gossip comes off well. The synthetic pop-rock of "Winter" and the end-of-summer melancholy that defines the mood of "I Want To Drag You Around" also just about survive (though once again undermined by the production). The cover of "Relax" is nothing short of disorienting: the opening section, with just voice and piano, is enjoyable, a dreamy atmosphere that gets lost as the song moves on, veering first into rock territory and then electronic ground, before looping back in the finale to the original Frankie Goes To Hollywood version. The following "Take Me In The Night" has a nice momentum, though it's undercut by the predictability of its chorus (a criticism that also applies to "Make A Way"). "Mile High", on the other hand, is a sorely failed attempt to engage with EDM. The closing tracks "Euphoria" (a particular favorite of Deborah's), "Take It Back" and "Backroom" fail to turn around the fortunes of an album that's too muddled and, ultimately, rather uninspired too. A record that completely fails to make use of Tommy Kessler, the dazzling new guitarist who made his name in the musical "Rock Of Ages" and came up through a hard & heavy apprenticeship, having stepped in for Paul Carbonara during the Panic Of Girls sessions.

To celebrate their fortieth anniversary, Ghosts Of Download was released as part of a special box set called "Blondie 4(0)ever", which included two further discs: Greatest Hits Deluxe Redux (featuring 11 of the New York band's classics reinterpreted) and, above all, a DVD containing an unmissable 1977 live show at Cbgb. And it was precisely to mark their 40 years of activity that, in 2014, Blondie received several career achievement awards, with Deborah suddenly finding herself once again a perfect cover star. Early that year, for instance, Blondie was given the prestigious "Godlike Genius Award", collected during the Nme Awards 2014 ceremony in Austin, Texas (Mike Williams, editor of Nme, said on the occasion: "Debbie Harry is the most iconic frontwoman that rock'n'roll has ever produced"). Curiously, no American act had ever won the award in previous editions. But 2014 was also the year of Blondie's first, long-awaited performance in Italy. By a strange twist of fate, in fact, aside from a couple of promotional shows for a lucky few (in 1979 and 1998 respectively), the band had never performed in Italy before.

Cross-pollination

Blondie aren't even considering the idea of retiring. In 2017, in fact, they released their new album, their eleventh studio effort: Pollinator, which features collaborations with a wide range of artists, a diverse cast including old glories like Johnny Marr, superstars of the caliber of Sia, and rising names like Charli XCX. The common thread linking all these guests is that, over the course of their careers, they were influenced by the band led by rock history's most famous blonde. And it was Debbie Harry herself who found the best words to explain the peculiar project, and who is also responsible for its strongly symbolic title: "Their material is part of us, and we are part of them," she told Pitchfork. "It's a celebration of recycling!" In short, a process of regeneration, a genuine act of cross-pollination, with artists who had drawn inspiration from Blondie in the past feeling the need to give something back in return. But the meanings surrounding the record and its distinctive cover art (created by Shepard "Obey" Fairey himself) don't end there. There are tangible environmentalist references to one of the most worrying (and underrated) issues facing humanity's future: the gradual disappearance of bees. A warning that Deborah, a latter-day queen bee, delivers at every show, taking the stage in a strange crown made of two bees and wearing clothing bearing the emblematic phrase "Stop Fucking The Planet". A message that is also political, then, given Donald Trump's controversial decisions on the environment.

Pollinator, the last album recorded at New York's Magic Shop before its closure, is musically comparable to Panic Of Girls. A compromise between Blondie's glorious past and a modern sound, though without the reggae missteps of the 2011 album (compared to which Pollinator is undoubtedly superior). Production, the sore point of recent efforts, was entrusted to John Congleton, an in-demand professional admired for his work with St. Vincent, Franz Ferdinand, John Grant and many others. His contribution was anything but marginal, as confirmed by Chris Stein: "Blondie has always been a democratic monarchy, in which Debbie and I had the final say. On this record, though, it was John Congleton who had it. We believe strongly in his work."
Truth be told, it's the production itself that's the least convincing aspect of Pollinator. Here and there, the effects on Debbie's voice feel redundant and unnatural, often over-produced and altered. As in the generically appealing lead single written by Dave Sitek of Tv On The Radio, "Fun" (a title that reaffirms what has, deep down, always been the mission statement of Blondie's music: having fun), a disco-funk tribute to Studio 54. Or as in "My Monster", a song generously donated by former Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr, whose studio version comes across as a bit flat, losing the dynamism it showed live. "Gravity", a sparkling synth-punk number courtesy of Charli XCX, also fails to fully realize its potential, held back in part by one or two excessive electronic effects (especially in the bridge).

Where the production is less intrusive, the songs themselves benefit. The clearest example is "Doom Or Destiny" (featuring Joan Jett on vocals in the chorus), which keeps alive Blondie's tradition of opening their albums—from "X Offender" to "Dreaming", via "Hanging On The Telephone"—with amphetamine-fueled pop-punk numbers. A song written by the two leaders themselves, who are keen to set the record straight right away, as if to say: "Okay, on this album we got help from various songwriters, but don't worry, we haven't lost our magic touch yet." "Long Time" also fares excellently, written by Dev Hynes aka Blood Orange (with whom Deborah had already collaborated in 2016), which—amid welcome echoes of "Heart Of Glass" and pseudo-references to "Taxi Driver" in the video directed by Dikayl Rimmasch—is a wistful love letter, lyrically too, to the city of New York.
"Already Naked" and "Best Day Ever" (the latter penned by Sia, with Nick Valensi of the Strokes on guitar) have a great drive, while "When I Gave Up On You", a country-folk episode, offers a bit of welcome relaxation. "Love Level", a kind of fanfare with an unexpected R&B turn, is disorienting on first listen and might not win over longtime fans (though at the same time it could intrigue younger listeners). A track that, however you look at it, confirms the unpredictability of the songwriting of these two formidable old-timers, Debbie and Chris. The following "Too Much", by keyboardist Matt Katz-Bohen, is bland by comparison, but thankfully the closing "Fragments" makes you forget the album's one misstep. Dug up, of all places, from the catalog of an obscure indie artist from Vancouver named Adam Johnston, "Fragments" opens as a melodramatic ballad before morphing into a long, full-throttle ride, Blondie's most intense track in many years, with Debbie Harry as the absolute star. There's still time, finally, for a hypnotic ghost track, "Tonight", featuring a fellow illustrious New Yorker, Laurie Anderson.
Questionable production choices aside, Pollinator is a record that works, an effective testament to what Blondie represents today. A band that has no desire to live in its own past (though it is honored here, while trying to avoid the dangerous "nostalgia effect"), but which still has the nerve to offer its own personal take on pop music.

The band will spend the rest of the year on a world tour to promote the album. Blondie have already performed in Australia and New Zealand (alongside Cyndi Lauper), while in summer they'll tour the United States with Garbage; in between, a handful of European dates have been scheduled, with tickets for the Hyde Park and Roundhouse shows in London selling out within seconds. There's still no word on an Italian date, but there's no reason to give up hope, because, after all, it was Debbie Harry & co. who taught us that... "dreaming is free".

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