By Rebecca Bulnes
By Laurie Charles
By Chuck Strouse
By Lee Zimmerman
By Laurie Charles
By Falyn Freyman
By Hans Morgenstern
It's a summer day in Brooklyn, and the dogs barking, cars passing, and a female voice speaking in the background all suggest Blondie guitarist Chris Stein is taking a stroll while talking on a cell phone.
"This is good," he exclaims. "Wow!"
Stein isn't excited to talk to a reporter in Miami. He's, um, trash diving.
"It's a picture of, let's see what it says, St. John the Divine. It's a woodcut or something. It's cool. It's really good," Stein says. "I have to give up taking things from the garbage. One accumulates so much crap."
After 25 years in the business, one accumulates a weariness with the music industry as well. Stein's voice has a cynical edge, even when he's discussing the decision to reunite Blondie, which disbanded in 1982. It was Stein who first approached singer and former girlfriend Deborah Harry with the idea. She consented, as did keyboard player Jimmy Destri and drummer Clem Burke. Stein describes the re-formation of Blondie as an inevitable consequence more than anything else. "It seemed like an obvious thing," he says. "Everybody's always asked about it. Just what you'd imagine. All the old fans would constantly ask about it. It was an ongoing bone of contention in the world, whether or not it was going to happen. There was so much interest and enthusiasm. I thought it seemed appropriate."
At least Blondie didn't slap two originals on the tail end of a greatest-hits compilation to signal its return. The band released an album of original material, No Exit, in February. Although not an embarrassment, No Exit doesn't hold up next to Blondie records such as Parallel Lines (the Destri-written single "Maria," however, is a keeper). Stein, who is 49 years old, says that, as eager as fans were for a reunion, they weren't clamoring for the band to innovate pop music as it had twenty years ago.
"Even now I see there's a certain formula involved," he explains. "All the music scene is like this. At the same time people want to see you do stuff, be creative, and expand, they also want to see you do the same old shit. Everything is very contradictory in this business. I feel a lot of constraints, often. But the fans are accepting; they pay attention.
"Turnover is so quick now in the business," he continues. "The flavor-of-the-month thing is such a mainstay now. It seems obvious that anybody with any longevity is going to come around again and take their shot."
Stein, a Brooklyn kid, met Harry, a Jersey girl, on the Manhattan scene in the early '70s. Stein joined Harry's glitter band the Stilettos, which would eventually evolve into Blondie. When asked what he thought of Harry when he first met her, Stein emits a low chuckle. Dumb question. What would any heterosexual young man think when he first met Debbie Harry? "I thought she was great," he says. "I was really attracted to her."
The original members of Blondie had a fondness for the trash pop and girl groups of the '60s. Their tastes would be expanded by the art-punk school of the mid-'70s Bowery and the rise of artists like David Bowie across the ocean. (Blondie, in fact, first charted in the United Kingdom.) The vibrant Manhattan scene was small then, Stein says, and it's unlikely that it could be re-created today. "You walk around these big cities, and it's not like there's this little nucleus of hip people," he observes. "Everyone wants to be hip now, so it sort of spreads it out. It's taken for granted that everybody is a hipster. I don't know if that's good or bad, but at the same time, it makes for a lot of conservatism. New York is getting really fucked up. It's just turning into a big mall."
The band came into its own on its third album, Parallel Lines. Producer Mike Chapman put a disco whir into "Heart of Glass," which was previously recorded as a fairly straightforward pop-rock song. The album, which also featured "Hanging on the Telephone" and "One Way or Another," is a New Wave classic.
To its credit Blondie didn't rely on one sound or Harry's frosty good looks. They later ventured into calypso (covering "The Tide Is High") and rap ("Rapture"). Stein and Harry had attended a rap festival in the Bronx in 1977, and Stein says it was like watching a new genre pop out of the womb. "Rap has always paralleled the punk movement, too, you know; the timeline is the same," he explains. "The destructivist mentality is similar, about breaking down existing forms and then putting them back together."
Bands with as much individual talent as Blondie are bound to bicker over control and credit. By the early '80s, the members were drifting apart and -- always a telltale sign of trouble -- putting out solo albums and pursuing other projects. A marketing winner, the name Blondie certainly contributed to the band's undoing. T-shirts proclaimed that "Blondie is a band," but Harry's beauty and seductive voice were always the center of attention. Guitarist Jimmy Infante sued the band because he thought he was being neglected. The case was settled, and Infante rejoined the fold, but the group broke up a short time later. (Infante has proved to be a litigious hire. Along with bass player Nigel Harrison, Infante is suing again, complaining that he should have been invited to the reunion. Stein's take on the lawsuit: "With any band, as soon as you make money, people sue you. That's a part of show business.")