from the 7” single, Chrysalis Records, 1978Scorned by punks, adored by critics and horny pubescent boys (one in the same?), Blondie was always something of a paradox no matter how you looked at it: sanitary but vulgar, cherubic and demonic at the same time, approachable yet downright coldly post-modern; quite frankly, it helps to know that Debbie Harry was gobbling down Quaaludes and smoking mad dust through much of the hoopla, genuinely not giving a fuck about the haters. As contrived as some snobbish heads might make you believe their music was, Blondie really just lived it, carving their own niche inside a NYC scene that was rather bloated with bands trying to out-shock or out-nasty one another. Listening to the lyrics of this track now, in the age of texting & smart phones, leaves me awash in mental pictures of the recently distant past, “…I’m in the phone booth, it’s the one across the hall; if you don’t answer, I’ll just ring it off the wall…” I read somewhere the other day that pay phones are probably on their way out, relics of a non-digital past, as it costs more to service them than they bring in. Weird man…
