One Song. Two Bands. Two Generations. Two Turning Points in Rock 'n' Roll History.
The Kinks, The Pretenders, and the Little Song That Connected Two Musical Revolutions
Listening to MTV
Yes, you read that correctly.
Listening to MTV.
For those of us who grew up during the MTV generation, that statement makes perfect sense. MTV wasn't always something you sat down and watched. Sometimes it was just on. You did your homework, cleaned your room, talked on the telephone, and listened to whatever was playing in the background.
And every now and then, something caught your attention.
That's how this story begins.
I remember hearing a song by this relatively new band called the Pretenders. They had a different sound. Not quite punk, not quite new wave, not quite traditional rock 'n' roll. Something in between.
And there was this woman standing in front of the band, wearing a leather jacket, playing guitar, singing, and occasionally pulling out a harmonica.
Chrissie Hynde.
She was cool.
Not the manufactured kind of cool that comes with elaborate costumes, choreographed performances, and a carefully constructed image.
She just was.
But there was something about one particular song that kept bothering me.
I knew that melody.
Or at least I thought I did.
The song was Stop Your Sobbing.
And that little musical mystery would send me wandering backward through rock 'n' roll history.
A Little Help from Tower Records
Before Spotify, before YouTube, and certainly before an algorithm could tell you what you might enjoy listening to next, there were record stores.
And if you were lucky, there was somebody working in that record store who knew practically everything about music.
For me, Tower Records was one of those magical places.
I could wander through the aisles, browse albums, dig through the 45s, and discover something I hadn't even known I was looking for.
During one of those visits, I found myself talking about the Pretenders and that song I couldn't quite place.
The fellow at the store explained that Stop Your Sobbing wasn't originally a Pretenders song.
It was a Kinks song.
The Kinks?
Really?
Now, I had heard of the Kinks. Of course I had. But they were one of those bands whose music had floated around the edges of my musical consciousness without my ever really stopping to investigate.
Much like my earlier discoveries of bands such as Yes, I knew some of the sounds without necessarily knowing the people responsible for them.
Well, now I was curious.
And there, sitting in a bargain bin, was a little 45.
Lola.
I bought it.
And that was the beginning of a beautiful musical obsession.
Mike, Victoria, and a Terrible Musical Performance
My brother Mike thought my fascination with that little record was hilarious.
I was playing Lola, talking about the Kinks, and marveling at how wonderfully strange their music was.
This song was nuts!
Mike laughed.
Then he started singing something.
Or attempting to sing something.
I don't know what rhythm he thought he was following, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't making sense to me.
The melody was strange. The timing was wrong. The whole thing sounded ridiculous.
I looked at him like he'd lost his mind.
Nobody would write a song that sounded anything like whatever he was trying to sing!
I rolled my eyes and walked away.
A few days later, Mike came back with a Kinks album.
He put it on the old record player, dropped the needle, and let the music do the talking.
Victoria.
OH!
So THAT was what he'd been trying to sing!
And suddenly, I understood.
There was something almost gloriously ridiculous about the song. The way Ray Davies attacked the vocals. The way the voices moved around the melody. The guitars. The rhythm. The sheer enthusiasm of the whole thing.
But beneath all that apparent simplicity was something remarkably clever.
There was a musical science to it.
The vocals wove in and out of the melody. The instrumentation supported the storytelling without overwhelming it. Everything sounded loose and spontaneous, yet somehow it all fit together perfectly.
And it sounded like its time.
I could hear the musical world of the Rolling Stones, Canned Heat, Led Zeppelin, and that wonderful period when rock 'n' roll was experimenting with what it could become.
The Kinks were different from those bands, certainly. But they belonged to that same larger musical conversation.
And I fell in love.
Not just with Victoria.
With the Kinks.
The Beautiful Strangeness of the Kinks
Some bands make music that becomes part of an era.
Other bands make music that actually sounds like the era itself.
That's the Kinks.
Close your eyes while listening to Waterloo Sunset, and you can almost imagine yourself standing on a London street in the 1960s.
Put on Sunny Afternoon, and you can practically feel the lazy warmth of another decade.
Listen to Dedicated Follower of Fashion, and suddenly you're surrounded by the colorful personalities of swinging London.
And then there's You Really Got Me.
Talk about getting straight to the point!
There's a girl. There's a guy. He likes her. He wants her. And he's making absolutely certain she knows it.
No complicated philosophical exploration necessary.
Just one of the most recognizable guitar riffs in rock history and a wonderfully direct declaration of attraction.
The Kinks had this remarkable ability to make complicated musical ideas sound simple.
And Ray Davies had an even more remarkable ability to tell stories.
He could be funny, sarcastic, nostalgic, mischievous, and surprisingly sentimental.
Sometimes all in the same song.
Take Father Christmas.
I absolutely love that song.
In fact, in my house, it isn't really Christmas until I've heard Nat King Cole and the Kinks.
Yes. Nat King Cole and the Kinks.
One moment we're roasting chestnuts by an open fire. The next, Santa Claus is being confronted by a gang of kids who would rather have money than toys.
Merry Christmas, everybody!
But that's the brilliance of Ray Davies.
Beneath the humor of Father Christmas is a very real observation about poverty, class, and the different ways people experience the holidays.
The Kinks could make you laugh while slipping something serious into the conversation.
They seemed to understand that life could be important without always having to be treated so seriously.
And that wonderfully eccentric personality would become one of their greatest strengths.
Especially when MTV came calling.
Enter the Cool Kids
Meanwhile, the Pretenders were busy establishing themselves as something special.
Their first single, released in 1979, was that familiar Ray Davies composition, Stop Your Sobbing, originally recorded by the Kinks in 1964.
Producer Nick Lowe had heard the band's demos, and it was the Kinks cover that convinced him to produce their debut single.
Imagine that.
A song from the British Invasion era helping launch one of the most distinctive bands of the next musical generation.
The original Pretenders lineup featured Chrissie Hynde on vocals and guitar, James Honeyman-Scott on guitar, Pete Farndon on bass, and Martin Chambers on drums.
And together, they created something wonderful.
Chrissie was the obvious focal point, but the sound belonged to the band.
That's something I always appreciated about them.
It wasn't Chrissie Hynde and a collection of anonymous musicians.
It was the Pretenders.
And Chrissie was the Pretenders.
There was a chemistry between those musicians that made the music work.
Honeyman-Scott's guitar playing was particularly distinctive, combining sharp rock energy with wonderfully melodic passages. Farndon's bass gave the songs their foundation, while Chambers brought a driving rhythm that could be powerful without becoming overwhelming.
And Chrissie?
She had attitude.
But not the kind that became distracting or embarrassing.
She didn't need to prove she belonged onstage.
She picked up her guitar and played.
And for a young woman watching MTV, there was something wonderful about seeing another woman commanding that space without having to turn herself into a spectacle.
She could sing, play guitar, pull out a harmonica, and stand shoulder to shoulder with the musicians around her.
She was a rock musician.
Period.
The Pretenders weren't Queen or the Scorpions. They weren't about theatrical spectacle or overwhelming stage productions.
They had a different kind of appeal.
They were the cool kids.
And we got it.
Brass in Pocket, Chain Gangs, and Standing by You
The hits started coming.
Brass in Pocket was one of those songs I enjoyed long before I fully understood what Chrissie was singing about.
I'll admit it.
I didn't entirely get it.
But the video was fun!
And back then, sometimes that was enough.
We were watching music become something visual, and the Pretenders understood how to make that work without losing their identity.
Then came Back on the Chain Gang.
Now THAT song I understood.
There was something about its rhythm, its longing, and the emotional weight behind Chrissie's voice that connected immediately. Getting back into the grind, a life we can all relate to.
The song emerged during a devastating period for the band, following the death of guitarist James Honeyman-Scott in 1982. Bassist Pete Farndon would also die in 1983.
The original lineup that had created so much musical magic was gone far too soon.
But the Pretenders continued.
And two of my favorite songs would come from different chapters of their career.
Middle of the Road is pure rock 'n' roll attitude.
The driving guitars, the rhythm, Chrissie's voice, and that harmonica!
Good heavens, I love that song.
There's an urgency to it, a sense of someone looking at life, recognizing that time is passing, and refusing to surrender who they are.
Then there's I'll Stand by You.
A completely different emotional experience.
Tender. Reassuring. Vulnerable.
And still unmistakably the Pretenders.
That's what made the band special.
They could rock with the best of them, then turn around and deliver a song that felt like somebody reaching out and taking your hand.
They weren't always the biggest or flashiest act on the charts.
But they had staying power.
And they had a sound that belonged to them.
Here Come the Kinks. Again.
Now, remember, the Kinks had already been making music for nearly twenty years when MTV arrived.
They were veterans of the British Invasion.
They'd helped establish the raw guitar sound that influenced countless rock musicians.
They'd survived changing musical fashions, new genres, and an industry that seemed determined to reinvent itself every few years.
And suddenly, here was MTV.
A whole new generation of music fans.
New artists. New sounds. New images.
Everybody was trying to look like the future.
So what did the Kinks do?
They showed up with a story about the past.
And, in the music video, Ray Davies appeared dressed like a walking one-man band!
I mean, honestly.
What a way to enter the Gen X room!
While other artists were experimenting with elaborate visual effects and futuristic imagery, the Kinks were doing what the Kinks had always done.
Being gloriously, unapologetically themselves.
The song was Come Dancing.
And it was magnificent.
Come Dancing: A Memory Passed Between Generations
Released in 1982 and becoming a major American hit in 1983, Come Dancing was inspired by Ray Davies' memories of his older sister and the dance halls of his childhood.
The music video brought that world to life.
There were the period costumes, the dance hall, the characters, and the wonderful little story unfolding before our eyes.
It was almost like watching a miniature movie.
And that made perfect sense.
The Kinks had been creating little movies with their music for years.
Now they had a medium that allowed them to show us the pictures.
But here's where the song became personal for me.
Ray was remembering his older sister going dancing.
I remembered my older siblings and the disco era.
I remembered being the younger kid, watching the older ones getting ready to go out, seeing their excitement, and wondering about this mysterious world they were entering.
The clothes. The music. The anticipation.
That feeling of watching a generation just ahead of yours having the time of its life.
Different decades.
Different music.
Different dance floors.
But the same childhood experience.
And suddenly, I wasn't simply watching Ray Davies remember his childhood.
I was remembering mine.
That's what great storytelling does.
It allows someone else's memory to become a doorway into your own.
Ray wasn't asking my generation to remember his childhood. He was telling us about his, and somehow, I remembered mine.
And apparently, I wasn't the only one who connected.
Come Dancing reached No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1983.
Nearly twenty years after You Really Got Me.
Think about that.
The Kinks, one of the great bands of the British Invasion, were standing on the American charts alongside a new generation of musicians.
And they hadn't abandoned their personality to do it.
They had simply told another story.
Legends.
Two Bands. Two Concerts. Two Very Different Experiences.
I had the opportunity to see both the Pretenders and the Kinks in concert.
And those experiences were as different as the bands themselves.
The Pretenders were cool.
They played their music, enjoyed themselves, and gave us a good show.
Nothing unnecessarily flashy. Nothing overproduced.
Just musicians doing what musicians do.
They weren't Queen. They weren't the Scorpions. They weren't trying to overwhelm the audience with spectacle.
They were the Pretenders.
And they were fun.
But the Kinks?
Oh, man.
Watching the Kinks was like attending a National Geographic or PBS documentary narrated by Ken Burns.
Except the historical figures had climbed out of the documentary and started playing their instruments!
There I was, sitting in an audience, watching legends.
These were musicians who had helped shape rock 'n' roll.
Men whose music had influenced generations.
And how did they play?
Like a bunch of young musicians thrilled to be performing their very first gig.
That's what I remember most.
Not the elaborate production.
Not the lighting.
Not some spectacular theatrical moment.
The joy.
They were having fun.
After all those years, all those albums, all those changes in the music industry, they still seemed delighted to be onstage making music.
And that was something special to witness.
Boom Kissie Kissie!
Of course, there's another wonderfully entertaining connection between these two bands.
Chrissie Hynde was a fan of the Kinks.
A BIG fan.
Ray Davies was one of the musicians she admired, and the Pretenders had launched their recording career with one of his songs.
Eventually, Chrissie and Ray met.
And, well...
Boom.
Kissie kissie!
The two became romantically involved and welcomed a daughter, Natalie, in 1983.
Now, I don't know about you, but there's something wonderfully amusing about that story.
Imagine growing up admiring a musician, recording one of his songs, building your own successful career, and then finding yourself romantically involved with the very person whose music helped inspire you.
Rock 'n' roll has always been full of unexpected connections.
This one just happened to be particularly personal.
And as MTV continued growing, musicians became more than voices on records.
They appeared in interviews, music videos, specials, and public-service announcements.
I remember the Kinks and the Pretenders being part of that world, including the early MTV-era messages encouraging young people to vote.
Today, after watching musicians and actors use social media to encourage participation in another election, I find myself smiling at those memories.
Before the official Rock the Vote campaign launched in 1990, MTV was already encouraging its young audience to register and participate.
Our generation was experiencing something that feels remarkably familiar today.
Musicians using their visibility to speak directly to their audiences about the world beyond music.
Different screens.
Different generations.
Same connection.
And there, in my memories, are the Kinks and the Pretenders again.
The Musical Science of It All
The more I think about these two bands, the more I appreciate the musical relationship between them.
The Kinks were part of that extraordinary explosion of British rock in the 1960s.
Alongside artists such as the Rolling Stones, they helped change the sound and direction of popular music.
Their raw guitar riffs, unusual arrangements, clever melodies, and unmistakably British storytelling became part of rock's musical vocabulary.
Then came another generation.
Punk challenged the established rules.
New wave brought fresh sounds and attitudes.
And bands like the Pretenders took those influences and combined them with the rock 'n' roll traditions that had come before.
The result wasn't simply a copy of the past.
It was an evolution.
That's what I hear when I listen to these bands.
The Kinks could make a simple melody sound wonderfully complicated through the way their vocals, guitars, and rhythms interacted.
The Pretenders could take those same musical foundations and give them a completely different personality.
You can hear the relationship without confusing one band for the other.
And that brings us right back to the song that started this entire adventure.
Stop Your Sobbing.
One Song. Two Bands. Two Generations.
Here's something I encourage you to do.
Open Spotify, or whichever music service you prefer.
Find the Kinks' original recording of Stop Your Sobbing from 1964.
Listen to it.
Really listen.
Hear the sound of British rock during a period when the musical world was changing dramatically.
Then find the Pretenders' 1979 recording.
Play it immediately afterward.
Same song.
Same songwriter.
Same essential melody.
But a completely different musical personality.
In those two recordings, you can hear fifteen years of rock 'n' roll evolution.
The Kinks' version belongs to the British Invasion era, when a wave of British musicians was helping transform popular music.
The Pretenders' version belongs to the late-1970s musical revolution that would feed directly into the MTV generation.
MTV itself wouldn't launch until 1981, but the music and attitude that would define so much of its early identity were already taking shape.
And here's the remarkable thing.
The British Invasion changed what we heard. MTV changed how we experienced what we heard.
Two enormous turning points in popular music.
And one little Ray Davies song connects them.
Today, you can discover that connection in seconds.
But I discovered it through a musical adventure.
A song playing in the background while I did my homework.
A conversation at Tower Records.
A little 45 of Lola.
My brother Mike making an absolute mess of Victoria.
A growing fascination with a band that seemed to capture an entire era in its music.
A woman in a leather jacket who helped introduce me to another generation of rock musicians.
And two unforgettable concerts.
The Kinks and the Pretenders didn't simply make music for their respective generations.
They helped shape the music that came afterward.
And somehow, through one little song, they allowed two generations to meet.
One song. Two bands. Two generations. Two turning points in rock 'n' roll history.
And one very happy rock 'n' roll fan who got to experience the connection.
Man, I love music.
Sources & Further Reading
Rhino Records: Pretenders, "Stop Your Sobbing" Official Music Video — Background on the band's debut single and producer Nick Lowe.
AllMusic: The Kinks, "Stop Your Sobbing" — The original recording and its musical history.
Rhino Records: Chrissie's Pretenders — The band's early career and the connection between Chrissie Hynde and Ray Davies.
Louder: The Kinks, the Pretenders, and the Story of a Song That Started a Family — The musical and personal history behind Stop Your Sobbing.
Pretenders 977 Radio: Early Pretenders Performances — Archival performances of the band.
Rock 'n' Roll AngelDr. AY Heath
Visit DrAYHeath.com for more music memories, stories, and books.
Follow me on Instagram @ayheath, X @drayheath, and YouTube @TheMysticScribe.
Keep the memories alive, the music playing, and the stories coming!
Rock on! 🎸❤️
