Rock On - May 1978
No. 1
Pages 3, 8, 9

DEBBIE REVEALS HERSELF!

Words: Sheila Rock
Main Pic: LFI
Small Pix: Sheila Rock

When Debbie and Blondie came over on tour not so long ago Debbie Harry revealed herself for what she is... Sheila Rock was there to witness the revelation!

God bless America. They brought us that delicious, delectable blonde kewpie doll of the New York rockers, Debbie Harry.
It was the new wave event of the season at London's Roundhouse. It was at this rock'n'roll hotspot that Debbie Harry electrified her audience. Hordes of adoring and drooling fans, mostly male, clamoured at the stage. All eyes riveted on her streamlined, gut punching shape and style. This lady's sure got the power, that undeniable confidence and charisma of someone who knows she's good. She's a gorgeous ultra-infra-sexy blonde who shines like the lights of Las Vegas.
Dressed sexily in the tiniest of a white mini-dress and matching white ankle boots a la 60s chic, Debbie whirled like a dervish, wiggled and rolled like the tide, pouted and posed with hands poised defiantly on her waist. She's the undisputed glacial queen of the scene and the obvious focus of the band.
And this band is strictly American hard-edged apple pie. Cute musicians from the streets of Brooklyn and the Bronx. The epitome of power pop Yankee style. Their tunes are catchy and teen orientated - springing from the rock'n'roll classics of those good ol days - the 60s juke box era, but fashioned into a more updated 1970s nitty gritty sound.
Blondie's performance had that something-explosive-is-happening impact. The Roundhouse was rocking to a creamy white thighed groove machine, the stage exploded in electric splinters of sound and motion and temperatures were certainly rising. Even her band who normally, I'm afraid, pale terribly alongside this tough little teen queen persona, like tacky but cute zombies from the Sweet Jane era of the Velvets (yawn) were actually moving. Even grooving. Electricity spewed everywhere. The stage hummed and the music throbbed.
Debbie tore into her songs and strutted her stuff. During Rip Her To Shreds, she presented a life-size cardboard cut-out of herself and began tearing it to pieces, riping her image and throwing the bits into the hungry sea of spellbound faces. Sizzling segments for all her admirers.
Afterwards, in the pit of the Roundhouse dressing rooms, Debbie and crew mingled with journalists and record company liggers of every and all description. Even the odd devoted fan managed to sneak through.
Despite press announcements that she was fed up and tired, having been on the road since September and all around the world, this little lady still looked real good to me. Maybe a few threadlike lines under her eyes, which weren't put there by cosmetics, but that's all. I keep on thinking she looks like a little girl. She tries to put on this thing that she's very cool and heavy. Very aloof. But I have a feeling I'm right the first time.
She said that she really enjoyed touring England and was thrilled by the fantastic response she's had here. She especially loved the North. They know how to rock, she confided in me. But she's looking forward to going home. It's been ages for her and she misses all her friends. She can't forget her roots. A New York rocker always longs for her concrete jungle.


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