Women, especially, seem to go to pieces in Debbie Harry’s presence. When she featured on Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs, Kirsty Young, the normally phlegmatic host, confessed to Harry that she’d wasted a good 10 years of her life trying to be her. Another interview I watched begins with a thirtysomething female journalist blurting out: “Do you just wake up every morning and go, ‘Oh my god, I’m Debbie Harry’?” She doesn’t: after nearly 70 years Debbie Harry is used to being Debbie Harry. But for everyone else, the awe is at such an adolescent-intensity that the words “oh my god” can sometimes seem like her honorific.
Blondie began, as so many bands did, in downtown Seventies New York, but their sex-bomb singer, with those movie-star looks and that voice that slipped between sugar sweet and street raunch made them stand out from the crowd. They went on to redefine pop music with a phenomenal run of hits. Forty years on and seemingly more popular than ever, with a new album and about to play Glastonbury festival for the fourth time, they remain a pop band with a punk sensibility, forever defined by the frontwoman whom almost every female musician seems to name as an idol.
If you're a Blondie collector, look no further. We've had some amazing collectables in recently – see them here