Key Details
- Performance: Debbie Harry reads her own memoir with the same self-possession she brought to the stage, unhurried, dry, and genuinely her own voice, with guest appearances from Chris Stein and Clem Burke adding welcome dimension.
- What it covers: identity construction, punk feminism, survival and reinvention
- Feel: Candid, atmospheric, and coolly electric
- Our call: A memoir that works best when Harry lets the downtown scene speak through her rather than around her, and those sections are worth the whole listen.
I finished Face It on a Sunday afternoon when the light through my window had that particular late-autumn quality that makes you want to listen to something that holds its own against the stillness. There is something appropriate about Debbie Harry narrating her own memoir on a gray day, she has always been best understood in contrast to her surroundings, the white-blond figure standing against the grime of 1970s Lower Manhattan, the composed face in a room full of noise. Her reading voice carries that same quality: controlled, slightly distant, as if she is watching herself from just slightly outside.
Face It is not a conventional memoir and did not try to be one even in print, it was released as an art object as much as a book, with photography and illustrations that the audiobook cannot fully replicate. What the audio version offers instead is Harry herself speaking about her life in the CBGB era, working through heroin addiction, the near-death of partner Chris Stein from a rare autoimmune disease, bankruptcy, Blondie’s breakup, and the long road back. The vocal guest appearances from Stein, Clem Burke, Alannah Currie, and Gary Valentine are genuine additions, giving certain sections the texture of a group conversation rather than a solo account.
The strongest material in this memoir is the reconstruction of downtown New York in the 1970s, the world of Television, the Ramones, Talking Heads, Iggy Pop, and David Bowie circling each other in a handful of small venues. Harry writes about this period with the specificity of someone who was there and paying close attention, not someone romanticizing it from a distance. The sections dealing with her constructed public image are also unexpectedly rigorous. She describes the Blondie persona, the inflatable doll with a provocative edge, as a deliberate artistic creation, not a passive accident of record company packaging, and she is clear-eyed about both the power and the cost of that construction.
Where the memoir is less satisfying is in the areas it does not fully open. One reviewer notes that Harry mentions having meaningful experiences with women but omits them from the narrative, and there are other gaps that feel like choices rather than oversights. This is a book that gives you a great deal but signals clearly that there is more it is not giving you, which is frustrating and also, arguably, very on-brand for its subject.
What Stands Out
Harry’s self-narration is the central argument for the audio format. She does not perform the book, she reads it with a dry, occasionally sardonic matter-of-factness that suits the material well. When she is describing difficulty, the addiction years, the period of caring for Stein during his illness, her voice does not crack or reach for emotion. The steadiness is more affecting than drama would be. The original music by Chris Stein, woven into the vinyl edition recordings that inform this production, also gives certain sections a quality that a print reading cannot approach.
One reviewer recommends pairing this with Chris Stein’s own memoir to get two versions of the same story from the couple who lived it together. That is genuinely good advice. The two memoirs illuminate each other in ways that make both richer, and Stein’s account covers some of the territory that Harry elides.
Weak Spots in Face It
The memoir deals unflinchingly with heroin addiction, financial collapse, serious illness, and the specific exhaustion of being a woman in the music industry navigating objectification on her own terms. It is not a difficult listen in the way of a true-crime account, but it does not soften its harder passages. Some listeners have noted that the emphasis on Harry’s visual image and constructed persona, which the title directly references, can feel disproportionate to the biographical content around her music and relationships. Whether that imbalance reflects the book’s artistic priorities or a genuine reticence to go deeper is a question the book deliberately leaves open.
Best Suited For
Anyone with a genuine interest in Blondie’s music or in the history of New York’s late-1970s punk and new wave scene will find this essential. It is also valuable for listeners interested in the specific intersection of feminism, visual culture, and rock music in the period. Those looking for a comprehensive account of Harry’s personal life will find gaps they may find frustrating. The audio format, with Harry reading her own words and the vocal appearances from her bandmates, is arguably the most complete version of this memoir available.
