You know that bass line. Honestly, even if you don’t think you know My City Was Gone, you know that bass line. It’s a thick, strutting groove that feels like it’s walking down a sidewalk with a lot of attitude. It’s iconic. But here’s the thing: for decades, this song has lived a double life.
Chances are, if you grew up in a certain era, you associate those first few notes with the booming voice of Rush Limbaugh. He used it as his theme song for years. It’s a weird pairing. You’ve got Chrissie Hynde, a staunch animal rights activist and vegan who leans pretty far left, providing the soundtrack for the most famous conservative talk show host in American history. It’s one of those pop culture glitches that doesn't seem like it should make sense, yet it defined how millions of people experienced the track.
But if you actually listen to the lyrics—really listen—the song isn't some generic anthem. It’s a mourning. It’s a sharp, painful observation about what happens when "progress" eats a community alive.
The Ohio Roots of a Protest Song
Chrissie Hynde wrote My City Was Gone after returning to her hometown of Akron, Ohio. This wasn't some abstract exercise in songwriting. She was looking at the wreckage of her childhood. The 1982 B-side (which eventually ended up on Learning to Crawl) captures a very specific moment in American deindustrialization.
Akron was the "Rubber Capital of the World." It was the home of Goodyear, Firestone, and Goodrich. By the time Hynde got back there in the early '80s, the landscape had shifted. The factories were closing or gone. The downtown was being hollowed out.
She sings about the "South Main" she used to know. It’s gone. In its place? Parking lots. Shopping malls. A massive highway system that paved over the character of the city. There’s a line that hits like a ton of bricks: "I went back to Ohio / But my city was gone." It’s visceral. It’s not just about buildings; it’s about the soul of a place being replaced by "senseless sprawl."
That Bass Line and the Limbaugh Connection
We have to talk about Tony Visconti. No, wait—let’s talk about Tony Butler. He’s the guy who actually played that bass part. It’s a masterpiece of simplicity. It’s a C-major pentatonic groove that just loops, but it has this incredible "bounce" to it.
So, how did a song about the environmental and social decay of Ohio become the intro for a conservative firebrand?
Basically, Limbaugh liked the riff. He started using it in 1984. For a long time, there was a legal back-and-forth. The story goes that Hynde eventually allowed him to keep using it, provided the royalties went to PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). It’s a classic "keep your enemies close" move, or maybe just a pragmatic way to fund a cause she cared about using money from someone she disagreed with.
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It’s a bizarre legacy. A song about the destruction of the environment and the loss of local culture became the background noise for thousands of hours of political commentary. You can't separate the two anymore in the public consciousness, which is a bit of a shame because the song deserves to stand on its own merits as a piece of social commentary.
The Disappearing Middle Class in Lyric Form
The song mentions "the train station" being gone. It mentions the "A&P." These aren't just random names. The A&P was the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company, once the largest retailer in the world. Its disappearance from the American landscape was a precursor to the Walmart-ification of the country.
Hynde wasn't just complaining about her favorite coffee shop closing. She was witnessing the birth of the "Rust Belt."
The song captures a specific kind of American grief. It’s the feeling of driving through a town where your grandfather worked a union job for 40 years, only to find a paved-over lot where the factory stood. It’s "the beauty of the hills" being "replaced by shopping malls."
The irony? The "progress" she was mocking—the suburban sprawl and the destruction of downtowns—was often championed by the very political movements that later adopted the song as an anthem. Hynde's lyrics are actually quite anti-corporate. She’s mourning the loss of the "pretty countryside" and the "farms of Ohio." It’s an environmentalist’s lament disguised as a rock song.
Why the Sound Works
The Pretenders were in a weird spot when they recorded this. They had just lost two original members, James Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon, to drug-related issues. The band was essentially Hynde and drummer Martin Chambers.
Maybe that’s why the song feels so sparse. It’s not overproduced. It has this raw, slightly detached vocal performance. Hynde sounds tired. She sounds like someone who has been traveling for a long time and just wants to find something familiar, but everything she touches turns to asphalt.
The guitar work, handled by Robbie McIntosh, is understated. It lets that bass line breathe. If the song were busier, the message would get lost. By keeping it lean, the lyrics stay front and center. You can’t ignore the fact that she’s calling out the "ay, oh, way to go, Ohio" sentiment as a hollow victory.
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The Cultural Impact of 1980s Deindustrialization
To understand My City Was Gone, you have to look at what else was happening in music at the time. Bruce Springsteen was doing similar work with Nebraska and Born in the U.S.A. (another song people constantly misinterpret as a happy anthem). Billy Joel had "Allentown."
There was a massive shift in the American psyche. The post-war boom was over. The transition to a service economy was messy and painful. Hynde was one of the few artists who captured it from a specifically female, rock-and-roll perspective. She wasn't just looking at the economy; she was looking at the vibe of the land.
- The Loss of Identity: When a city loses its industry, it loses its name. Akron became "just another place off the highway."
- The Environmental Cost: Paving over hills isn't just a construction project; it’s a permanent scar.
- The Corporate Takeover: The "A&P" being replaced by generic malls represents a loss of local flavor.
Misconceptions and the "Ohio" Hook
One of the biggest misconceptions is that the song is a tribute to Ohio. People hear "way to go, Ohio" and think it’s a cheer. It’s not. It’s sarcasm. It’s biting.
She’s basically saying, "Great job, guys. You ruined it."
Another misconception is that the song is "about" Rush Limbaugh. It existed for years before he touched it. While his use of the song is a fascinating footnote in music licensing history, the song’s actual DNA is rooted in the 1970s punk and New Wave scene in London and the industrial decay of the American Midwest.
Actionable Insights for Music Fans and Historians
If you want to truly appreciate what Hynde was doing, don't just stream the song. Look at it through a wider lens.
Compare the lyrics to 1980s urban planning.
Look up "urban renewal" projects in Akron from 1975 to 1985. You’ll see exactly what Hynde saw. The destruction of the old structures in favor of "modern" concrete boxes was a deliberate policy that many cities now regret.
Listen to the rest of "Learning to Crawl."
The album is a masterpiece of resilience. "Back on the Chain Gang" and "Middle of the Road" deal with similar themes of time passing and things changing, often for the worse. Understanding the context of the whole record makes My City Was Gone feel even more poignant.
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Analyze the bass tone.
For the musicians out there, that sound is a masterclass in "less is more." It’s not about speed or complexity; it’s about the "pocket." If you're a songwriter, study how Hynde uses a repetitive groove to ground a song that has very heavy, almost depressing lyrics. It’s a trick that keeps the listener engaged even when the subject matter is dark.
Explore the "Rust Belt" genre.
If you like the themes in this song, check out the photography of Seph Lawless or the writing of J.D. Vance (before the politics) or Sarah Smarsh. The "disappearing city" is a major theme in American art, and Hynde was one of the first to bring it to the Top 40.
The song remains a staple of classic rock radio, but its meaning is more relevant than ever. As we deal with the "Amazon-ification" of the modern world, the feeling of a city disappearing—even while you're standing right in the middle of it—is something almost everyone can relate to.
Next time you hear that bass line kick in, ignore the radio ghosts of the past. Think about the hills. Think about the farms. Think about what happens when we value a parking lot more than a community. That’s the real story of the song.
To get the full experience, listen to the 12-inch version if you can find it. The extended groove allows the message to sink in a bit deeper. You can almost feel the tires hitting the pavement on a long drive through a state that doesn't look like home anymore.
The ultimate takeaway is simple: pay attention to your surroundings. Don't wait until the "A&P" is a parking lot to realize what you had. Hynde didn't, and she wrote one of the best songs of the '80s because of it.
Check out the live versions from the mid-80s as well. The band’s energy brings a certain defiance to the lyrics that you don't always get on the studio cut. It turns a lament into a protest. It reminds us that even when the city is gone, the voice of the people who lived there doesn't have to be.
Focus on the "why" behind the music. It’s never just about a catchy riff. It’s about the world that created that riff. In this case, it was a world of rubber, smoke, and a woman who wasn't afraid to say that something beautiful had been lost to the asphalt.