God, did I detest Duran Duran growing up. Hated them. Loathed them. Wanted to go to England and set them on fire. With a flamethrower. Burn them to a synthpop crisp. They were everything I despised; slick, synthesizer-driven, and catchy, the perfect betrayal of everything punk had set out to do.
Plus they were worked with fashion designers to perfect their look, something I’d only allow David Bowie to do. And they were even too lazy to think of a second word for their band that wasn’t the same as the first word. Come on! Get up off your ass and think of another word! Who do you want to be, Talk Talk? Robert Christgau put the New Wave supergroup in his place when he called them, “The most deplorable pop stars of the postpunk if not post-Presley era.” I’d cast my vote for the Police, but he’s on to something.
But something appalling happened over the years, at least in my case; hatred turned to a grudging neutrality, and I was finally able to appreciate their synthpop charms. Sort of. They’re still too slick by a country mile, but slick is what synthpop was—machines making perfect noises. But I can listen to them now without wanting to die, and I suspect that’s a bad thing. Have I surrendered? Or have I merely succumbed to that insidious undertow of nostalgia that so frequently turns the songs you loathed in your youth into latter-day radio sing-alongs? It’s a mystery, that nostalgia; how is it I suddenly like the hated “Hungry Like the Wolf” but will never, ever, surrender my adamantine loathing for Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock’n’Roll”?
Formed in Birmingham, England in 1978 and early considered part of the New Romantic Movement, they moved on to glory as MTV innovators—they were so innovative, in fact, they made me want to claw my eyes out—and their second LP, 1982’s Rio, went platinum. The band’s “classic” lineup included Simon Le Bon on vocals, Nick Rhodes on keyboards and synthesizers, John Taylor on bass and backing vocals, Roger Taylor on drums and percussion, and Andy Taylor on guitar and backing vocals.
The title track may be unbearably slick, but it has a nice melody and gallops along. The percussion is great, in fact the whole rhythm section is great, and Andy Hamilton plays a decent sax solo and then goes wild as the band brings a little anarchy in the UK at the end. The tune is bouncy, and makes me wonder why I hated it except that all those synthesizers are hard on my nerves. It’s a bona fide medical condition. “My Own Way” is similarly perky, and the playing is slick as Monsieur Le Bon informs us he has his own way. There’s a nice instrumental interlude—with LeBon interjecting mysterious cries—that takes the song out, and the dapper quintet is two for two.
“Lonely in Your Nightmare” has a lovely melody and good propulsion. The chorus doesn’t move me, but there’s no denying this is a good snap, crackle, and pop song, from its cool guitar intro to its happening bass pulse to the wailing guitar that makes its entrance towards its end. Then, of course, there’s the classic “Hungry Like the Wolf,” with its pneumatic beat that isn’t at all wimpy and LeBon throwing down like he means it. The synthesizers bounce around like ping-pong balls, there’s some short but great drum crash, and those backing vocals make it, man. And the instrumental section actually ventures into dissonance. I despised this song so much when I was younger, and my only excuse was that I hated synthesizers almost as much as I hated Ronald Reagan.
“Hold Back the Rain” is good but not great; it has punch but lacks the great melody to back it up. Still, it has its pleasures, especially in the vocals and percussion departments. The beat is too much like the beat of the songs that came before it, giving it a second-hand feel, but the synth actually contributes rather than annoys, and the multiple vocals are pretty darn cool, as is the drumming that takes the tune out. “New Religion” starts slowly with some synths and then picks up volume and heft thanks to some big beat drumming. LeBon sounds like a different guy, less slick, and shares vocals with somebody else, while the synth washes and guitar riff produce a fantastic beat, which makes the song, which doesn’t boast the best melody, work. I especially like the interlude that features spooky synth followed by some cool chukka-chukka guitar, after which a plethora of voices sing the song out.
“Last Chance on the Stairway” is a middling tune, awkwardly constructed with a verse and chorus that simply don’t belong together. Throw in the fact that the chorus is second-rate, and you’re left with a short but excellent guitar solo, an interesting vocal arrangement, and a nice ending that has everybody repeating, “Last Chance on the Stairway.” I find the mid-tempo “Save a Prayer” boring, a piece of atmospherics with a nice synth but not much else. It picks up tempo a bit at the halfway point but it doesn’t change anything; Le Bon’s, “Don’t say a prayer for me now/Save it for the morning after” reminds me of my drinking days, but otherwise the song does nothing for me. Closing cut “The Chauffeur” is another slow one, with a synth riding atop the rhythm section while Le Bon sings about a drumming engine throbbing in time to your beating heart. His, “Sing, blue silver!” is unintentionally comedic, and the song drives on, a cool piping synth dominating a plethora of other sounds until the song’s end. Far from a great song, but hardly an embarrassment.
I will probably never forgive myself for my about-face on Duran Duran, but I’ll live with it. They were everything I said they were at the beginning of this piece, but they also knew how to write a catchy song, a fact that I ignored because they played synthpop and featured a vocalist with the absurd name of Simon Le Bon. And the incessant drum drum drum didn’t help either. In parting I regard my change of heart about Duran Duran as a bad thing; if I can grow to like them, who can’t I grow to like? What’s to stop me from suddenly loving Phish? Or God help me, Emerson, Lake & Palmer? Welcome back my friends, to the horror that never ends!
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B
