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Rating: The Duran Duran were born with the frenzy to let themselves die.
Theirs was not the urge for self-destruction of the cursed rockstar. Also because, of the rockstar so to speak, they had nothing. Andy tried, over the years, but mostly made us laugh.
No: they wanted to anchor themselves to pop while winking at the gods. By self-combustion, they died and were reborn several times.
This book, crafted with meticulous care, rich in details, full of passion, is a clear photograph.
The one writing to you claimed to know everything, and so be it. But what is sweeter than the feedback, varied and sometimes plagued, of one’s certainties?
Well, I reiterate: Duran Duran have known how to gracefully commit suicide but, like Balboa against Apollo, they always got back up before the gong. Often, with sublime strength.
For instance: between 1981 and 1984 they nonchalantly climb to the top of the world, heralds of a glossy but innovative pop, contaminated but spontaneous, raw but never banal.
Then, in 1985, looking for oxygen to quench the hunger for rarer creativity (Arcadia: Rhodes, LeBon, Roger Taylor) or rebellious (Power Station: Andy and John Taylor) they disintegrate the core.
It was here that Roger said enough and, inspiring the Cutugno to come, said, ‘I want to live in the countryside’ and so he did, thanks and goodbye. Instead, Andy threw tantrums: no, no, no, there’s no way I'm coming back.
Rhodes, Lebon, and the surviving Taylor, John, created ‘Notorious’: it didn’t go badly, especially in Italy, but sales took a hit. Still, the three didn’t give up: they consolidated the trio and, two years later, proposed ‘Big Thing’. Cutting-edge, with scattered gems here and there, it didn’t explode but carried them with dignity into the 90s.
Suicide number two: ‘Liberty’. The album has moments that elevate it, but it is hybrid: it doesn’t convince the listener, irritates the hardcore fans. The permanent inclusion of Cuccurullo on guitars, from the Frank Zappa school, and Sterling Campbell (a cosmic-level troublemaker) on drums, leads to nothing. Sales in number zero, no tour.
Is it all over? Not at all. Year 1991: a kick in the pants to Campbell, Taylor / Rhodes / LeBon on holiday, Cuccurullo locks himself in the studio and sets up ‘The Wedding Album’ driven by the locomotive ‘Ordinary World’. At EMI they take it well: damn, we have an amazing hit. Give us time to redo your image.
And indeed: in 1993 the record goes boom. Here they come again!
Suicide number three: following a top-notch comeback with an album that sold well, what can we do? But yes: a collection of covers: Doors, Public Enemy, let’s get them all involved. Year of (mis)fortune 1995: out comes ‘Thank You’. Randomly quoting from Allmusic: ‘worst cover album ever made’. Boom! Enough, it’s over.
John leaves. LeBon suffers resulting in Agony. He takes part in the next two albums, ‘Medazzaland’ and ‘Pop Trash’ with his mind elsewhere, mourning the friend Hutchence (Inxs) and showing up at the studio when he remembers.
Rhodes and Cuccurullo do what they can: they experiment, invent, refine. Something good comes out of it, but the world doesn’t notice.
Until, in 2001, John (in the meantime focused on solo projects with little result and in continuous rehab, note) has a flash: should we reunite Duran Duran, the real ones, the original ones?
Off to the third resurrection: full stadiums, fans in a frenzy, new album, ‘Astronaut’, 2004, finally at the top.
Is it over? Naaaaaa. 2007: suicide number 4. New album. Who do we call to produce? Timberlake and Timbaland. Andy: are you insane? I'm going back to Ibiza. Slam! He was right: ‘Red Carpet Massacre’ flopped massively.
Now, it would be predictable to sit here talking about yet another resurrection. The 4 survivors have aged, aged well, as expected. They’ve released two more albums, nothing special, but you know, by now there’s a sense of reverential respect, they are Duran, come on, they’re still here.
And we are with them.
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