1984 was the year I made that first fateful turn of the radio dial from KRWG 90.7 FM, the local NPR station in Las Cruces, NM over to B94 FM, the El Paso station that would carry me through my formative transition out of classical. Much of the early stuff I heard is consigned exclusively to the memory bin, only to be unpacked for retrospective time-capsule-esque posts such as this. I take perverse pleasure in the idea of Rockwell’s music returning to any form of prominence:
The disinterest and effects here are frankly as funny as anything I’ve seen in a while, along with the “25 leading ladies that time forgot” caption above (question: does this represent one or three of these leading ladies?):
Among the first cassette tapes I owned was the one that contained this single:
So you can see there was a long way up from here, and really no other direction to go. Outside of these three and some Kool and the Gang abomination that I simply refuse to post here, I don’t remember much at all. But from time to time, one band re-enters my consciousness at a more prominent level than the many others who made quick appearances and then faded. Certainly they had a more visual aspect to them than many others (witness their videos compared to the Pointer Sisters’, um, performance above), and coming at a time when MTV could actually be counted upon to show videos, this played a role in their impact and possibly their imprint upon my memory of that time. But I have to say it’s a sight deeper than that. Yeah, I’d have to say I was and remain a fan:
Even this Duran Duran track, maybe the most popular but my least favorite with its humdrum verse and bridge, has the good pop sense to throw in a chorus that introduces key signature uncertainly and variety. It has all the ’80s trappings you could imagine – flanged-out guitar, heavy synth wash, reverb sheen in every corner – but it is the less obvious touches that propel it better than many of its counterparts. The attention to detail comes in especially around the emphasis on delay. Take the 2 and 4 snare beats. From the beginning, John Taylor on bass follows Roger Taylor’s drum parts exactly, hitting 2 and 4 to emphasize that what happens on this song is always delayed. This includes Simon Lebon’s entrance to the chorus, which is always about a half-verse later than you might expect. It’s that generated delay that provides a sense of anticipation and perhaps is even a reference to the chase underway, a way to indicate something is just behind. That’s not the work of a rock-by-numbers glam band.
Nor is this:
Unlike the previous track, this song never stops moving forward, thanks to the sixteenth-note hi-hats and the driving bass line that launched a thousand unsuccessful careers like mine. Even Andy Taylor’s crunchy guitar slides simply propel the song further forward, delayed though they are until nearly the second half of each bar. No, not even an obligatory alto sax blast can slow the momentum, although it certainly goes on long enough. And it’s the juxtaposition of the E-minor verses and the E-major choruses that provide opposite sides of the same coin — the recognition of the excess and the focus on image juxtaposed against the idyllic chant of the chorus.
Of course, the song that laid the groundwork for that is worth mentioning:
What’s the subtlety here? Well, that’s an interesting word. I suppose you can point to the 1:12-1:15 and 1:32-1:35 marks where the harmonies call into question the key signature entirely; when the rest of the band doesn’t move with the vocals, it can have the effect of either emphasizing or completely burying the harmony. If you are paying attention, however, and listening for it, it can be a particularly rewarding moment. I think beyond this, the bridging of the gap between punk and the “pop-funk” Duran Duran and particularly John Taylor practice is complete. It’s like a handoff during the relay race, asking the popsters Duran Duran to take over for the previous — and much more punk — incarnation of the band. It’s as if they were making the transition to pop stars from punk/glam up-and-comers a few years earlier (and a good bit more successfully) than the Psychedelic Furs were. Whatever the case, this track hints at the greatness further down the road.
From there through Rio to the at-times satisfying Seven and the Ragged Tiger is a long and winding path. But interestingly, after a long period of excess and rumored substance abuse and bouts with each other and the music, they came out with something that is such an utter mess, it’s instantly brilliant:
Where do you begin on a colossal track like this? I remember disliking a number of the tropes in it, like the remixed vocals, some of the bizarre vocal effects, intonation issues – many of which are discussed here in this fascinating article in Sound on Sound magazine about the recording of “The Reflex.” However, the overall effect still is of a band trying to make sense of and push beyond their initial sound. They are literally throwing everything – every vocal style, every harmony, every synth sound – at the wall to see what sticks. I commend a band that is this successful and this far along in its career for becoming ambitious enough to create something this messy. And even 26 years on, the result is as strangely alluring as it was when it was first released (to much fanfare on MTV).
But I do like a band in control of its craft as well, and there are few better examples than this track:
Haunting even with its now-dated sound, the synth leads us directly into the night sky for a liaison between two people looking for a connection – perhaps based on sex, perhaps more. Uncertainty rules this track as well, capped by the unexpected modulation down a step and a half to another minor key for the chorus. And it’s the reinforcement of the minor key that keeps this track melodically creepy and haunting in a way you might expect a song about temporal unions to be. Roger Taylor’s stuttering cross-stick effect keeps the song off-balance as well until the last verse, where the point seems to be to push out as much emotion as possible without resolving the essential conundrum of what the couple means or meant to each other.
I’d venture to say, at the risk of sounding curmudgeonly, that I think these tracks are without modern equal in the top 40. There isn’t very much on that chart that seeks to use instruments or rhythm as communication tools, as Duran Duran did. Harmonies and rhythmic decisions, much less lyrical decisions, are simply not practiced in the modern top 40 market. Unfortunate but true.
So when I hear where we’ve come from and how that might once again impart wisdom on our musicians/artists, perhaps then I will be ready for harder work and the family chores besides. So that I can spend some more quality time with Duran Duran in search of the next cover. And I can hearken back to the days in my room, basketball hoop on the door, playing noisy rounds of horse at top volume. Soon you may simply have to pay off the hearing…
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As I was researching Duran Duran over the past couple of weeks, I did hear tell of Warren Cuccurullo, a former guitarist with Missing Persons (who I respected quite a bit), being a porn star and a 9/11 truther. I said no way.
Josh – oh hell yes. “Save A Prayer” is one of those songs that I can rarely listen to just once — when it’s done I always end up hitting the back button, because it’s really *good*.
“View To A Kill” is also good. Pardon the digression, but it’s one of those Bond songs that is thoroughly Bond and yet still an exemplar of the artist’s style — and for Duran Duran, that style is a more complex and interesting harmony/chord progression than one would ever expect from 80s pop.
I’ve been saying this for a while, as (1) a Music Theory minor and (2) Queen of the 80s. It’s cool to hear a similar opinion from someone with pop/rock/etc criticism chops.
(CAPTCHA: cowhide particularly. I don’t quite know what to make of that.)