“Duke” by Genesis

Celebrating the 45th anniversary of Genesis' first stab at pop music stardom.

This album review celebrates the 45th anniversary of the moment Genesis set their sights on mainstream stardom, detractors be damned.

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Genre: Prog Rock, Alternative

Label: Atlantic

Release Date: March 28, 1980

Vibe: 👀

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👉 Click the GIF to stream the album on your favorite platform

A lot of rock fans split Genesis’ discography into two halves—the artier, prog-rock 1970s releases and the more pop-leaning 80s. The former is revered in many circles as some of the decade’s most enthralling and technically impressive work, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Yes and King Crimson, while the latter is adored by many but derided by enough folks to land on guilty pleasure-themed lists. Those pop records are often seen as an extension of Phil Collins’ immensely popular mid-80s surge, as if he was the only person behind the controls, serving as a master puppeteer for a band trying to stay relevant. But that wasn’t the case. At least, not exactly. Their pivot from prog to pop wasn’t an overnight makeover akin to flicking a light switch on or off. In reality, the process took a half-decade, with several incremental changes shaping the sound you hear on Duke. Breaking this LP down track by track is proof positive that they were still capable of getting weird, even if it was conceived with a more mainstream audience in mind.

This story begins in earnest in June 1974, when Genesis started the writing process for The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, an exceptional concept album that’s in the conversation as being the best work they ever did with Peter Gabriel as their frontman. However, making the record was plagued with delays and in-fighting. Gabriel was absent for a good chunk of the Lamb sessions, partly due to his wife’s difficult first birth, which brewed resentment from bassist/guitarist Mike Rutherford and keyboardist Tony Banks. Gabriel’s vision for the story, which drew influences from West Side Story and Jodorowsky’s El Topo, wasn’t beloved by all involved with the recording, nor was Brian Eno’s synth and effects contributions. After it was released, the ensuing tour, which pushed the glut of new material and general performance theatricality to the forefront, further splintered the band’s dynamic.

Gabriel officially announced he was leaving the band before that tour concluded, using generalized language about spending more time with his family regarding his reasoning. But, according to Banks, “Pete was also getting too big for the group. He was being portrayed as if he was 'the man' and it really wasn't like that. It was a very difficult thing to accommodate. So it was actually a bit of a relief.” Even after Collins took over as the group’s singer (he passed an audition of sorts for his bandmates), it took a few albums and solo projects for the modern, pop-oriented Genesis to reveal itself. The first wisps of the supposed sell-out can on ...And Then There Were Three..., a title that acknowledges their newly-minted trio status following Steve Hackett’s departure. Collins, Rutherford, and Banks used the record as a reset opportunity, focusing on shorter compositions that prized mainstream growth over fan service. Groans from the latter group notwithstanding, the strategy worked. “Follow You Follow Me” peaked at No. 7 in the UK and No. 23 in the US, the first time the group had ever scored Top 40 hits in both regions.

The concept of selling out has always fascinated me—this idea that we should admonish artists who update their sonic or, let’s be honest, business and marketing approach to appeal to changing consumer tastes. The music business is a business, after all. If you shoot your shot at pop music glory, should that really make you a traitor in the eyes of your “real” fans? And, even if you believe that “selling out” is a real, calculated phenomenon, what happens when multiple degrees of sell-out severity enter the fray? I’ve talked about this in the context of Coldplay and U2’s discographies, but the same is broadly true of Genesis. Did they sell out with “Follow You Follow Me?” In 1986, with Invisible Touch? In 1991, with We Can’t Dance? Or is it better to take the glass-half-full angle with this group’s 80s output and with Duke in particular? Sure, the pop music aspirations are unmistakable, but if you look back at this record with the benefit of hindsight, it may have also been the last time the trio were genuinely experimental in the studio.

The recording sessions for this album began after an extended hiatus. Collins had tried to save his fledgling marriage, and both Rutherford and Banks produced and released solo projects. By the time they reconvened, all three members were refocused on making good on the international breakthrough they believed they were on the verge of. Rutherford described the process as being “[about] getting back to the basic stage of ideas being worked on jointly.” Following the time apart, Collins felt the band interacted "as a group much better ... there's definitely a side to us coming out which wasn't on the last album; the playing side.” As part of the writing process, each member contributed two songs that would eventually make the final tracklist. The two from Collins, “Misunderstanding” and “Please Don’t Ask,” pained accounts of love lost in different contexts, were initially considered for his solo debut, Face Value. “In the Air Tonight” was nearly part of Duke, too, but was ultimately left off because it was deemed too “un-Genesis.” I don’t disagree, but my goodness, is that even an intriguing sliding doors moment …

More than anything else, Duke sounds alive. Right from the jump, it’s clear the band was done with the delicately intricate tone of an LP like Selling England by the Pound. Instead, they paint their pictures in crisp, glistening lines, full of bombastic synths and booming drum fills. It’s one of the reasons why opener “Behind the Lines” sounds more forward-thinking than of its time. In addition to Rush and Asia, you can hear a little bit of where groups like Van Halen and Pink Floyd would be headed later that decade. On the mic, Collins’ voice is more forceful and expressive than it had been on a previous Genesis outing. That track contrasts nicely with “Duchess,” which is more subdued and melancholic in its energy. It’s also an important sonic flashpoint for Genesis overall, as it was the first song of theirs to use a drum machine and, specific to this album, is the first moment I can remember noticing the nihilism and paranoia enter their lyrics. In a way, it personifies the growing pains they must’ve felt at the time—managing the emotions that stem from living on the razor’s edge that stands between creative integrity and “selling out.”

That theme of dissatisfaction continues with “Alone Tonight” and “Cul-de-sac,” contributions from Rutherford and Banks, respectively. There’s hardcore disillusionment in the former’s lyrics, presenting loneliness as a dreamlike state (”I touch your face and I don't know why/I call your name but you're going by/Now I'm alone again”). It also touches on another theme that, in bits and pieces, bubbles up throughout the album: when is enough really enough? What happens when you choose your art or, perhaps more accurately, your work over your family or woman? Though he gets parodied for the sentiment sometimes, Collins was far from alone in grappling with this idea. Meanwhile, “Cul-de-sac” is arguably the artiest item on this tracklist, complete with a couple of metaphors straight out of the literary fiction playbook. But, at its core, it’s about Father Time showing you no mercy, ending your reign before you could enjoy its spoils. The second verse sums it up in devastating fashion:

After all, you're not what you thought you were at all
You're just a natural fact
Another cul-de-sac
On nature's hard unfeeling trail
Now all those dreams of old
Will be stories left untold
Cut off in your prime
Extinct until the end of time

I’m making Duke sound a bit overdramatic, but trust me, this record’s a lot of fun to listen to. No song exemplifies that boundless energy and quirky charm better than “Turn It On Again,” the most vibrant out-and-out rocker they ever released as a single. Its off-kilter central groove, which alternates time signatures between the verses and chorus, sneaks up on you every time you listen to it, music’s equivalent to Scatman Crothers’ death scene in The Shining. Lyrically, it’s also seriously amusing in its non-sensical nature. Is boredom driving the protagonist insane, as he describes on the bridge, or is it the incessant noise generated by the various media outlets he douses himself in every day? That, like some of the more elusive themes at Duke’s core, may be best left unexplained. Why overcomplicate music this good when you can enjoy it on its own terms, labels like prog and pop be damned. For a band of Genesis’ talent, genre categorization is criminally limiting.