"Duran Duran" (1981) by Duran Duran
The New Romantic forebearer gets its due on its 45th anniversary.
This album review marks the 45th anniversary of Duran Duran’s self-titled debut, the record that figured out what the 1980s would look and sound like before anyone else.
Genre: New Wave, Synth-Pop, New Romantic
Label: EMI Records
Release Date: June 15, 1981
Vibe: 🕶️
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We humans, we love categorizing culture, don’t we? Before we fully understand what a piece of art is or what it will mean to current and future generations, we’re quick to gin up a few easily accessible labels, slap them on the box, and, in short order, start pigeonholing the artist(s), fairly or not, into corners that, more than anything else, serve to put consumer minds at ease. It’s to our collective detriment, in the end. Does labeling a song, album, or discography rock, pop, or disco do the work justice? Where precisely do the lines separating new wave from post-punk from dance-pop begin and end? And most importantly, can these labels ever push the critical and cultural conversation forward, rather than limiting it to tropes and clichés? I ask these questions because, like a few other acts from the 1980s, Duran Duran are so much more than they’re typically made out to be. It’s only in the past few years, following their belated induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2022, that the discussion around their greatness has shifted significantly, reaching beyond those tired labels and towards a deeper understanding of how influential their music really is.
Formed in 1978 by childhood friends John Taylor (bass) and Nick Rhodes (keys and synths), alongside their schoolmate Stephen Duffy, who would go on to have a successful solo career in his own right, Druan Druan went through several lineup changes before they ever got noticed by a major label. Drummer Roger Taylor joined in 1979, and both guitarist Andy Taylor and vocalist Simon Le Bon came on board in the first few months of 1980. By the time that iteration of the band performed together for the first time, they were already the residents at Birmingham’s Rum Runner club, a venue that became a hub for the burgeoning New Romantic movement. Alongside a bevy of British acts that include (but aren’t limited to) Spandau Ballet, Ultravox, Heaven 17, Soft Cell, and ABC, Duran Duran was suddenly seen as one of the acts at the forefront of what was considered one of the most creatively fertile periods for UK pop since the 1960s. Duran Duran spent much of that summer writing and demoing original material, as well as gigging in London and surrounding areas. By the time the majors came calling, they had already either penned or recorded early versions of everything that would appear on Duran Duran.
It’s arguable that the band’s self-titled debut wouldn’t have had the initial success it enjoyed without newly minted EMI A&R man Dave Ambrose in their corner. While working in the label’s publishing department, he’d already brought hit acts like the Sex Pistols and Dexys Midnight Runners into the fold. He had a keen ear for emerging talent and, after traveling to Birmingham to see them perform live, he was instantly bullish on Duran Duran’s future. “People used to say to me, ‘Dave, why are you getting so excited about this band?’” he said in 2011. “But I was convinced they were going to be massive.” He was also the voice within the group’s inner circle who pushed for the outstanding “Planet Earth” to be the lead single off their debut album. “I brought Duran’s demo tape home. I was with my wife, Angie, and Rob Hallett, the band’s live agent, came round. We opened some wine and listened through all the tracks. And Angie and Rob ended up dancing around the room. And we all, individually of each other shouted for ‘Planet Earth’ […].”
What’s striking, listening back to Duran Duran, is how confident and fully-formed a debut it is. So often, bands at that stage of their careers are still assembling an identity from the most readily available parts. They try out poses, audition different sounds and tones, and any distinctive personality traits peek out through the venetians instead of kicking down the door and announcing themselves with full-throated enthusiasm. You certainly hear the influences here, with odes to everyone from David Bowie to Kraftwerk to Giorgio Moroder audible for anyone looking for them, but they never obscure the specific synthesis at the band’s core. John Taylor and Rhodes had spent the better part of three years absorbing the post-punk energy of the Midlands scene alongside the pop, disco, and funk that dominated the American charts into the early-80s in equal measure. The built-in taste barometer is critical, especially when starting out. Rum Runner owners Paul and Michael Berrow also shaped the overall aesthetic as they transitioned into becoming Duran Duran’s management team. Every move here sounds deliberate.
If there’s an MVP to single out on Duran Duran (though, even as I say that, I will add that all individual performances on this record range from good to excellent), it’s John Taylor on bass. He’s the glue that holds these grooves together and gives them this irresistable bottom end that dares you not to move to them. “Girls on Film,” the album’s commercial apex, would crumble if it didn’t have that bassline in its foundational architecture. Colin Thurston’s production, as it is throughout the tracklist, is clean and crisp, adding polish to the final mix without crowding out Le Bon’s vocals or any of the instrumentalists. That funky, straight-ahead strut would be borrowed by countless other new wave and rock acts who pined for chart success, bridging the gap between humid dance clubs and accessible pop that almost instantly had broad appeal. As with their bigger hits, Duran Duran also had MTV in their corner, where the music video for this track played early and often. There’s apparently a much more naked version of the video that the BBC didn’t take kindly to and banned from their airwaves, though that move ended up giving the group more facetime in the press and surely helped increase their record sales. Sex sells, even if you can’t see it.
Other highlights include “Careless Memories,” which ratchets up the tempo and paranoia in equal measure, and “Night Boat,” which sucks you in with this swirling synth line before hitting you with a rhythm that’s more dub than it is rock (Clash fans, stand up). Le Bon’s slightly menacing vocal inflection is also darkly compelling as an emotional register, one he excels at when he chooses to return to it. There’s also the aforementioned “Planet Earth,” which remains one of their very best songs. It opens with a tasty, stuttering synth figure before Roger Taylor’s pounding four-on-the-floor drums set expectations before Le Bon utters a syllable. The chorus, built for arenas the band hadn’t played yet, was an instinct that turned out to be prescient rather than presumptuous. The track peaked at No. 12 on the UK Singles Chart in February 1981, four months before the album’s release. Andy Taylor’s guitar, an aspect of the band’s early work that divides some corners of their fan base, may be the track’s most underappreciated element. It’s not showy, but it’s also far from passive patchwork.
Duran Duran peaked inside the Top 5 and spent 118 weeks on the UK album chart, granting the band instant notoriety in their home country. It would later be certified Platinum and, in fits and starts, creep up the charts elsewhere in Europe. However, the New Romantic sound had yet to fully captivate American audiences, though that market wouldn’t deny Duran Duran for much longer. Their follow-up, Rio, was an even more impressive global smash, fueled by the lavish production value of the music video for the title track (it’s somehow sexy and hilarious at the same time) and “Hungry Like the Wolf.” They were one of the first acts that really understood the power of TV as a branding medium rather than a promotional afterthought. That said, the downside is that their persona, one wrapped in pastels and topped with impossible hair, began to overshadow their music. There are moments on albums like Seven and the Ragged Tiger and the much-maligned Notorious that I prefer to much of Rio, but they rarely get brought up in a more holistic conversation because all anyone remembers is the day-glo paint being poured onto those bikini-clad women lounging on the pier, beach, and boat.
It’s also worth mentioning how short-lived this specific iteration of Duran Duran was. Andy Taylor and Roger Taylor both left in 1985, and the band changed shape repeatedly across the decades that followed. They’re still recording and releasing underappreciated music to this day, with 2021’s Future Past earning a spot as one of my favorite LPs of the decade. But the version of Duran Duran that exists on this record—that specific combination of people in that specific moment of collective ambition, before the machinery of their own success closed in around them—was a finite thing. In that cultural flashpoint, they managed to construct the blueprint for what a ton of 80s new wave and pop-rock would sound like. Heavy on the synths and drums, precise in their melodies, and unrelenting in their pursuit of a hook that even the most cynical music fan would have a hard time resisting.
Which Duran Duran song is your favorite? Share it in the comments.