TOP 43 DURAN DURAN SONGS

(This list was originally compiled in 2014)

            Last year (2013), while at Disney California Adventure Park, a cashier in his twenties complimented my Rio shirt. His co-worker asked, “What’s that?” “Duran Duran’s the bomb. They had that song in Big Fat Liar,” was the cashier’s reply. While I can’t fault either of those lads for being born after the band’s height of success, it underscored the fact that I feel fortunate to have been an adolescent during the days of Duran²mania. Granted, you can write this off as mid-life rationalization, but it is unlikely that a band will once again meld such fashionable mien with a similar scope of musical accomplishment. 

In my early teens, I idolized the band. I had pictures of them all over my bedroom wall. Not only did I love their songs and videos, they also were the fashion ideal I aspired to. I had a man crush on them before man crushes were recognized as a thing. I’ll admit that, after high school—and with the release of Big Thing—I lost interest in the band as I got further into indie/college radio. It wasn’t until much later (when the original five reunited for Astronaut) that I came to realize the lifelong impact they had on me.

             As of October 17, 2015, here are my top 43 Duran Duran songs over the span of their career.  (Previously, this was a Top 40 list compiled in 2014, but the 2015 release of Paper Gods necessitated an amendment.)

43. “Drive By” from the album Thank You (1995): In a bit of revisionist history, to be sure, it turns out that “The Chauffeur” actually takes place in . . . Hollywood?

42. “Out Of My Mind” from the album Medazzaland (1997): In my opinion, Medazzaland is a disaster, but this track is worth salvaging from the wreckage as a case study in being stalked by a cognitive apparition. The Eastern-influenced arrangement would have fit right in with The Cure’s Wild Mood Swings released the year before. Part one of what I dub the “Spectre Chronicles.”

41. “My Antarctica” from the album Liberty (1990): Here, Simon displays his ability to guide fluid mood changes through melody, as well as vestiges of an artistry in devising poetically abstruse riddles which he perplexingly abandoned after Notorious.

40. “Notorious (Latin Rascals Mix)” from the 12” single “Notorious” (EMI 12 DDX 45)(1986): I recall listening to this remix while driving on a Friday night as a teenager, the frenetic mayhem of groundbreaking edits ricocheting like a circus of dementia as I sped down Hawthorne Boulevard en route to Tower Records.

39. “Someone Else Not Me” from the album Pop Trash (2000): It is true that my younger self would have hated the unambitious lob of this pop ballad. But eventually, life pummels you enough to enable appreciation of one of Simon’s most straightforward, heartfelt lyrical offerings. Part two of what I dub the “Spectre Chronicles.”

38. “Serious” from the album Liberty (1990): I’m sorry to say, but I consider Liberty to be another dog of an album—and this song deserves stronger lyrics—but I consider the arpeggiated riff that rings out unexpected key changes to be Warren Cuccurullo’s most impactful moment with the band.

37. “You Kill Me With Silence” from the album Paper Gods (2015): Despite an arsenal of clichés, the lyrics impart to the cold shoulder treatment a value-added point of view.

36. “Do You Believe In Shame?” from the album Big Thing (1988): Whether mourning the literal or figurative death of a friend, the lyrics speak a truth that stands out on this career-transitioning album. Part three of what I dub the “Spectre Chronicles.”

35. “Planet Earth” from the album Duran Duran (1981): While the Night Mix and Night Version have value as re-recorded alternative takes, they lack the punch of the album version’s lolloping rhythm section, the astral keyboard twinkle, and the middle-eight bass break—all of which I’ve decided I can’t live without.

34. “(I’m Looking For) Cracks In The Pavement” from the album Seven and the Ragged Tiger (1983): I always viewed this as a playground for Nick’s impish frolic, but eventually came to celebrate this song’s overall off-kilter tonality. And, amusingly amidst the crowning wackiness of lyrics like, “Don’t want to be in public / My head is full of chopstick,” lies juxtaposed the subtle genius of “. . . the shadows on the cinema wall / should be mine but I’m not that tall,” only to be followed by the ludicrousness of “I’m saying this in private / If I had a car I’d drive it / insane.”

33. “New Religion (live)” from the album Live at Hammersmith ’82! (2009): Although I grew up listening to the more balanced but sterile mix from Arena, this version stands out for one reason: Mr. Taylor. (Andy, that is.) His guitar predominates (unfortunately at Nick’s expense), driving the song with an energy other recorded versions lack. To top it off, he sings the countervailing “Don’t know why this evil bothers me. . . .” backing vocal.

32. “Late Bar”  from the single “Planet Earth” (1981): A B-side worthy of album real estate, “Late Bar” depicts the logical second scene following arrival upon Planet Earth. Nick’s sashaying synth during the verse and Andy’s alien guitar caterwaul during the chorus make this music for New Romantics to pick up gynoids by.

31. “Too Bad You’re So Beautiful” from the album All You Need Is Now (2011 physical release): Tempered by the fact that Simon’s lyricism long ago lost the art of nuance (at least, perhaps, until Paper Gods was released), this is one of the band’s strongest dance tunes which made it worth purchasing the physical release of this album despite the abridged digital release three months earlier.

30. “Want You More!” from the album Astronaut (2004): More musically engaging due to its layered arrangement and production, this equally danceable track complements the lyrical overture of “Too Bad You’re So Beautiful.”

29. “Nice” from the album Astronaut (2004): Rounding out what I deem to be a trio of dance confessionals—along with “Too Bad You’re So Beautiful” and “Want You More!”—“Nice” seduces with John’s slinky bass line that resembles a more mature version of its “My Own Way” counterpart.

28. “Skin Trade (Parisian Mix)” from the “All She Wants Is” 3” CD Single (1988) (and Master Mixes Promo 12”)(1987): The crisp DDD recording of Notorious properly captured Steve Ferrone’s solid drum work, highlighted even more in this remix which also throws in splicing edits, keyboard dollops and panning echoes tastefully enough to have aged well. 

27. “What Happens Tomorrow” from the album Astronaut (2004): To me, the chorus recaptured an emotional uplift missing since the band’s heyday. It represents the moment I realized that these five still had the magic in them. 

26. “Girls On Film (Extended Night Version)” from the 12” single “Girls On Film” (EMI 062-2007176 limited edition Greek release)(1981): The fact that the band made entirely new recordings for their Night Versions is an admirable precedent that unfortunately did not become a predominant trend among their contemporaries. Roger’s drums are particularly tight and crisp throughout. Overall, this version is sonically cleaner, more spacious, allowing the band’s arrangement to respire, mostly attributable to Andy’s use of a clean guitar tone (pushed back into the mix) instead of the slightly overdriven tone that energizes the album version. Eventually, though, he gets a new moment during the “shooting a star” outro. 

25. “My Own Way (Night Version)” from the 12” single “My Own Way” (1981): Nick’s synthesizers careen about the carnival, as John blatantly tries to stir up a commotion with his bass. Meanwhile, Andy keeps the crowd tame with his ridiculously precise rhythm guitar. Although anachronistic even in 1981, the disco strings are a boon to this song which played in my juvenile head as I scavenged swap meets and thrift shops to find a brooch and a blazer with which to emulate my heroes’ style. 

24. “Only In Dreams” from the album Paper Gods (2015): Since “[t]here’s a vampire/in the limousine,” I guess that makes this part of an ongoing Chauffeur vignette, adorned with the most attention-grabbing slivers of guitar rationed out (by Nile Rodgers) on Paper Gods.

23. “The Man Who Stole A Leopard” from the album All You Need Is Now (2010): As the de facto eventuality of ”The Chauffeur,” “The Man Who Stole A Leopard” preys upon the feral abandonment of others in an entanglement of intrigue while the disco strings from “My Own Way” make an encore. 

22. “Mediterranea” from the album All You Need Is Now (2011 physical release): I’m happy to report that one of the band’s best songs comes from one of their more recent (as of 2014) albums, giving hope that contributions to this list will continue to accrue with future releases. (Indeed, this came to fruition with 2015’s Paper Gods.) The lyrics’ escapism traverses the song’s variegated chord structure that rises and falls in ombré, like painted sands.

21. “Friends Of Mine” from the album Duran Duran (1981): A slightly sinister feel in the verse gives way to the optimistic Georgie Davis/Rocky Picture chorus, all to the irresistible torque of the fashion plate rhythm section that is John and Roger.

20. “Hold Back The Rain (CD mix)” from the album Rio (1982): Normally, the fact that many available elements were truncated from this version would detract. However, the production on this version gets it right: punchy, driving, concise, immediate. The various remixes, in turn, suffer from mix imbalances and/or editing decisions that leave them a degree removed from the dictates of the cerebellum.

19. “Point Of No Return” from the album Astronaut (2004): Emanating from the ruins of September 11th, this song becomes an introspective challenge to effectuate a broader metamorphosis. Simon’s dual-tracked vocal harmonies in the chorus truly recall the Fab Five’s glory days.

18. “We Need You” from the single “Skin Trade” (1987): Although supposedly written as an entreat to Andy, over the faux tango of this B-side, Simon was nevertheless posing “tender” sentiments that were partially relevant to my sundry high school histrionics.

17. “I Believe/All I Need To Know” from the single “All She Wants Is” (1988): This suave avowal couples a mysterious melody with the appeal of a smug conceit that “I believe you’ll follow me / It’s all I need to know (to walk away),” sly smirk intact.

16. “Secret Oktober” from the single “Union Of The Snake” (1983): I learned the value of a quality B-side waiting for this song to play on KIQQ 100.3 FM (Los Angeles) in the evenings. Shrouded in artful opacity, its infused melancholy also inspires in its nebulousness. With Nick’s exotic textures, Roger’s (?) mesmeric percussion, and some of Simon’s most arcane lyrics ever, this is pretty much an Arcadia track (although reportedly this is all Simon and Nick). 

15. “The Chauffeur” from the album Rio (1982): Nick’s creeping synthesizer lays a narcotic milieu acting in stealthy concert with sprinkles of sequenced percussion as accomplices to Simon’s immersing narrative and haunting ocarina passage that lingers with the most eerie impression this side of El Condor Pasa.

14. “Anyone Out There” from the album Duran Duran (1981): Simon’s lyrics champion the errant despondence of misfit club kids while the band prances about at their discotheque finest.

13. “Sound Of Thunder” from the album Duran Duran (1981): John’s bass line deserves top billing here, with Nick’s descending keyboard that weeps like a distraught banshee alighting to hover like Numan-esque UFOs rounding out the double feature. 

12. “What Are The Chances?” from the album Paper Gods (2015): The second verse may be the most poignant take on the concept of serendipity to grace this decade, while John Frusciante's restrained guitar solo and outro tinged with sentiment recalls Andy Taylor’s most poignant solo three decades earlier on “The Seventh Stranger.” 

11. “Ordinary World” from the album Duran Duran (The Wedding Album) (1993): Although it lacks the flair of yesteryear, this is probably Simon’s best set of lyrics, wallowing in measured self-absorption, yet maintaining credible perspective by acknowledging that one’s pain is relative. Speaking many truths throughout, the “pride’s gone out the window / cross the rooftops / run away” line resonates. The panning “gone away” murmur is one of those moments where emotion and production synergize. Part four of what I dub the “Spectre Chronicles.”

10. “Careless Memories” from the album Duran Duran (1981): I much prefer Simon’s restrained vocal delivery and the tautness of the band’s instrumentation on the studio version—which I feel is more consistent with the detachment that belies the underlying angst—than the cavernous bellows of concert renditions. Also, Andy’s ping-ponging guitars are lost in live translation. My (male) friend would always do the “Hungry Like The Wolf” giggle when Simon would sing “I think I’d laugh at you.”

9. “Rio” from the album Rio (1982): The band’s iconic song pools together John’s front-and-center syncopated bass, Nick’s ebullient sequencer, Andy’s alternating razor sharp bursts and fluid streams of guitar, and Roger’s consistently crisp hi-hats and commendable kick drum work. Consummated by Simon’s playful and celebratory lyrical ode to a muse and Andy Hamilton’s quintessential 80s sax solo, these elements embody what made Duran Duran—and the eighties zeitgeist—a deluge of pop delightfulness.

8. “Of Crime And Passion” from the album Seven and the Ragged Tiger (1983): Lyrically, “Of Crime and Passion” finds Simon at his vindictive best. But, with the various textures Andy employs—check out the serpentine kazoo emulation during the chorus—this is his shining moment.

7. “A Matter Of Feeling” from the album Notorious (1986): In my mind, the musical architecture and lines such as “love’s already history to you” fashion this as the sequel to “Save A Prayer,” years down the road. Truly one of the band’s most beautiful songs.

6. “Save A Prayer” from the album Rio (1982): I took up the bass guitar because of John Taylor, and “Save A Prayer” was the first bass part I memorized in its entirety. The synthesizer refrain rolling in like waves to greet the forlorn siren song of the faux pan pipes . . . the driftwood-weary timbered rim shots . . . the pervading desolation in Simon’s lyrics and poignant melody . . . always conjure up pensive reveries.  

5. “The Seventh Stranger” from the album Seven and the Ragged Tiger (1983): Cryptic lyrics, cascading percussion, atmospheric and pattering synths, and viscous portamenti of fretless bass permeate my adopted personal anthem of self-imposed alienation, with solace from my favorite Andy Taylor guitar solo that weeps in understated sorrow “for rumours in the wake of such a lonely crowd.” 

4. “The Reflex (Dance Mix)” from the 12” single “The Reflex” (1984): This particular cut’s greatness is attributable to Nile Rodgers’ brilliant vision in re-inventing this song. I consider this to be one of the top five true (i.e., transformative, not merely extended) remixes in the history of recorded music. (New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle (Shep Pettibone Extended Dance Mix),” Kirsty MacColl’s “A New England (12” Mix),” Big Country’s “The Teacher (Mystery Mix),” and Pet Shop Boys’ “Suburbia (The Full Horror)” are also on that list.)

3. “New Moon On Monday” from the album Seven and the Ragged Tiger (1983): Crafted from whimsical lyrics woven with the verse’s melodic undulations over sprightly keyboard plinks, culminating with a chiming guitar heralding the revolution-rousing chorus, “New Moon On Monday” coruscates triumphant as the band’s best pop song.

2. “Last Chance On The Stairway” from the album Rio (1982): In this evolved version of “Rio,” John’s bass line picks up where it left off, and Simon masterly waxes romantic, highlighted by an interlude featuring Roger’s percussive escort into the rainforest where Nick’s tropical marimba solo enchants before yielding to Andy’s winging guitar lead, solidifying this as my favorite Duran album track.

1. “A View To A Kill”  from the single A View to A Kill (1985): Ironically, my favorite Duran Duran song was the last true moment of grandeur by Le Bon/Rhodes/Taylor/Taylor/Taylor (although John Barry’s contributions might be the sine qua non), and is actually an amalgam of Arcadia’s moody panache and the dynamism of The Power Station’s rhythmic groove, as if the five members convened in a final conciliatory rendezvous before putting their halcyon days to rest.