There’s a Duran Duran documentary on Netflix that I decided to watch last week. And I *LOVED* it.
Wow. The memories. Not just the music, which is really vivid. I bought all three of the first albums and played them to death. Songs that I haven’t thought about in eons popped back into my head, lyrics and all.
But the whole thing. The videos which were on all the time. The fashion. The insane pop stardom. I had photos on my college room wall.
It’s a great documentary. They are so charming now and told a great story.
I never saw the band live. And I never saw Power Station or Arcadia.
Except.
I remembered that I went to an in-store at Licorice Pizza — I want to say this was in Ventura and it was probably 1985. Maybe 1984. I remembered these amazing photos.
We didn’t get inside. We waited around the parking lot and I don’t remember who all was there except for John Taylor. Maybe he was the only one?
Please enjoy these amazing photos of John Taylor. What a day! hehe.
I kept a journal back in those days and I dragged it out and paged through it so see if I could dredge up any details. The info *might* be in there but the journal is terrifying and should be burned. It mostly talks about how badly I thought I needed to lose weight and how much I partied.
FOR PAGES AND PAGES.
I finally joined a streaming thing — I know, what is the opposite of early adopter? I don’t know why the idea of a monthly subscription irks me so much since I used to buy 2-3 albums/CDs or similar media per month. CDs were $15-20 each in the 90s and sometimes I was replacing media I’d already purchased in an earlier format.
But also I hardly ever listen to music anymore. But maybe I will now. Time for my Duran Duran playlist. (Or songlist, as I called it earlier when I was talking to Bob.)
