THE OLD ROMANTICS

n May 10, 1982, Duran Duran released their second album. The thrusting, Thatcherite eighties had barely got going, but already seemed the decade’s aspirational apogee. There was the title, with its whiff of sun-kissed exotica. There was the vivid purple cover, with its study of a slinky siren by the illustrator Patrick Nagel. And there were the songs, from the title track’s lush carnival hedonism to ’s unabashed I-want-it-all covetousness. It spawned three monster hit singles and went double platinum in the U.S., making Duran Duran the spearhead of what was swiftly branded the ‘second British invasion’. They had legions of devoted fans, known as Durannies. They had the world at their feet. And yet the press was resolutely unmoved. “Anglodisco at its most solemnly expedient,” thundered . “Bereft of the soul, passion and wit that makes a great record,” declared . Even I, then working for a weekly pop glossy, felt obliged to get in on the act. or possibly “Pity they’re not insomniacs.”