The

Mick

Sinclair

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Duran Duran

November

1982

Sounds

live review

 
 
DURAN DURAN

London Hammersmith Odeon

I ARRIVED late.

Cheekily, Duran Duran had started their set without me. I was ushered to my seat and flopped down my weary frame.

Inside Hammy Odious, the strictly enforced order of the day is for the security operatives to forcibly relocate any limb which dares to stray a few inches into the forbidden territory of the aisle. The result is hundreds of people standing dutifully in front of their allocated seats performing a rooted to the-spot kind of jig. Arms flail and torsos twitch but always slightly out of tempo.

Being keen on accurate recordings of first impressions, I bowed my head in a bout of copious note taking. When I finally glanced up, my first view of a Duran Duran gig was the backs of two girls in the row immediately in front of mine. One had red trousers and stubbed out her chewing gum on the bottom of her seat; her companion proudly wore a cycling proficiency patch sewn onto the sleeve of her jacket.

To continue reading this article and to discover many more (over 140,000 words-worth!), purchase Mick Sinclair’s Adjusting the Stars: Music journalism from post-punk London. 

 

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