Duran Duran @ Wolfstein Convocation Center

It's quite possible I have made the most embarrassing mistake of my life.

For those late to the game, let me explain by saying that I have a slight infatuation with Duran Duran, most notably its exceptional frontman Simon LeBon. A bit more than a year ago, I stammered through an encounter with this object of my adolescent yearning and fell witness to one of the first small club performances of the original five members in twenty years. It reminded me that rock concerts weren't the domain of the young, and renewed my affection for the band that started my lifelong love affair with music. It also might have made me a little crazy.

Last October the band released Astronaut, an album I bought with a mixture of near-manic excitement and trepidation. I wanted so very much to like this album, to rest easy in the knowledge that it would herald the so-called comeback they deserve, but I also feared the possibility of disappointment. How could the band meet twenty years of their fans' expectations?

Even now I'm not certain of the answer, but Astronaut is a record I've come to enjoy very much. Modern, mature and tinged with Duran Duran's trademark sensuality and humor, it's viable in an age of disposable pop (and pop stars), and meaningful in a way that emo/pop punk can never be. The kids are listening to Franz Ferdinand and The Killers for a reason, and they’d be better served to pay attention to the originals for awhile.

But allow me to reign in my digression...

Keri, my Duran Duran Co-conspirator, and I, after much maneuvering, procured fourth row tickets to this event, and passes to a local radio station acoustic set, Q&A and meet and greet. Due to a harried business phone call, my bleeding finger and chasing Keri's wayward dog through her neighborhood, we arrived approximately twenty minutes late, where we quickly sat in the back and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible.

We were treated to the end of an acoustic set with Simon and Andy, and Simon's regular semi-discreet spewing of mucus in a nearby cup. Granted, Sick Simon is still Sexy Simon - just from a greater distance (ewww).

Roger took the stage for the Q&A which included the fabulous We-All-Want-To-Know-But-Are-Afraid-To-Ask Question "Just what does 'Make Your Chicken Curl' mean anyhow?" The radio station moderator disclosed that someone in the audience was wearing Duran Duran underwear and this very cute punk girl (and by "punk" I mean the sterilized mall punk so popular these days) took the stage, turned around and pulled her panties up from the back of her ripped jeans. Then she admitted she forked over eighty bucks for them on Ebay.

There's fandom and then there's fandom.

She scurried back to her seat, burying her face in her friend's lap as the round of fairly 'safe' questions continued. Interestingly, when I related this tale to my good friend Marshall, he said, "What did you ask?" to which I replied, "Oh no, nothing. I'm not great on my feet in those situations." He retorted with, "You're the most articulate person I know." I thanked him for the kind words but then went on to explain, "I would ask the obscure question. I would say something like 'Simon, I understand you've read the book (insert title here). Do you feel the relationship between Henry and Daphne was symbolic of the growing tension between England and its U.S. colonies immediately preceding the Revolution?"

My friend’s response? "But that's articulate!"

True enough.

After an audience member attempted to persuade the band to allow her on stage during that night's show by singing Patsy Cline, the radio station personnel began herding everyone to the stage for small group photos. Due to the lateness of our arrival, Keri and I (along with two other women) had the honor of the last one taken. This meant a brief burst of mayhem involving my spinning body and flying hair, an act on my part which could conceivably return to bite me in the ass, and Keri's exclamation of "If you were anyone else, I'd hate you right now!"

Fifteen years of friendship and you can say these things. At least she waited until we left the building.

Having acquired a couple of new friends, we commenced to Fat Fish Blue for dinner, a toxic blue martini type drink called "Get Your Rocks Off", so named for the Pop Rocks dotting the rim of the glass, and the strains of an 80's cover band. We forewent The Reflex contest because making a public display of our muscles is unseemly, and Jeni accidently stumbled into the men’s restroom.

No she wasn't partaking of the azure concoction.

Parting company with our new companions (but with email addresses exchanged) Keri and I took a taxi to the venue and proceeded to our - yes, let's say it again - FOURTH row seats. We encountered a former co-worker of Keri's and her friend donning a Duran Duran bracelet and necklace from 'back in the day'. Upon learning of our fortuitous vantage point, they proceeded to cast about a myriad of characterizations, none of them particularly flattering. However, they made a rapt audience for our first verbal recreation of the afternoon’s events, and Keri, still smarting from the memory, murmured a few niceties of her own in my general direction.

For all those who have attended concerts in fairly large venues and gazed down at the swarm of movement on the floor, envy and resentment coursing through your veins - it is as wonderful as you can possibly imagine. The time and effort - and money, let's not forget money - to produce two fourth row, right in front of the stage seats, was completely and totally without regret. For two hours I danced on my hot pink stiletto-heeled boots, my hands in the air and my hips all a'twitter. From opener "Sunrise" to "Nice", "Chains", their latest single "What Happens Tomorrow" and the title track of their latest album, to their expected hits and even some die-hard crowd favorites like "Hold Back the Rain", the instrumental "Tiger, Tiger", and the anime-accompanied "Careless Memories", the original Fab Five kept the adrenaline flowing long after the house lights came up. I suspect a number of folks failed to make it to work the following morning, and I actually wished I had a groupie or two at my beck and call!

Instead, I drove home, leaving voice mail messages for all my non-nocturnal friends - two of which turn up on Siren Rebellion episode 11 - and silently questioned the wisdom of my earlier bravery. While other women had displayed their panties or bequeathed Simon and Roger with roses, I took my window of opportunity with the sexy, songwriting, bibliophile to present him with the prior articles I’ve penned on the band. “Only you!” quipped Marshall, while another, not coincidentally a record producer and sound engineer for major label bands, chastized me for my lingering doubts: "Who cares? It's YOUR writing! You're an amazing writer! Fuck him if he doesn't see that."

Ah yes, these are Friends of Mine. And they are good.

www.duranduran.com

Photo 1 by Michelle Shallenberger, photos 2 and 3 compliments of Q104, and photo 4 by Michelle Hardman. To see more photos click here