Being a female teeny bopper in the glorious years that comprised
the 1980’s, it was a rite of passage to swoon over the boys in Duran
Duran. While I’m guilty of such
activities myself, I’m proud to state that my participation was somewhat
limited. Their sound was always a bit
too modern, their look too glam. (Nick
Rhodes STILL wears more make-up than any woman I know!) But, the gossip hound in me is still
intrigued by any book that promises to give the reader an inside glimpse of
life in the spotlight.
So, I’ve already told you that I’m not the biggest D2
fan. In addition to this, I always got
the distinct impression that JT, in particular, was a moronic digme. I suppose the vast majority of ‘rock stars’
have elements of that, but he seems to have more than his share. In interviews – including those given during
Duran’s heyday - I always thought he came across as an immature, smarmy schmuck. Judging by some of the things he writes in
this book, it doesn’t seem that he’s changed much.
There’s nothing even remotely likable about this guy –
there’s nothing to him. He’s all
air. And, when I say ‘air,’ I don’t mean
to insinuate stupidity. Instead, I just think
there’s no depth to his character (certainly none on display here). And, every time I thought he was starting to
scratch the surface of something, I’d turn the page and he’d be on to something
completely different. When he spoke
about becoming a dad, I thought – here we go.
I’m sure I’ll see a more human side to him. And, I did…for about 3 paragraphs. I think the book would’ve done better to
cover fewer topics, but delve deeper into the ones that remained. Instead, I didn’t feel like I was given a
true idea of who he is, beyond the arrogant mess I already envisioned.
There were the obligatory chapters: his stint in rehab; the numerous women he
loved, left, and forgot about; the name dropping. But, there’s no originality – nothing that
sets him apart from any other rock star featured in a 60-second VH1 clip.
I also have to take issue with the pictures included in
the book. It was really nice that a
photo was included at the beginning of each chapter (in addition to the
obligatory insert) – a really nice touch.
HOWEVER, it would’ve been nicer if I had known who I was looking at. In one
of the more bizarre traits of this autobiography, NONE of the people in the
pictures are identified. It was *so*
annoying to read about someone, and then have to guess if that was the one
pictured or not. Yep – ball,
dropped.
Alas, now we come to the reason why I have never been a
real John Taylor fan. He’s a brat. I formed that opinion approximately 30 years
ago, and it stands true today. Duran
Duran was a phenomenon, without a doubt.
There were screaming girls, sold out concerts, the whole nine
yards. But, JT writes as if they were as
big as the Beatles. I think someone
needs to remind him of just how quickly their balloon deflated. Sure, they’re still together (for the most
part), and put out the occasional new song.
But, when was the last time they were able to fill a stadium? Or even an average size basketball arena? If you want to talk like the big boys, you
have to produce like the big boys. They
certainly can’t be lumped into the same category as artists such as U2, the
Stones, or Springsteen (who seems to be a frequent victim of Taylor’s
tantrums.)
Much as he’d probably hate to
admit it, his personal fame has far more to do with his pretty face than any
talent he believes himself to have.
John Taylor is a legend in his own mind, but certainly
not in mine.
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