Brummy pop gods Duran Duran clearly understand that if fate holds open the door to the hall of fame for you, you don’t hang about outside, umm-ing and ahh-ing. You run in. In releasing their first studio album together in 21 years, Simon Le Bon, Nick Rhodes and the three Taylors have grabbed their chance quicker than you can say “80s electro.” And who can blame them? American bands such as Radio 4, The Faint and French Kicks obviously reckon the retro synth-pop bandwagon has a few miles left on the clock while here, the renewed popularity of The Human League, Gary Numan et al kick-started by Richard X’s bootleg adventurism shows little sign of waning.
Although Le Bon’s claim that they were a cross between the Sex Pistols and Chic overly flatters his band, they did produce a bunch of cracking pop singles – “Planet Earth”, “Girls On Film” and "Hungry Like The Wolf” among them - that have come to define the era. Hardly surprising, then, that the biggest band of the decade wants a piece of the fresh action. “Astronaut” however, is unlikely to either bestow new respect on Duran Duran or bathe them in the light of ironic cool.
With producers Nile Rogers of Chic, Don Gilmore (who’s worked with Good Charlotte and Linkin Park) and Dallas Austin (TLC, Pink, Gwen Stefani), they’ve crafted a bewilderingly MOR record which barely acknowledges the very electro-pop that’s extended the lease on their career. Buffed to within an inch of its Pro-tooled life, “Astronaut” sounds not groovily retro, but simply dated, as if it was designed to soundtrack “The Breakfast Club” 20 years too late.
“(Reach Up For The) Sunrise” crashes in first, desperate to impress with its walloping drums and relentlessly echoing backing chorus, while Le Bon’s banal lyrics in “What Happens Tomorrow” (“you’ve got to believe it’ll be alright again”) make Lionel Richie read like Dylan Thomas. It gets no better: the title track suggests Duran Duran have just discovered Madonna’s “Music”; their singer flirts ill-advisedly with R&B/funk rap on “Bedroom Toys”; he appropriates Blur for “One Of Those Days”; and the gruesome “Finest Hour” suggests (deep breath) a synthesised REO Speedwagon. Only the groovily affable “Nice” holds its head up.
Awesomely anodyne, breathtakingly boring and crushingly clichéd, “Astronaut” singularly fails to take flight. Duran Duran, we have a problem.
