Hello and welcome to Entertainment Weekly's Mild Kingdom. We've come to this cavernous New York City club, the Academy, on this snowy February night to observe a rare species of music fan called the Durannee. Last sighted in 1988, this breed has a curious attraction to Duran Duran. Tonight, in a ritual that is currently undergoing a revival, these Durannees have paid $22.50 apiece to loft Bic lighters to the strained vocalizations of their idol, Simon LeBon. Now, let's hear what this multitude has to say about the phenomenon of Durandemonium.
Standing a few yards from the stage, Duran Duran fan-club director, Dawn D'Ordine, tells us she wouldn't kill LeBon's wife, but she wouldn't mind taking her place. This Durannee did have a visitation with her chilly idol before the show: ''He didn't kiss me, but he looked at my cleavage a little bit.''
Longtime devotee Evynne Grover seems lost in the eternal present as she observes, ''I was a 16-year-old Durannee and now I am a 26-year-old lawyer. This is a mellifluous, lucid, talented, intelligent band. Not like rap, which is just noise with talking.''
Becky Thype, in sharp contrast, is now losing her religion. ''Me and my sister used to have every Tiger Beat with pictures of Duran Duran. These guys were the soundtrack to our burgeoning sexuality. But tonight Simon just seems like a slimy Tom Jones kind of lounge singer.''
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