Talking to Girls About Duran Duran: One Young Man's Quest for True Love and a Cooler Haircut by Rob Sheffield
Authors: Rob Sheffield
Tags: United States, Literary, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Editors; Journalists; Publishers, music, Journalists, Biography, Genres & Styles, Rock Music, History and Criticism, Composers & Musicians, Rock, Journalists - United States, Music Critics, Sheffield; Rob, Music critics - United States, Rock music - History and criticism
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“Maneater” took the bassline from the Supremes’ “You Can’t Hurry Love”—it was pretty obvious, since Phil Collins had just covered the song and had a big hit with it.
But I love every minute of this song. The long, smoldering intro, building up tension beat by beat. The cheesy ’80s sax solo to end all cheesy ’80s sax solos. The way Oates utters that “oooh!” at the end of the sax solo. The way Hall utters the non-word “ooobaaddaaaswougghew!” at the precise four-minute mark. And the way it warns me about those tough girls they were always singing about. This girl was deadly , man, but she could really rip my world apart?
Why the hell didn’t I meet any girls like this? Where did all these she-cats hang out? I was more than willing to be chewed up, digested and/or spat out by this heart-breaking, love-taking, dream-making maneater. Okay, so the beauty is there, but the beast is in her heart. Where’s the downside, Hall? He wouldn’t say. All he told me was “I wouldn’t if I were you. I know what she can do.” And all Oates added was “Watch out!” I have to admit, I was intrigued. But since she was a night creature, it was fairly unlikely she would wander over to Terry’s house in the middle of our Stratego game. Oh well. I was a cautious Stratego player—always look for the bombs before you go looking for the flags. And as they say, lucky in Stratego, lame at love.
When I listen to “Maneater” now, it’s on the Hall & Oates greatest hits album Rock ’n Soul: Part 1 , which I stole from my sister Tracey. She won it off WHTT by calling in to the station as soon as she heard the intro to “Say It Isn’t So,” and the DJ announced her name on the air. (I got it on tape!) This added a level of unspeakable excitement to an already exciting record. Instead of stealing it when I went to college, I waited until Thanksgiving break, which allowed me to get away clean. I still don’t know if she realizes where her copy is. But I do know she thought Hall was the cute one.
It’s a little weird to listen to “Maneater” now and realize it reminds me of my sister. But songs that give out sensible advice, as most Hall & Oates songs do, always remind me of my sister Tracey, because she was the person in my life who made me smarter. Like Hall & Oates, she was fond of pointing out what a moron I was, and yet instead of making me defensive about it, she had a knack for convincing me how right she was. She is still exactly this way, and so is her eight-year-old daughter, Sarah, who already laughs at what a bad chess player I am. The last time I was able to fool my niece about anything was when I convinced her that the restaurant sign that says EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS means it’s illegal to wash your own, and even then she only bought it for about ten seconds.
When I was a little boy, I begrudged the way Tracey understood things I struggled to even see. When she would correct my grammar, I would call her Miriam Webster, who I thought in my childish ignorance was the author who wrote the dictionary. Tracey set me straight on that one too. Tracey is the sister who makes me less dumb. I spend a minute with her and she breathes in my dumb and breathes it back to me as smart. She does not even have to try to do this. Nobody else in my life has this same effect on me.
When I had my first apartment in Boston, I had Tracey over for tea. I was so proud of myself. I was a sophisticated man of the world, having my sister over to my place for tea. We sat on the couch, sipping from our Thermoses, enjoying a spread of EZ Cheez and Lorna Doones, as I said things like, “How are your classes going?”
As she was leaving, Tracey said, “Hey Rob, I don’t know if you ever have, you know, girls over to the apartment?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Buuuut, if you do? They really like the toilet paper to be on the little rolling thing.”
“They do?”
“Yes. We do.”
“The rolling thing that spins
But I love every minute of this song. The long, smoldering intro, building up tension beat by beat. The cheesy ’80s sax solo to end all cheesy ’80s sax solos. The way Oates utters that “oooh!” at the end of the sax solo. The way Hall utters the non-word “ooobaaddaaaswougghew!” at the precise four-minute mark. And the way it warns me about those tough girls they were always singing about. This girl was deadly , man, but she could really rip my world apart?
Why the hell didn’t I meet any girls like this? Where did all these she-cats hang out? I was more than willing to be chewed up, digested and/or spat out by this heart-breaking, love-taking, dream-making maneater. Okay, so the beauty is there, but the beast is in her heart. Where’s the downside, Hall? He wouldn’t say. All he told me was “I wouldn’t if I were you. I know what she can do.” And all Oates added was “Watch out!” I have to admit, I was intrigued. But since she was a night creature, it was fairly unlikely she would wander over to Terry’s house in the middle of our Stratego game. Oh well. I was a cautious Stratego player—always look for the bombs before you go looking for the flags. And as they say, lucky in Stratego, lame at love.
When I listen to “Maneater” now, it’s on the Hall & Oates greatest hits album Rock ’n Soul: Part 1 , which I stole from my sister Tracey. She won it off WHTT by calling in to the station as soon as she heard the intro to “Say It Isn’t So,” and the DJ announced her name on the air. (I got it on tape!) This added a level of unspeakable excitement to an already exciting record. Instead of stealing it when I went to college, I waited until Thanksgiving break, which allowed me to get away clean. I still don’t know if she realizes where her copy is. But I do know she thought Hall was the cute one.
It’s a little weird to listen to “Maneater” now and realize it reminds me of my sister. But songs that give out sensible advice, as most Hall & Oates songs do, always remind me of my sister Tracey, because she was the person in my life who made me smarter. Like Hall & Oates, she was fond of pointing out what a moron I was, and yet instead of making me defensive about it, she had a knack for convincing me how right she was. She is still exactly this way, and so is her eight-year-old daughter, Sarah, who already laughs at what a bad chess player I am. The last time I was able to fool my niece about anything was when I convinced her that the restaurant sign that says EMPLOYEES MUST WASH HANDS means it’s illegal to wash your own, and even then she only bought it for about ten seconds.
When I was a little boy, I begrudged the way Tracey understood things I struggled to even see. When she would correct my grammar, I would call her Miriam Webster, who I thought in my childish ignorance was the author who wrote the dictionary. Tracey set me straight on that one too. Tracey is the sister who makes me less dumb. I spend a minute with her and she breathes in my dumb and breathes it back to me as smart. She does not even have to try to do this. Nobody else in my life has this same effect on me.
When I had my first apartment in Boston, I had Tracey over for tea. I was so proud of myself. I was a sophisticated man of the world, having my sister over to my place for tea. We sat on the couch, sipping from our Thermoses, enjoying a spread of EZ Cheez and Lorna Doones, as I said things like, “How are your classes going?”
As she was leaving, Tracey said, “Hey Rob, I don’t know if you ever have, you know, girls over to the apartment?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Buuuut, if you do? They really like the toilet paper to be on the little rolling thing.”
“They do?”
“Yes. We do.”
“The rolling thing that spins
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