BBS（読み取り専用)
BBSのトップページへ戻るアンディの最新映像及び写真
1. ミケ 2008/09/14 07:16
おそらくアンディを見るのは久しぶりという人が多いと思うので情報を載せときます。
9月上旬にイギリスおよびアメリカでアンディの本「Wild Boy: My Life in Duran Duran」が発売されました。
それを受けて9月10日、イギリス・ロンドンのオックスフォード・ストリートにあるZavviという店でサイン会が行われました（上の写真)。
残りの写真はこちら。
http://yahoo.jp/box/LGpEqZ
また、アンディは9月11日イギリスBBCのテレビ番組にも出演しました。
http://jp.youtube.com/watch?v=BaTSqrZxuS4
ニューヨークでもサイン会が企画されていたらしいのですが、こちらはキャンセルとなったようです。
2. ハチミツ 2008/09/15 13:34
ミケさん、ありがとうございました！
米国の某通販サイトで「アメリカでのサイン会」に ついて書いている人がいたので、その後どうなったのか気になっていたところでした。残念でしたね。
ＢＢＣの動画はＰＣの事情で途中までしか見られませんでしたがAndy、元気そうですね。ホッとしました。
「WildBoy」では、亡くなられたNickのお父様のことも書いてあり・・・貴重なお話しや写真 が色々とありました。といってもまだあと半分は残っているのですが・・・。
3. ミケ 2008/09/16 15:02
ハチミツさん、既に本を入手していたのですか！
私は今日やっと届きました。
確かに写真が思ったより載ってました(24ページ分)
早速今日から読み込もうと思ってます。
4. ハチミツ 2008/09/16 23:38
今月の初旬頃だったでしょうか。
日本のアマゾンで、購入の手続きをしたところ
約１０日で届きました。
ミケさんは、どちらで購入されましたか？
5. ミケ 2008/09/17 10:00
私も日本のアマゾンで購入しました。
しかも、注文したのは去年の8月。
私はイギリス版のハードカバーを買ったのですが、ハチミツさんはアメリカ版とイギリス版どちらを買われましたか？
アマゾンを見ると、イギリス版とアメリカ版ではカバーの色が違ってますよね。
イギリス版(ハードカバー)
http://www.amazon.co.jp/Wild-Boy-Andy-Taylor/dp/0752897276/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=english-books&qid=1212854220&sr=8-3
アメリカ版
http://www.amazon.co.jp/Wild-Boy-My-Life-Duran/dp/0446509302/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=english-books&qid=1212854477&sr=8-1
でもって、イギリス版が328ページなのに対し
(このページ数は白紙の部分も含まれるようです。実際には文字の部分290ページ、写真24ページ、あとは目次、内表紙等)、
アメリカ版は336ページになってます。
でも厚みはイギリス版は3.6センチとなっていて(測ってみましたが実際には3.1センチ)、アメリカ版は2.2センチとなぜか薄い。
もし、アメリカ版を購入していたのなら情報を下さると嬉しいです。
6. ハチミツ 2008/09/17 17:59
私は、アメリカ版のハードカバーを買いました。
表紙が赤茶色のものです。
同じ販売元でも、アメリカ版かイギリス版かで入荷事情が違ったのでしょうか？
主な仕様は…
・厚さ 3.1cm
・縦×横 23.5cm×15.5cm
・ページ数 324
・フルカラー写真ページ数 24
（イギリス版と同じですね）
・その他のページ数 前に16（白紙やタイトル文字、目次、プロローグなど）後ろに8（全て白紙/うち一番最後がちょっと厚めの白紙）
でした。
紙の質は…ハードカバーとはいえ、良くありませんでした。
わら半紙が少々厚くなった、という感じで…。
イギリス版はいかがですか？
7. ミケ 2008/09/17 22:12
ハチミツさん、情報ありがとうございます。
どうやらイギリス版とアメリカ版では表紙が違うだけのようですね。
まったくアマゾンの情報はいい加減で悩まされます。
イギリス版も紙質があまり良くありませんでした。
18.99ポンドもするのだからもう少し良くして欲しいところ。
Steve Malins著の”Notorious”は17.99ポンドでもっと良い紙でした。
(写真はこちらの方が少ないけど)。
8. ハチミツ 2008/09/21 13:18
ミケさん
こちらこそ、イギリス版の情報をありがとうございました！
アマゾンは、もう少し正確に情報を載せて欲しいものですね。
そうですね、Steve Malins著の”Notorious”の
方が読みやすかったと思います。
といっても、私は最初の方しか読んでいないのですが。
''Wild Boy''を読み終わったら、もう一度トライして
みようかな…。
9. ddbj URL 2008/09/22 20:35
ミケさん＆ハチミツさんお二方への質問です。
当方、Steve Malins著の”Notorious”も''Wild Boy''もまだ未購入なんですが、この２冊はやっぱファン必修でしょうか？
アドバイスの程、よろしくお願いいたします！
10. ミケ 2008/09/23 20:27
Steve Malinsの本は知らない事がふんだんに記載されていて私は非常に面白かったです。
でもファン必修かどうかはわかりません。
海外サイトの掲示板ではさして話題になってなかったように思います。
「知っていることばかり」という書き込みがあったようにも記憶しています。
なので、今まで語られてきたことのまとめ的な本なのかと思います。
アンディの方はまだ読んでいる途中なので何とも言えませんが、変に凝った表現がなく非常にわかりやすい文章です。
プロローグを転載しておきますので、ご参考にしてみてください。
WELCOME to Live Aid. It's a boiling hot summer afternoon, and I'm
about to perform with Duran Duran at the biggest gig on the planet.
I'm standing backstage, from where I can hear the roaring audience
reverberating throughout JFK Stadium. The noise is deafening, and
I've been told that steam is rising off the crowd because the crew
have been hosing people down, just to try to keep them cool and from
passing out in the searing heat. The sweet, pungent smell of
marijuana is wafting in on warm, moist waves of air coming from
outside, where hundreds of people are smoking weed, drinking beer,
eating pizza, and having the time of their lives. Officially, there
are supposed to be 90,000 rock fans in the stadium; however, the
turnstiles have been swamped and there's maybe upward of 120,000
bodies, could be even higher. Nobody really knows for sure, but it's
stacked to the rafters.
The scale of the event is mind-blowing. The lineup is a
quintessential Who's Who of rock and roll: Led Zeppelin, members of
the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Madonna, Eric Clapton, Tina Turner-
everybody is here. I've somehow managed to drink at least a liter of
iced white wine, and I look on from the side of the stage as Jimmy
Page and Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin perform with drummers Phil
Collins and Tony Thompson?"the black John Bonham" from the Power
Station. There's so much adrenaline pumping because of the Zeppelin
performance that the alcohol doesn't affect me at all. I guess with
this many legendary artists on the bill, Live Aid is unquestionably
going to be the biggest show in history. Two billion people, almost
half the population of the world, will have tuned in to watch on TV
as we rally to make a stand against poverty in Africa, the first time
the Western world has witnessed the horror of these images through
TV. I think to myself that as one half of the Earth is eating and
watching, the other half is starving.
The Hollywood A-list is out in force and Jack Nicholson, Bette
Midler, and Don Johnson have been introducing the acts. Now Chevy
Chase is out there with the microphone and it's our turn to be
announced.
"Are you ready?" Chevy shouts to the crowd. "Here they are. .. Duran
Duran!"
The audience goes wild. Only a US crowd can make that sound of
whooping, and we are at number one in America with "A View to a
Kill," which we plan to open with, so they are delighted to see us,
even after Led Zeppelin. Suddenly I am onstage, and the sheer size of
the stadium stuns me as I look straight out at almost 120,000 people.
They look like ants, and because of the low, wide, endless stadium
the haze of people fades into the humid air. I can't see individual
faces-it's just a blur of color and noise, although my "hazy"
viewpoint has got nothing to do with the booze. I should be
staggering around like an English drunk by now, but at twenty-four
years old just give me a crowd and some loud gear and I'll keep
standing. The wall of sound created by the audience reaches 121
decibels, above the limit at which noise begins to distort the human
ear. As per usual, we'll need to crank it up to at least 123
decibels, and, not for the first time, we probably can't be heard.
This is not your average show; there's a lot more energy to control,
and it's not just "our show"-although for the next twenty minutes it
has to be ours. For twenty minutes we have to own the audience,
liquid diet included. So here I stand, guitar in hands, and I'm
pretty fired up. Usually I don't think about it, but today I mustn't
fcku up. Get it right, son! Some shows have a cup final feel around
them. I try not to think about it as the adrenaline and the urgency
will take me to a different level. I wonder if this is what it is
like in a football game-if we don't score, the crowd will turn
against us. Part of my brain cuts to autopilot, and the muscle memory
acquired from playing so many gigs kicks in.
Simon Le Bon is to my right, there's a stack of amps behind me, and I
can hear the band through a side monitor to my left. It all sounds a
little ropey at first, but at this point I'm just glad to be plugged
in with six strings and a working amplifier, because earlier in the
day my equipment fckued up when I was onstage with the Power Station
(another dark omen). I can feel Nick Rhodes on keyboards behind me;
Roger Taylor is poised nervously on his drums in the middle, and I
can see my partner in crime, John Taylor, on the far side of the
stage with his bass guitar bouncing on his hip. The bass looks huge
because he is so bloody thin. The scale of the event doesn't appear
to be fazing the band at all. .. Then, just as everything seems to be
coming together fine, I notice Simon's voice is getting a tad croaky.
He looks great, but it's been a while since we were last onstage
together, and one gig isn't enough to get the voice back into shape.
I can tell he is straining to hit the notes and there's still that
note to come as the song reaches crescendo. I hope he isn't thinking
about hitting that note. .. "Thinking" is a bad thing when you
perform, I muse. Then, shit! His voice suddenly gives way. . .
"With a vie-yoo-ow to a kill!!!" he screeches right at the end of the
song, with no time to recover. All bloody live. .. Well, at least he
ain't swimming with the fishes. I grimace and the cameras capture
everything- again all live, but so what? It doesn't matter and it was
sort of inevitable. We carry on playing, and the number ends to
rapturous applause.
Now it's Simon's turn to speak to the audience:
"Hello. Good evening to Philadelphia, to the whole world that is
watching," he says triumphantly as the crowd settles. "Tonight, we
are here to celebrate something which has worked so far. .. This is a
song called 'The Union of the Snake.' "
Then we slow things down a bit with "Save a Prayer," before Simon
gees up the crowd one last time.
"If you've got any energy left, we'd like to see you dancing," he
tells them, and we finish with "The Reflex," another recent US number
one, which wins the audience over big-time, and they go nuts. As we
leave the stage the cheers are still deafening-not bad after
Zeppelin, I think to myself, but which bastard put them on before
us?. . .
AT that moment, everything should have been perfect, but privately we
were screwed and in turmoil. When we came offstage in Philadelphia
there were no congratulatory hugs or friendly smiles. It was like we
were completely foreign to each other, and it would be the last time
we played together for almost two decades. Unbeknownst to the rest of
the world, we had quietly (in our ever-so-English way) been falling
apart at the seams for many months prior to Live Aid.
In truth, we could barely stand to be in the same room. Frustrated by
the constant bickering and hostility within Duran Duran, John and I
had formed the Power Station with Tony Thompson and Robert Palmer,
which had been hugely successful. Simon and Nick had formed their own
spinoff group, Arcadia.
The rehearsal in Philadelphia had been an absolute nightmare. The air
was acrid with tension. Nick and I barely exchanged a single word,
save sorting out the set list, which probably suited us both fine.
Roger looked like Death warmed up, almost as if he wasn't there, and
you could see the strain of our spirit-sapping lifestyle etched
across his face. I was lucid, but only on a level that would confound
most scientists. Even Simon was getting ragged around the edges and
looking decidedly "sailor faced"-still forever the optimist, but of
late preferring to go sailing on his yacht than be with the band.
John and I were in a dark place. We might have looked lean and hungry
from constant touring with Duran and the Power Station, but we were
dying inside. We were tired of twenty-four-hour attention, tired of
drinking and taking drugs, haggard from the lifestyle we had once
aspired to.
Live Aid was the first time all five members of Duran Duran had been
together for months, and we had just one day to try and make
ourselves sound half-decent before going onstage. Not surprisingly,
the rehearsals were a disaster and I ended up ordering everyone who
wasn't in the band or essential crew to leave-where had all these
people come from? "Bloody rubbernecks" was Roger's affectionate term
for them. Two people who were not present at this point were the
Berrows, my nowformer managers. . .
I spent the morning of the show in my hotel suite watching Status Quo
live from the UK-they opened up the day's proceedings across the
Atlantic in London. But not even the Quo and a huge American
breakfast could brighten up our day, and things continued to get
darker during the ride to JFK Stadium. At least there was no sound
check. We were being hailed by the press as the Fab Five, the most
successful British band since the Beatles, but instead of celebrating
any of this, we just got on the bus and sat in silence.
We'd reached rock bottom and we had absolutely nothing to say to each
other. We drove to the venue through streets packed with excited rock
fans, but inside the bus the atmosphere was as if we were on our way
to a funeral. (Little did we realize that we were on the way to a
funeral-it was ours.) The only people who spoke were Tony, who was
due to play with both the Power Station and Led Zeppelin, and Danny
Goldberg, who had previously been Led Zeppelin's PR man. I'd met
Danny through Michael Des Barres, who'd agreed to sing with the Power
Station after Robert Palmer had dropped out. Danny was a powerful
character, and behind the scenes he had been rather clandestine in
attempting to prize me away from the madness of Duran Duran. He was a
clever guy, but he never seemed to be far away from troubled
musicians. Years later he became Nirvana and Kurt Cobain's manager,
staying with them till the singer's death, then he went on to become
chairman of Warner Bros. Records.
As our bus approached the grand old JFK Stadium, which has long since
been demolished, we might have been regarded as the hottest band in
the world, but there were so many great acts on the bill that it felt
as if we went down somewhat in the rankings. Later, when I came
offstage with Duran Duran, I could feel exhaustion begin to take
effect. Live Aid had been a long show day; in addition to going
onstage with Duran Duran, both John and I had performed a set with
the Power Station. Despite being tired, I stayed around to watch Bob
Dylan onstage with Ronnie Wood and Keith Richards. Woody and Keith
were so off their nuts that their performance was a shambles, but
nobody gave a toss-I guess people were just happy to see them at all.
I'd watched them arrive together in a stretch limo earlier that
afternoon, and they'd been so legless that they had literally fallen
out of the car, Woody laughing hysterically. When they made a mess of
the songs onstage it seemed to give everybody else license to get
roaring drunk, and it's still one of the most memorable moments for
me. So when the time came to go back to my hotel I was slightly the
worse for wear, but my hair was still looking good. For some bizarre
reason I found myself sitting in a big cardboard box being dragged
across the car park to the artists' bus by Eric Clapton. "You seemed
like you might need help," he later told me. . .
Back at the hotel there was a bigger-than-usual party; I'd never seen
a bar with so many people in it who I loved. Michael Des Barres
introduced me to Jimmy Page (what a sweet man, you'd never guess he
was so fascinated by Aleister Crowley) and at one point I was sitting
on a sofa with Jimmy, Ronnie Wood, and Keith Richards. I had Michael
snap a photo; he knew all these guys from the seventies and he had a
friendly, endearing charm, even with Keith. Later, when I saw the
shot, I couldn't help but laugh. Their legendary craggy faces
reminded me of the heads carved on Mount Rushmore, with me sandwiched
in the middle, trying to do my best "rock" look. Yet despite all the
mirth, my heart just wasn't in the mood to party, and shortly before
midnight, as the booze slowed down, I retired to my suite.
I crashed into bed and reflected that Live Aid should have been one
of our biggest highs, but it wasn't -although I suppose I had
anticipated that. To the rest of the world, we were the best-selling
band in the UK and America and we could do no wrong. We were five
close friends who mixed with royalty, and we had enjoyed a level of
success that most bands could only dream of. But behind all the
glamour, the smoke and mirrors, everything tasted sour, and the
medication was no longer working. I lay there alone in the darkness
of my hotel room, lit a blunt joint, and tried to inhale deeply,
slowly, and ignore the constant whining in my left ear caused by the
volume of the stage audio monitors.
Ahw no. . .
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was a member of our road
crew.
"Super T"^-that was my nickname-"we've booked a table. Meet by the
elevator in ten."
Bollocks, I thought. Super T? All I want is a cup of tea.
So there I was, Andy Taylor of Duran Duran. The UK press had recently
accused me of being the "wildest of the Wild Boys," but I just
couldn't consume any more booze or drugs. Worse still, there was no
twenty-four-hour room service tonight.
"fcku off and leave me alone" was all I could muster.
I'd had enough. I needed a rest from this Groundhog Day cokefueled
lifestyle. I realized that the consumption had to stop for the
madness to begin to subside. For a while, success had brought us
happiness and wealth beyond our wildest dreams. But the lifestyle we
had aspired to, and for which we had worked so hard, became the very
cancer that was starting to destroy us. Little did I realize how long
it was going to take to repair some of the lives damaged as a
consequence of our excess. For sure, we paraded around in our fast
cars, with beautiful models on yachts in the south of France and the
Caribbean, without needing to pay the bill at times (that came
later). But it begs the question: Was it all worth it? Not too many
people knew about our incendiary arguments or my fights with our
management-and the dark depression and bitter resentments that these
confrontations created. Neither did they know about the blood and the
exhaustion, all from being constantly on the road, or about the mad
cocaine binges, or the paranoia and insanity that was caused by being
in the spotlight for what amounts to twenty-four hours a day.
We were hanging on by our fingernails.
We were called Duran Duran. This is the story of how we came to rule
the world and nearly threw it all away. Brace yourself?it's a
rollercoaster ride. . .
11. ハチミツ 2008/09/24 23:31
ddbjさん
そうですねぇ〜…私はリアルタイムでＤＤのことを知らない時期が長かったので、ＤＤの歴史をおさらいしたくて''Notorious''を買ったのですが。
＃９でも書いたように、本格的に読むのはこれからなので、必修かどうかの判断はまだ難しいです…。
ただ、''Notorious''に載っていた写真について、Andyの''Wild Boy''でも言及されていたりしたので、両者をじっくりと読み比べてみても面白いかも？！
''Wild Boy''は、個人的にはＤＤファンだったら持っていても良いかな？と思います。
特にAndyの二回目の脱退について、より詳細な経緯がわかって良かったです。
私の知る限り、ＲＣＭリリース当時に彼の立場から取り上げたのは米国では雑誌社が一社のみで…残念な思いをしていたものですから。
彼自身の言葉で語られるＤＤの歴史は、読み応えがあり、貴重だと思いました。