I will learn to survive
On 30 years of Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World”
Recent writing I’ve published:
Oxford American music issue, “Olivia Newton-John’s Catalog of Emotion: And the quiet power of her voice.”
Salon, “How Harry Styles Became an Even Bigger Star in 2022”
Thirty years ago today, Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World” debuted at No. 23 on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart. Despite being published well after the release of Nirvana’s grunge sonic bomb Nevermind, the chart reads like a quaint and quirky time capsule: It’s full of British bands (Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, Inspiral Carpets), earnest singer-songwriters (Shawn Colvin, The Jayhawks) and ‘90s obscurities (Sunscreem, Supreme Love Gods).
It's no wonder “Ordinary World” immediately had an impact there. The alternative chart was where ‘80s hitmakers graduated to and thrived after dominating the pop charts. And Duran Duran was in good company: “Ordinary World” charted alongside artists like INXS, Peter Gabriel, 10,000 Maniacs, and R.E.M.—all artists who grew their fanbases after transitioning to more grown-up music.
In a post-“Losing My Religion” world, a rock band throwing a huge curveball and writing a hit song using unexpected instrumentation wasn’t quite so weird. And for Duran Duran, “Ordinary World” was light years removed from the keyboard-heavy rock the band focused on just a decade before. Of course, Duran Duran’s lineup and collaborators looked different than they did a decade before. Circa 1992, original Fab Five members Simon Le Bon, John Taylor and Nick Rhodes were working with guitarist Warren Cuccurullo and producer John “JJ” Jones.
But “Ordinary World” possessed poise and sophistication: elegant acoustic guitar that sounds like something you might hear at a chic European cafe, majestic orchestral swishes, genial keyboard atmosphere. For good measure, Cuccurullo contributed power ballad-worthy electric guitars—a flourish that was very 1992, but transcended the era by boasting hints of prog, glam and even classical music.
“Ordinary World” matched the earnest and declarative vibe percolating though the Modern Rock chart back then. That vibe makes sense, as 1992 was a galvanizing year in politics. It was a presidential election year in the U.S. and abortion rights were under attack (sound familiar?). It emerged later that “Ordinary World” also came together amidst the backdrop of the Gulf War.
However, it wasn’t an overtly political song. If anything, Simon Le Bon’s lyrics were about finding (or maybe recalibrating) your perspective amidst turmoil. I recently wrote a remembrance of the song for Ultimate Classic Rock and delved into its origins:
Lyrically, “Ordinary World” ended up as the second of three songs Le Bon wrote for his friend David Miles, who “died in tragic circumstances,” he once said. (The other songs in the trilogy are Big Thing’s “Do You Believe In Shame?” and Medazzaland’s “Out of my Mind.”)
“I’m not a big believer in the supernatural,” Le Bon told Paste in 2017, “but six years after [my friend’s death], I started to feel a weight inside me. ‘Ordinary World’ was the act of letting that go.”
I felt a flash of recognition reading that quote now. I’ve written about my late friend Nikki Delamotte a few times over the years. She was murdered in late 2018—a victim of gun violence, a victim of family violence. Even today, it’s difficult to type these words out using such clinical and matter-of-fact language. Nikki deserved better: She had a bright future ahead of her as a writer, or an editor—or whatever she decided she wanted to be.
The holidays always make me think of Nikki, of course. But she also died in mid-November, meaning that the change from summer to fall always feels extra bittersweet—the chillier temperatures and color-evolving leaves making me remember the last autumn I had with her. The anniversary of the actual day of her death is also always especially difficult, because the physical and emotional heaviness of what happened always seems to settle over me like a dense fog.
This year I felt particularly sad and gloomy, maybe because it’s felt like the entire world is also navigating through grief while the pandemic trudges on. But as the anniversary of her death approached, I suddenly found new insights and comfort in, of all things, “Ordinary World.”
It was one of my first favorite Duran Duran songs. I watched the video religiously after school, mesmerized by the bride wearing a couture wedding dress with a gigantic bow and a chic hat. (My friend Alice reminded me last year I used to call her when the video was on MTV—I’m not sure why. So she knew to turn on the TV? Was I just that excited to see the clip? My mindset is lost to time.) When the song was released, I was just an awkward teenager who couldn’t fathom ever being glamorous or married.
As a kid, something about the song tugged at my consciousness and resonated. Thirty years and hundreds of listens on, I suddenly understood the idea of an “ordinary world,” and what it means to try to find one. An ordinary world is deeply personal equilibrium—not sadness, not grief-stricken, not dramatic. It’s also not mundane or boring. To be in an ordinary world is when things are back to a place where you can start to heal and find a new way forward.
But it’s not an easy road to ordinary—and there’s a lot of turbulence along the way. “Ordinary World” acknowledges that you have to make yourself vulnerable and give into the grief (“Pride's gone out the window”) and sit with these difficult emotions (“Left me in the vacuum of my heart”). This can be disorienting—"What is happening to me?/Crazy, some'd say”—and also deeply sad. The lines “Where is my friend when I need you most?/Gone away” completely floored me, especially because Le Bon delivers the lyric “gone away” in a wistful, pained whisper. Being yanked back to reality is never easy.
The thing about losing a good friend in a violent, sudden way is the impact ripples in ways you don't expect, in ebbs and flows. You don’t always know why your friend is on your mind, or why you feel sad unexpectedly. Grief is an imperfect thing with no precise end. And when you’re mired in grief, it’s difficult to see there is an ending. Nikki’s death upended my life in ways I’m still trying to piece together. I’m a different person now, in ways I’m still trying to figure out.
“Ordinary World” somehow captured that confusion and uncertainty, and made it OK to feel all of these things. Yet the song is driven by resiliency. “Ordinary World” is always firm that ordinary is possible—and even when things do get tough, you will figure out what’s next. That’s Duran Duran’s irrepressible, innate optimism shining through, of course—but also a wise lesson imparted from someone who’s been through a painful period and successfully emerged from the other side.
But I won't cry for yesterday
There's an ordinary world
Somehow I have to find
And as I try to make my way
To the ordinary world
I will learn to survive