A singular moment in time

Sometimes awe hits you sideways when you least expect it

As a person of a certain age—a proud member of the largely forgotten and mostly overlooked Generation X (seriously, they can’t even remember to include us on the lists anymore), I am not immune to nostalgia. There are things that are almost guaranteed to get a reaction from me that’s linked to pure memory from times that I honestly can’t believe are so far in the rearview mirror.

I am also as capable as the rest of my cohort of falling on the GenX rallying cry: “Whatever, man.”

I have to admit that my reaction to the idea of someone covering a Tracy Chapman song, and especially a country cover song of “Fast Car,” was far more the latter than the former, with a healthy dose of, “But…why?” thrown in.

“Fast Car” was released in 1988, which is a remarkable thing when you stop to think about it. Toward the end of the Decade of Excess, when synthesizers and neon ruled the music scene (just for a start), when Madonna was redefining what it meant to be female and Star Wars was not just a movie trilogy but a government defense system… in walks a low-key Black woman with a guitar and a song and a voice that is the antithesis of every bit of that, with a sepia-toned album cover, even, and proves once and for all that sometimes it’s the quiet ones who command the most attention—quite justifiably—especially in the middle of bright, loud, noisy chaos.

That attention was well deserved. “Fast Car” came out of nowhere and very quietly hit you over the head with its subtle passion. The story of desperation, longing, dreaming… I was a junior in high school when it came out, so I’m not going to pretend like I was anywhere near deep enough to really understand what it was about, but I knew it was something different, and far more substantial, than I’d ever heard on the radio before.

And good lord, it was also just so incredibly singable. For the rest of high school and undergrad, my friends and I would sing along with it at the top of our lungs while being blissfully oblivious to the full reality of what Tracy was showing us. That didn’t diminish our love for it, and left us plenty of room to appreciate it more once we were old and wise enough to get it.

I didn’t know back then that I was in awe of this song, and the woman who sang it. I just knew I loved it, and that I loved it because it felt so different. All my love of Duran Duran and Sting and U2 hadn’t prepared me for “Fast Car.”

So why the heck would someone… defile it by covering it? Especially a white country singer—a guy?!?

The answer is pretty obvious, in retrospect. I just said it two paragraphs ago, but my first reaction didn’t account for my own feelings about it, except to be oddly protective of something that’s not even mine. The fact is, “Fast Car” is about wanting something more from life, and not being sure it’s in your reach…but wanting to go for it anyway. Knowing that, if you don’t, you’ll be stuck where you are and regret it forever.

What could be more universal?

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve no doubt heard, and possibly seen, that Luke Combs was scheduled to perform his version of the song at the Grammys on Sunday night…and surprised everyone by getting Tracy Chapman to share the stage with him and sing “Fast Car” as a duet. (Okay, there were rumors, but no one was sure.)

If you haven’t seen it, here it is. Spoiler alert: I had trouble keeping my eyes dry as I watched this, even as skeptical as I still was about the idea of a cover:

As I watched, and felt the tears welling up behind my eyes, I wondered why this performance was getting to me. Pure nostalgia? I don’t think so. And the song itself, much as I love it, wasn’t enough, either.

To understand my reaction, you have to really watch these two singers perform together. It may help to know that Tracy Chapman hasn’t performed live since 2009, which makes it even more remarkable that she was on that stage. She’s almost 60 now, which is a bit of an eye-opener, because obviously musicians are frozen in the amber of time just like we ourselves are, right? (But if she hadn’t gone grey and you didn’t know, you’d never guess, because she still projects that same gorgeous youthful energy she’s always had. As writer Michael Harriot said, “If Tracy Chapman doesn’t have a 7-figure endorsement deal for shea butter by tomorrow, something’s wrong.”)

But it’s more than all that. It’s the fact that Luke Combs truly, truly loves this song, and the only thing that’s written all over him more than that is how much deep respect and affection he has for the woman who wrote it, and how in awe he is of the fact that he’s getting to share the stage with her. Watch how he makes it all about her. He follows her lead. He gives her room to be her magnificent self while he enjoys the hell out of the fact that he’s getting to do this at all.

Luke Combs’s cover version is the reason Tracy Chapman is the only Black songwriter ever to win the Country Music Association’s Song of the Year award, which happened last year. He could lord that over her, but no. Instead, he’s incredibly deferential. He knows it’s not about him, and how lucky he is to be where he is in that moment. It’s probably something he’s dreamed of for years, but thought could never happen. (Bonus points to him for not being afraid to sing “I work in the market as a checkout girl.”)

And after a long time away from the stage, and being grossly overlooked by the music industry (I am not familiar with the details, but I understand she was vastly underpaid for “Fast Car,” and possibly all of her other music, despite her success), Tracy Chapman radiates the gentle glow of an introvert who maybe hasn’t performed for too long, and realizes how much she’s missed it. Who is maybe equally in awe that her song, 35 years later, won that award and is experiencing a resurgence she couldn’t have predicted, brought on by a young white guy who was probably the last person she’d have imagined would have loved it so much that he had to record it for himself…and in the process, she finally got paid appropriately for her work.

More than that, though, there’s a genuine sense of respect and appreciation between the two of them that’s visible on stage, and not just at the end, where you can’t miss it. That’s really where I think the tears come from. (We could dig into the many ways in which it’s also a powerful expression of unity among unlikely colleagues, and how the duet itself bridges divides, but that’s another topic for another day.)

For me, that’s where the magic of music, creativity, and collaboration lie—respect, appreciation, and the sheer love of what you’re doing. As someone who started singing in choirs around age 4 and hasn’t stopped, and who really started to feel and understand the incredible nature of that level of collaboration in my college choir, it stands out to me as the one of the most amazing moments any of us can experience. Not everyone can come together in a single moment, fueled by respect, appreciation, and pure love for what they do the way these two musicians did Sunday night.

It’s not limited to music, though I sometimes think it might be easiest to find it there. That sense of flow, coupled with wonder and even transcendence, has happened to me while doing improv and while writing, too, though that’s a solo pursuit. It’s not always easy to land there, but when it does, there’s nothing else like it in the world.

When we’re really tuned in to our own creative voices, it’s easier to achieve that kind of connection. I’m working on a program to help people reconnect with that voice so they can experience more of those moments regardless of their particular creative pursuit, and I hope many more awe-inspiring work and collaborations will come from it.

(If you’re feeling disconnected from your own creative voice, I would love to get your input and insights as I design this course. Absolutely NO selling—I don’t have anything to sell yet—just listening! Hit reply and I’ll get back to you right away!)