That’s Life: Music brings us together
The world paused on Feb. 4. Or at least it seemed to. Things have been so very hard for so very long. Maybe you didn’t notice. Maybe you think it’s the norm. It’s not. There’s plenty of sunshine, stars shining, but we’ve too been mired in despair to notice.
It could be seasonal stress disorder, but if we ever get some real snow, we’ll be starting our days with Jell-O shots. Even parents. It could have something to do with astrology. I overheard something about Capricorn, and Mercury being in retrograde. And a bad moon rising.
It didn’t matter. Sacred things were afoot when the great Joni Mitchell appeared at the Grammys, against all odds, to bookend her iconic song, “Both Sides Now,” released 56 years ago when she was 24. By then, she’d already overcome a lifetime of of challenges. Polio. A child put up for adoption. Divorce. Then, she was a witness through the eyes of youth.
Now, at 80, emerging from the ravages of a stroke, sitting, a queen among reverential musicians and singers, singing in a lower register now, she finally shared her view from the other side of the song, growing stronger with each verse.
There were no revelations. No answers. Emerging was enough.
Things really have gone to hell because in that moment, everyone—everyone watching in the world—suddenly got dust in their eyes. Coulda been DDT. “Give me spots on my apples, but leave me the birds and the bees,” she once sang.
I’m not crying. You’re crying.
In that moment, like all the cells that comprise a heart, we were one. Beating. Ka-thump. In unison. Beating. Resilience was the message of the day.
Another chapter was taught by Tracy Chapman that night. I suppose I’m oblivious because I had no idea that there was any controversy surrounding her hopeful lament about inner city poverty and sacrifice, “Fast Car,” being covered by Luke Combs.
Some felt it was inappropriate for a big ol’ white cowboy to hijack a song written by a gay black woman. Gay? Never even considered it. I just saw it as a celebration of a great song by a great songwriter languishing in the shadows of the past.
The roots of our discontent go back to Elvis Presely who had big hits with otherwise obscure black songs. Was he a carpetbagger or did he open the door for black artists? I’m not sure there’s a definitive answer; more so perspective.
It was 1988. I was working radio in Juneau when “Fast Car” appeared in rotation. Even amidst the mayhem of the morning show, I was mesmerized by the depth of the song, always stopped to listen.
At the Grammys, the cameras focused on a hand picking out the notes of the song and slowly panned upward as the cheers swelled until the lens captured the beatific smile of the songwriter, grayhaired now, but strong, her voice rich as loamy black soil of the good earth.
Combs, worshipful, was Robin. Kato. Dr. Watson. No interloper.
God, it was beautiful.
After 36, years, Tracy Chapman’s song shot to #1 on on the charts last week. Combs’ version was at #6. Luke Combs’ heart, buried beneath the chest of a left tackle, was obvious when the song ended. He adores Tracy Chapman. Celebrates her time in the sun. He couldn’t have predicted this, but he waded in with pure intent when he covered the song, and sometimes that’s all it takes.
Suddenly, Tracy Chapmen is back. A resonant voice speaking truth. Justice. A voice yearning to be heard. “Fast Car” made it to #6 on the charts in 1988. Another song, a greater song, “Talkin’ ‘Bout a Revolution,” in Ronald Reagan’s conservative “morning in America,” peaked at #75. Too Political. Too against the tide. Too honest.
While they’re standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion Don’t you know Talking about a revolution?
It sounds like a whisper
Poor people gonna rise up
And get their share Poor people gonna rise up
And take what’s theirs
God bless Tracy Chapman and Joni Mitchell. They’ve caused us to think. Challenged us. Reminded us that the world is a beautiful place. And that there’s always hope.