Tracy Chapman, Luke Combs remind us what unites, even now
Years ago, just as we were tiptoeing on the precipice of this divisive valley, a college professor and friend shared that there was more uniting us than dividing us. More in common than in conflict.
She cited four areas where we shared more than what sliced us.
Sports was one of them. We don’t all root for the same jerseys but that we root is a common passion.
Food is another shared space. We may enjoy varied delicacies, but who doesn’t like good food?
Another area was family. Lord knows, we may not (most likely don’t) like all the folks with whom we share blood, but we will love them. And as we grow, we learn that the bond of “family” extends way beyond blood.
The fourth? Music.
The sounds, voices, melodies and lyrics that carry us through life may differ, but they carry each of us. They make us smile, make us bounce, make us sing (in tune or out), make us dance (on or off beat).
They still carry us.
And make us pause, at times. Make us sit within chords. Within words.
And made us do so even as music itself was divided — before a greedy industry divided and subdivided it into “race” music, “country” music in such ways that Jay Z has to take the stage and rant on about categories and God knows what else.
I didn’t know Luke Combs from Uncle Luke, honestly. No disrespect. None at all to the 33-year-old (huge) star who regularly sells out stadiums like they’re backyard popups. None either to country music, which I appreciate, honor and celebrate its rising embrace of the melting pot we are — even if I don’t know its Lukes.
I do know Tracy Chapman. I know “Fast Car.” I know the mesmerizing ballad I must have played a trazillion times almost 36 years ago when it debuted.
Played it when I needed lifting, when I needed peace.
When I needed to smile.
Luke Combs needed it, too. Needed it, though he was, what, not even yet born when Tracy captured us?
Needed it and learned to play it on his kid-acoustic guitar, mimicking her poignant, punctual, penetrating strums.
You got a fast car / I want a ticket to anywhere / Maybe we make a deal / Maybe together we can get somewhere
My wife made me watch the Grammys. Rather, I agreed to watch. I swore off awards shows long ago, but love makes you do …
Any place is better / Starting from zero, got nothing to lose / Maybe we’ll make somethin’ / Me, myself, I got nothing to prove
I knew, as soon as I saw the hands. Following Combs’ heartfelt video testimonial to “Fast Car” love. Of how this song crafted by a dark-skinned Black girl from Ohio became the life anthem for this white boy from North Carolina.
Of how he honored it, reviving it nearly three decades after its debut. Horning it in stadiums across the nation. Planting it anew.
Wonder what’s happened with Tracy? That was my thought as Combs’ testimonial aired.
Then, I knew — as soon as I saw the hands. As I heard the familiar poignant, punctual, penetrating strums.
You got a fast car / I got a plan to get us outta here / I been working at the convenience store / Managed to save just a little bit of money / Won’t have to drive too far / … Finally, see what it means to be living
Finally see what it means to elevate what we share even as we debate, dissect and digest what divides us.
In a few minutes on a Sunday night, I saw a young man so moved in sharing a stage with someone who moved him that I thought he might shed tears. I saw a young man who may not even realize he mouthed each lyric Chapman sang.
A young man who bowed in sincere reverence when their duet ended.
I’m not so naïve to think that what I saw in a few minutes Sunday night can still the tomfoolery in Washington, D.C., or inch us more toward what unites us than divides us.
More toward what we have in common than what conflicts us.
More toward what we share than slices us.
So I remember when we were drivin’, drivin’ in your car / Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk / City lights lay out before us / And your arm felt nice wrapped ’round my shoulder / And I had a feeling that I belonged / I had a feelin’ I could be someone / Be someone, be someone
Though fleeting as it may have been, it gave me a feeling that perhaps we could be. Again.
Be more than what we have too fast become.