In “Pulse,” columnist Madisyn Cunningham ’27 reviews albums that spotlight the Black Queer experience.
“Fast Car” by Tracy Chapman has been a cultural staple for many, many years. Released in 1988, its allure has never faded, and it’s one of those songs you know all the lyrics to without remembering ever hearing it for the first time. The famous guitar riff never gets old, and the story — a young person trying their hardest to break cycles of poverty and trauma to be able to love their lover freely — is heartbreakingly relatable in a way few modern love songs are.
Famous country singer Luke Combs covered the track in 2023. Since then, a younger generation has been able to enjoy “Fast Car,” but largely at the expense of Tracy Chapman’s recognition for her genius.
His rendition reached #1 on the Hot Country Songs chart and #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 (Chapman’s version reached #6 in 1988). Combs has done an amazing job at making sure he honors Chapman at every turn, even refusing to change the lyrics to ones that better fit a male singer. Even so, some listeners have proclaimed that his version is better than the original, much to the dismay of many Chapman fans.
Chapman, an American folk-pop artist, holds a special place in my heart. She turned 60 this year, and her mere existence as an older Black queer woman — with locs like mine — fills me with hope and excitement about my future. She writes about love so carefully, appreciating that her ability to do so openly isn’t guaranteed. “For My Lover,” along with many of her other tracks, show just how much she will do for love. In it, she sings, “The things we won’t do for love / I’d climb a mountain if I had to / Risk my life so I could have you / You, you, you…”
Chapman writes about her love with gratitude at the forefront; instead of focusing on how love makes her feel, she affirms that she will channel everything she has into giving love to her partner, creating a listening experience that feels deeply personal.
Her abundance of gratitude makes sense when you consider how she became a global phenomenon 36 years ago. In June of 1988, the Artists Against Apartheid held a concert to celebrate Nelson Mandela’s 70th birthday. After Stevie Wonder refused to take the stage due to technical difficulties, Chapman agreed to perform. The crowd, excited to hear Wonder, was rowdy at first, but was promptly stunned to silence by the young singer’s artistry. She had won over the masses, and millions flocked to buy her self-titled album in the following weeks, making her an overnight sensation.
Consistent with her performance at Mandela’s birthday concert, Chapman has never shied away from using her music to share political messages. She was originally at the fateful concert to perform a short set that consisted of songs like “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” and “Behind the Wall,” ones that explicitly name societal issues and call them out. These songs bring light to the invisible lines that have been drawn between Black and white societies, and speculate, with cautious hope, about what life would look like if they were dissolved. She writes about the police force’s lack of urgency when it comes to situations involving Black women, and the perils of racist violence that remain unsolved.
“Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” looks at these issues and turns them on their head, telling listeners that poor people will not sit and take this mistreatment, and that they will rise up in revolt. This song, which begins the album, and therefore her discography entirely, inspires those listening to lock arms and stick together through the tough times — a message that we need more than ever in 2024.
Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.
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