AT WHAT stage in your life did you start listening to music as an album, as a collection of songs producing a single, physical being?
As a teenager growing up in the ‘80s, my introduction to music came from my older brothers. They bought long-playing albums and cassette tapes. Basil Valdez’ Corner of the Sky (1980), Martin Nievera’s Take 1 (1983), Tears for Fears’ Songs from the Big Chair (1985), Peter Gabriel’s So (1986), Sting’s Nothing Like the Sun (1987), and Tracy Chapman’s Tracy Chapman (1988) were some of the records that I remember occupying the rooms in the house. There was something melodic about the whole thing — holding the cardboard or glass packaging, listening from start to end, no skipping of tracks, absorbing the cover art and sleeve notes. Like a ritual, a whole-body experience, that’s how it was.
Those early years developed a way of approaching music, and even without any scientific basis on hand, that habit, for me, is the reason why to this day I still know Tracy Chapman’s debut album. How Talkin’ Bout a Revolution opens a tale, and Fast Car quietly but ferociously takes you for a spin, followed by the anguish of Across the Lines and Behind the Wall and the tender surprise of Baby Can I Hold You, making up the first five tracks of the record. A burnt chocolate cover, a solitary figure of a woman. Her album was a treasure of simple but piercing songwriting and vocals so rich it continued to linger on your mind long after you press stop.
Almost 40 years later, that self-titled album and Fast Cars both became No. 1 on iTunes in the United States. How did that happen?
Tracy Chapman performed the song at the 66th Grammy Awards, more than 30 years after winning Best Pop Vocal Performance at the 1989 Grammys and more than 15 years since being on tour. In the wee hours of the morning, I found a video of the entire performance — with country singer Luke Combs, who had covered the song last year and introduced it to another generation.
I heard the familiar opening guitar chords and the stunned crowd getting loud as the lights showed Tracy Chapman smiling, rarely, ever so widely. I heard a beat that was livelier than the original, a grown man singing “I work in the market as a checkout girl,” a blending of harmony, style, and power. In that six-minute timeframe, there were goosebumps and all sorts of emotions building up. My heart swelled with the audience when the song ended, and I kept playing it all over, wanting more.
Music is one of the things that bring life to the living. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, my habits have changed. Buying the physical object is no longer my norm. Listening is now per track. On the digital platform, I jump from one artist to another. There are algorithms and instant access and sometimes that could lead to inertia. Nostalgia often makes one long for the past, but in this case, appreciating the rituals from my youth has revealed music to me again and it would do me well to welcome that promising interlude.
Fast Cars stood out then and it stood out again this year. Music is revolution. Keep on driving./PN
