Leave tonight or live and die this way
Let's think of Tracy Chapman while honouring a great romance of her life, walk through the snow in New York City alone on Valentine's Day and see things we shouldn't as a kid. We'll also make granola!
Welcome to All The Songs. We use “soundtrack” as a verb here.
Listening
So many of us have been enjoying a moment of appreciating Tracy Chapman since her appearance on stage at the 2024 Grammys singing her best-known hit ‘Fast Car’ with the young upstart who covered it, Sam Combs.
Nostalgia for what the track means to us abounds, along with acknowledgement for the skill of her heart-tugging and politically frank songwriting. The album that ‘Fast Car’ originally featured on includes songs about poverty, violence against women, racism, and an acapella track about hearing domestic violence next door but knowing the Police were unlikely to interfere/help (‘Behind The Wall’). Alongside all that seriousness there was also the sweet chart-topper ‘Baby Can I Hold You’.
The percussion introduction to ‘Fast Car’ before Chapman’s guitar playing comes in gets to me. The tap-ta-ta-tap is the recognisable moment that lets me know I’m in for an emotional ride, if I pay attention to its lyrics. That sound was played by Denny Fongheiser, a drummer and producer who also worked with Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Nicks, Peter Frampton, and played on a little number called ‘Mr Jones’ by Counting Crows.
‘Fast Car’ is a song that strikes so many people in the heart because it tells a sad story about economically struggling people who are suffering in a system that is unlikely to ever see them succeed further. The high school drop out protagonist rises from employment in a convenience store to a grocery store, sure, but how much money are they likely to save when on such low wages in the first place?
The song’s protagonist is underprivileged and also honourable - they put their own ambitions and education aside to take care of their ailing alcoholic father. That hard work surely deserves a reward. But the protagonist who “always hoped for better” is trying to rely on someone who has a fast car yet spends more time getting pissed than they do parenting their children (“You stay out drinking late at the bar, see more of your friends than you do your kids”). Is that pair really likely to be homeowners in the suburbs by now?
The other side of the song’s suckerpunch is its relatability. Whether you’ve ever lived in a shelter or not, we have all felt insignificant and had moments of wondering if we could “be someone”.
There is urgency and a warring hopelessness and optimism in the line that give’s today’s edition of All The Songs its title, “leave tonight or live and die this way”. The dream of being able to just “keep on driving” away from everything that burdens you towards an imaginary future, with the comfort of someone’s arm around your shoulder, is seductive. We all have alternate lives we think of flying away to - one of mine is in Melbourne, a cool city where I have several great friends. For about twenty years I’ve harboured the reassuring fantasy that if it all turns to shit, I can always move to Melbourne. When sulking I’ve even looked up apartment listings and job advertisements, noted the location of gyms and saltwater pools and hot yoga studios I might frequent in this imaginary alternate life. Like the escapist dream of the protagonist of ‘Fast Car’ though, it does not exist. I live here. Not there.
I went through my Tracy Chapman belated obsession phase two years ago.
What sparked it was that I read Pulitzer-prize winning writer Alice Walker’s journals from 1965-2000, Gathering Blossoms Under Fire.
In the 537 page book she describes intimately all her thoughts, concerns, fears and loves over several decades. She writes a lot about her relationship with writing - her aims and hopes - and plenty of mundane worries about day-to-day life and money. She has several romantic relationships throughout the course of the book. A lot happens in the period of her life the book covers: she becomes a mother, she writes and publishes The Color Purple (there’s a breathtaking page in her journals where she writes out the first page of the iconic novel in full, by hand, and not a word is changed from that first perfect scribble to how it was ultimately published in the book), she goes through the process of working with Steven Spielberg on the film of The Color Purple, and she falls in love Tracy Chapman.
They met in person one October day in London in 1992. Chapman, wearing jeans and boots, baked a coffee cake and brought it to Walker. “We ate pasta and salad and talked for five hours. I found her sweet, smart, beautiful and very intelligent,” Alice Walker wrote in her journal later that day. By December, Walker was giving Chapman foot rubs at her “cozy, just right” ranch (you could glimpse the sea from the ranch on a clear day).
They welcomed the start of 1993 with a date. Chapman drove over in her black Mercedes. The women exchanged gifts (a painting to Chapman from Walker, a book called How To Be Your Dog’s Best Friend to Walker from Chapman). “I love her darkness. Her big black eyes. Her white teeth. Enchanting. And all this with her voice, so rich and compelling,” Walker wrote.
Four months later, she wrote “thoughts of Tracy ever present”. In the time between January and April, they’d spent time together dancing, cooking, watching movies, making love. “I finally felt how love can feel when the beloved is someone you completely respect, feel proud of and admire,” she wrote, aged 48.
She was infatuated.
“Wide, wide, wide awake! I woke thinking of Tracy. Remembering the curve of her leg when she’s driving. The whiteness of her teeth when she smiles. The way she covers her face when she sleeps. The way I feel when she arrives and when she’s driving away. How in the mornings I love to invite her into my arms.”
And yet, by early 1995 she writes how she has become “weary” of Chapman. “Tracy admits sadness,” she writes. They drift apart, but keep in touch.
In late 1995, Chapman released the album New Beginnings.
If you think Jake Gyllenhaal must feel crappy when he hears Taylor Swift’s song about their relationship, ‘All Too Well’, just imagine how Alice Walker feels hearing the biggest hit of Chapman’s album New Beginnings: ‘Gimme One Reason’, written during their break up.
(Alice Walker is twenty years older than Tracy Chapman, hence the line “this youthful heart can love you”.)
Reading
As above, I recommend Alice Walker’s journals from 1965-2000, Gathering Blossoms Under Fire. Another romance within it to tempt you is a powerful connection between her and Quincy Jones. Years of yearning.
Watching
Sometimes streaming services fail us. They don’t have everything, as I know well from bitter experience - almost nowhere has all the old 1930s Joan Crawford films I like.
Lately we’ve been watching the first seasons of the TV show Fargo on DVDs borrowed from the library.
I’ve also been sleeping less well since watching detective shows before bed. Is there a link?
Cooking
I made a batch of Molly Wizenberg’s “Maybe he’s right” granola, with dried apricots, and it was mighty fine.
Everyone I’ve Ever Loved & All The Songs That Remind Me Of Them
For this memoir-by-playlist project, I write 500 words on my memories of a song. These vignettes offer a glimpse in to the rich and varied emotions we all experience in our lifetimes through showing a brief slice of my life at a particular time, in how I relate to a certain song. What the music brings up might be shallow or it could be intense. The memory may be joyful or thick with sorrow, a reflection on pleasure or a heavy exploration of fear. Whatever emotions a song dredges up from the spectrum of human feeling, they are true.
I remember snippets alongside songs. This is the soundtrack to my life. Let me be clear: Everyone I’ve Ever Loved & All The Songs That Remind Me Of Them is not a curated selection of the coolest songs I want to associate myself with. Some of them are my jam, others are trashy and catchy - all manner of music has been part of my life.
This project invites the reader to consider, where does this song take you? What does it remind you of? Where were you in your life when you last listened to this track?
‘I Can’t Dance’ by Genesis
I have bunk beds at our house on Oak Street. White bunk beds. I like to climb on to the top one and sleep up there like I’m on an island, like I’m marooned all alone in safety where nobody can reach me. I learn to live off the land on my island, figure out how to cook roots from trees. I’ll be able to sustain myself somehow. I don’t need anyone.
I’ve just started a new school again, and I am tired all the time.
We share the flat with a chubby brunette who speaks loudly. She’s garish. She has several pairs of cowboy boots.
S is staying with us. He almost always wears tight jeans that have a tear at the knee, a t shirt and a leather jacket. Sometimes a white singlet instead of a t shirt, but that’s usually just at home.
He’s got lots of tattoos, more than mum. Mum’s just got one on her ankle. S has a cross tattooed on his thumb joint, on his left hand, and a skull on his right forearm. He’s got smaller symbols down his arms and on the meaty part of his right hand is an ankh. Mum says that’s an ancient symbol.
His hair is curly and he wears it long. It goes past his shoulders when it’s out. He often has it in a ponytail. He keeps hair ties on his wrist. He rolls his cigarettes by hand and sometimes gets a fleck of tobacco leftover on his lip. He licks it away and swallows it when that happens.
Come on, come on, he says to the TV, as the balls with numbers on them roll around on screen. I like watching Lotto to see what the lady is wearing. That’s why I like Wheel of Fortune and The Generation Game too. But I also like to see the balls going round. It’s exciting.
Yes! Steven cries as a 7 rolls out.
Ohh, come on, come on, he says again when the balls begin rolling in their cage.
Yes! He yells again, when the number is 19. That’s it. Oh my god, Jaz. You’ll never believe it. I won. We’ve won.
We talk about everything we’ll buy, everywhere we go and everything we’ll do with the money then he cracks up and tears the ticket. Nah just jokes, we didn’t win. Maybe next week.
S and I are alone in the house one day and I’m watching the music videos on TV. He’s fumbling around on the other side of the room. The Genesis song ‘I Can’t Dance’ is on, which confuses me, because the guy says he can’t sing while he is singing. What does that mean?
Don’t look, S says, so I turn away from the three men in black suits marching across a white screen and look at him. He has a syringe poised at the crook of his elbow. Don’t tell your mother, he winks. I look back at the TV.
‘Always See Your Face’ by Love
It has been snowing overnight. I don’t want to lose my New York time, my outdoor time, so I try to trudge through the snow. I want to make it to Jack’s on West 10th Street, just for something to do.
I stop on on Perry Street and film the snow falling on to a black car with a Philadelphia plate, snowflakes settling on my hair. This is the first time I’ve seen city snow falling. This is light but extensive snow, it is snow that has settled in for the day. It’s going to fall for a while. This is the entire sky, raining fluffy snowflakes in a steady shower. The whole city is becoming coated in snow. I take a photo of dog paw prints left in the snow that has gathered on the sidewalk.
There aren’t many other people out on the street and I wonder if I’m being foolish. ‘New Zealand tourist goes out in a snowstorm to see the magical New York snow (no regrets, it was magical)’, I post on Instagram as a caption for the dog paw prints in the snow picture. I worry that my shoes, R M Williams dress boots, aren’t designed for withstanding being partially submerged in snow but decide they’ve already gotten snow on them now so another hour or so of the same treatment can’t do too much more damage.
The next day is Valentine’s Day. The sun is out and the sky is clear. I walk through the slushy melting snow to get a latte at a coffee shop a block or so East from The Jane, then start to wander. I duck in to The Grey Dog on Carmine Street and ask for a table for one. The Love song ‘Always See Your Face’ is playing. The guy behind the counter serving me has red glitter dusted on his cheekbones. I sense he’s done this on purpose for fashion, it is not a careless smear leftover from the night before. I order scrambled eggs with home fries and filter coffee. I don’t know what home fries are, that’s not a term we use at home, but I do understand it is something to do with potato. I’m expecting maybe chunks of potato, roasted like you might do in the oven at home, or potato hash cakes. It surprises me when a plate of French fries arrives with my scrambled eggs. I eat over half of them.
I end up walking to Tompkins Square Park, where I sit on a bench in the weak winter sunshine and watch the dogs and their owners. I miss my dog, who is at a boarding kennel back home. I watch a pug lolloping across the fenced dog run. After about half an hour - I’ll later tell people it was two hours, for dramatic effect - I keep walking. I head downtown and get myself a little lost on purpose. I just walk on. My head is clear, calm, cool and collected.
Previous instalments of Everyone I’ve Ever Loved & All the Songs That Remind Me Of Them
Thank you for reading! Jazial x