I hop in my car and quickly put it in reverse. I’m running late for an appointment and don’t even have time to connect my phone.

Since my bluetooth isn’t connected yet, the radio comes on. I’ve forgotten the radio even exists. I pull out of parking lot and, now settled driving on the main road, start to connect my phone.

But something stops me. It’s a melody coming quietly out of the speakers, through static. I know this song.

It’s Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car, one of the most enduring and endearing songs of all time. Except, it isn’t Chapman singing.

Instead, the distinctive twang of a modern male country music singer delivers the iconic lines:

You got a fast car,
‍And I want a ticket to anywhere.
‍Maybe we make a deal,
‍Maybe together we can get somewhere.

I’m not a fan of country music. But something grabs me about this rendition. It’s authentic. It’s emotional. It’s moving.

I listen all the way to the end, when the DJ reveals it’s megastar Luke Combs.

And all I can think is…

How is this 21st century, southern suburban male country music star so connected to a 40-year-old song written by a black woman from Cleveland who was bullied with racially motivated assaults?

Tracy Chapman and Luke Combs have nothing in common

Chapman’s “Fast Car,” released in 1988, is a narrative of hope amid struggle.

Born into a challenging environment in Cleveland, Ohio, Chapman faced racial discrimination and societal hurdles.

Yet her music, full of life’s raw experiences, resonated globally, earning her multiple Grammy Awards. Her song captured the essence of yearning for a better life, a theme that, as we’ve now seen, knows no boundaries.

I know things will get better,
You’ll find work and I’ll get promoted.
We’ll move out of the shelter,
Buy a bigger house, live in the suburbs.

‍

Enter Luke Combs, a country music star from North Carolina.

His rendition of “Fast Car” is not just a performance; it’s an homage to his own past, filled with familial bonds and musical exploration. Listening to this song in his father’s truck, Combs found his first favorite song, a beacon in his musical journey.

You got a fast car,
Is it fast enough, so you can fly away?
You still gotta make a decision
Leave tonight, or live and die this way.

His cover gives new context to the original lyrics.

‍

We connect not in spite of our differences, but because of them

I’ve listened to Combs’ cover of Fast Car dozens of times since that day. And I’ve also returned many times to Chapman’s original.

Each time I flip back and forth I’m struck by how the exact same words set to the exact same melody can ‘read’ so differently.

This blend of old and new, different genres and backgrounds, speaks to a larger truth. It’s not about aligning our stories; it’s about embracing the unique notes each of us brings to the symphony of life.

Through the lens of empathy, we realize that these diverse melodies create a richer, more resonant harmony.

This isn’t just about a song; it’s a reminder of the profound connections we forge when we celebrate our distinct perspectives and find connection in our shared human experience.