I recently posted BANG’s latest newsletter on Facebook, expressing my pride and gratitude that the company I started in 1989 was celebrating its 35th anniversary. Got a lot of love for that post, including a note from the Publisher & Editorial Director of SHOOT, Roberta Griefer, offering her congratulations and suggesting I write a new column for SHOOT. It’s been a few years, but some may recall that I once wrote a monthly (sometimes) column under the name “Earwitness” about music and popular culture. BANG now rotates around the sun under the leadership of my brilliant partner, Brian Jones. And instead of writing about music these days, I’m attempting to finish a book with the title “Uniting the States of America.” Let me just say: it was a hell of a lot easier writing about Adele, Taylor Swift and The Weeknd than writing about the divisiveness in our country and how to “fix” things.
Still, flattering of Roberta to ask, so here I am, taking a break from the book that’s crushing my soul. But I’ll make it easy on myself and share some thoughts about music I’ve written into the book, starting with the Epilogue, which I also call the Encore:
Encore (Epilogue)
Just as I was finishing this book the 66th annual Grammy Awards came on the air. February 5th, 2024. I wasn’t expecting it, but suddenly heard the familiar opening acoustic guitar notes of “Fast Car,” the poignant folk hit written and recorded by Tracy Chapman in 1988. 35 years later. In 2023, it was covered by country music singer Luke Combs, for whom it became a Number One Country hit and winner of the CMA Award for Song of the Year. Now the two of these very different performers were sharing the Grammy stage, singing “Fast Car” as a duet, each looking at the other with respect and love. My eyes started to well up, watching this small Black woman with her elegant grey dreadlocks and this big, bearded white guy, recreating her work of art together. Their voices blended perfectly, each with the sense of hope and longing the poetic words evoke. The audience was mesmerized, as if listening to a sermon in a church service, and at the conclusion of the performance immediately rose for a standing ovation. Luke Combs pointed to Tracy Chapman, then bowed to her.
I went to YouTube to view the original video for “Fast Car.” It now has millions of new views, of course, following that Grammy performance. Scrolling through the many comments, this one caught my attention: “I’m a metal head and not even a fan but that brought my bearded ass to tears.” And I thought, “Somewhere in that one line is my American pie-in-the-sky fantasy, about what could be.” God bless these United States.
Many pages before that hopeful epilogue/encore, in a chapter called “Tribes,” music serves as one example of ways in which technology (social media, streaming services) have divided us into likeminded groups (tribes). Not in all bad ways, mind you, but in simple, easy to understand ways. Back to “Fast Car”—it was written and recorded in 1988, one year before the start of BANG. It would be nearly two decades before the launch of music and video streaming services (Spotify 2008, Netflix 2007-8). So back then, we all heard Tracy’s heart-wrenching song. If you listened to popular radio, it was in rotation. If you watched MTV, it was in rotation as well. And that memory is the reason Luke Combs could cover it and make it a hit all over again. If the song had been written and recorded 35 years later, I’m not sure it would have touched so many of us, or what subgenera it might have been placed in.
Spotify claims it has 100 million songs available for streaming. About the same for Apple Music. We create our own personal playlists, and the streaming services use algorithms to mimic our tastes and make and “recommend” new playlists for us. Thus, I have no idea what the hell you’re listening to–80 million paid subscribers, 80 million different playlists, isolated from each other in our headphones and EarPods. So it’s really not surprising that so many popular songs from the ‘70s and ‘80s are licensed for commercials and soundtracks. And why so many artists from those days, and before, are able to sell their catalogs for hundreds of millions of dollars. No need to Shazam that song–we all know it well enough for a karaoke performance in the bar.
Of course most of us will definitely hear an Adele, Taylor or The Weeknd song when it flies up the charts. And brands will probably be licensing a few of them 35 years from now. Hopefully Gen Alpha can report back to us on that in 2059, when BANG will be celebrating its 70th. Staying tuned!
Lyle Greenfield is the founder of Bang Music and past president of the Association of Music Producers (AMP)
