[On May 21, 1901, Connecticut enacted the first speed-limit law in American history (freakin’ Connecticut, am I right anyone who has to drive through New England?!). So for the 125th anniversary of that groundbreaking legislation, this week I’ll AmericanStudy cultural representations of fast cars, leading up to a weekend post on the Fast & Furious franchise!]
Three moments from Tracy Chapman’s brilliant song that together reflect its multilayered depiction of the fantasies and realities of fast cars.
- “You got a fast car/I want a ticket to anywhere”: I don’t know if it was intentional (although Chapman’s extensive knowledge of music history suggests to me if likely was), but to my mind the iconic first lines of Chapman’s song echo the even more iconic first lines of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run”: “In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American Dream/At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines.” Both speakers seem to recognize that the promises offered by these respective fast cars are at best vague (“ticket to anywhere”) and at worst overtly dangerous (“suicide machines”). Yet I would argue that both moments nonetheless and most importantly argue that for those who feel stuck in settings and situations they rightly would like to escape, a fast car (or really any car that can take them, as Chapman’s speaker puts it, “Just ‘cross the border and into the city”) is indeed a vehicle for potential change.
- “Speed so fast, it felt like I was drunk”: Moreover, such changes aren’t just found in major life alterations such as a move to a new setting—they can also be simple moments of joy such as the memory on which Chapman’s chorus focuses. That chorus begins “I remember when we were driving, driving in your car,” and then adds, “Speed so fast, it felt like I was drunk.” Given that the speaker’s father has “got a problem” with “the bottle,” and that eventually her significant other “stay[s] out drinking late at the bar” most nights, the feeling of drunkenness might be a sign that this memory wasn’t quite as positive as it seemed. But at the same time, it wasn’t the only thing that this fast car moment made her feel: his “arm felt nice wrapped ‘round [her] shoulder”; and she “had a feeling that [she] belonged” and “could be someone.” Even if those feelings tragically haven’t panned out by the song’s endpoint (although things aren’t over, on which more in a moment), that doesn’t make them any less moving and meaningful.
- “Is it fast enough so you can fly away?”: One of my favorite songwriting choices is when a repeated line in a song changes slightly but significantly (I call it the “I, Too” effect), and “Fast Car” features one of the smartest such shifts. Early in the song, the speaker says, “You got a fast car/Is it fast enough so we can fly away?/We gotta make a decision/Leave tonight or live and die this way.” And in the final lines, she says, “You got a fast car/Is it fast enough so you can fly away?/You gotta make a decision/Leave tonight or live and die this way.” Among other striking layers, this shift potently reframes the song’s first line (“You got a fast car”), making that titular vehicle into a possible escape for only the speaker’s significant other, away from her and the life they’ve built together, rather than an opportunity for them to change their shared setting and story. We will never know whether the car was indeed fast enough for him to fly away, but now, for the first time in the song, we don’t want that to be the case—because, as Connecticut knew in 1901, some speeds are just too destructive.
Next car culture conversation tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you think? Car culture works you’d highlight?
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