chappell roan – ear-candy for the soul

music for dreamers, lovers, and feelers

by Alaire Kanes

I’m on the car ride home with my best friends. We’re piled in, with five in the middle seat and two curled up in the trunk. Don’t tell my mom! The sun roof is open, the windows are down, and the velvety summer air is funneling through our hair, blonde and brown and black waves weaving into each other. I can feel Isla’s hair fluttering on my ears, and her arms are squeezed next to mine. In that moment, I’m reminded of the many levels of connection she and I are making—physical, emotional, and something that feels almost spiritual. We’re driving down windy roads, and we’re practically levitating, we’re so full of glee. This is the kind of moment I will remember forever. It’s inexplicable, really. The depth of friendship created by young women in their early 20s is a force to be reckoned with.

Ella makes a left turn, onto the street we’ve driven down a million times, and the song changes. A beautiful piano scale begins to play, and seconds later, I hear the voice of teenage girlhood in Chappell Roan’s rich, haunting cadence.

“I know you wanted me to stay, but I can’t ignore the crazy visions of me in L.A.”

It’s as if time stops. We all freeze. No one’s singing, or laughing anymore.

“Who is this? What song is this?” someone whispers.

“Chappelle Roan, ‘Pink Pony Club,’” Ella whispers back. “I just found the song this morning on Spotify.”

Ella makes a right, and we’re by the beach now. There is so much love flowing through this vehicle. The darkness is so thick, but the moon is so bright that I can see the magnitude of life’s possibilities in front of me and all of a sudden Roan is belting “God, what have you done! / You’re a pink pony girl, / and you dance at the club/ Oh mama.”

The synth pulses. The electric guitar wails, glorious. Roan sings, and we sit, in silence, as the wind passes through the windows and the houses in our small suburban town pass by in a blur. I’m in the middle seat, feeling the allure of the sirenesque voice I hear. Amber’s hand is out the window, floating in the warm breeze. Isla is basking in the sheer sonic beauty ...