Strangers' Playlist 2025

Those of you who have stuck with me and my writing know about the tradition my daughter and I began 3 years ago: the Strangers' Playlist. It has been our way of connecting with the strangers we meet on our road trips through music. We get to take a little piece of each person we encounter as a way to bank memories.

We try to go into each year with no preconceived notion regarding what we will collect for our list. It would be unlikely to be given another classical piece or license to choose the artists when offered jazz standards like last year. Considering we were going to be traveling through the Pacific Northwest, I could not help but wonder if we would end up with a list heavy on folksy indie and some nostalgic 90s grunge. We got neither. What we did get were true reflections of what could be impressed upon us within the first few seconds of meeting all of our strangers.

Heceta Head, OR

A first for this year's Strangers' Playlist occurred before we even left Atlanta. Nerd and I were bunking at my uncle's house since he's close to the airport and we had an early flight. Considering he lives in a walkable neighborhood, we took a stroll toward a number of options for dinner. Nerd was drawn to an establishment called La Moon, an Asian restaurant where the lighting was so dim, the hostess had to use her phone torch to check orders and the cocktails all came with a flourish of a bird feather clipped to the rim. The place was clearly popular enough that the kitchen log jammed, and all the servers stressed they would be stiffed on their tips. We were in no hurry and offered calm to our server, Lucas.

Once plates began to hit tables and the staff's anxiety quelled, we got the chance to chat with Lucas. Nerd let him know how much she loved his tattoos. We learned he was from New Jersey (where he caught the tattoo bug), that the garlic green beans we had ordered motivated him to eat more vegetables, and that he had a baby on the way. When I asked him which of his tattoos would be his favorite, he pointed to his neck where the Japanese character for "music" peeked out from under his collar.

"Are you a musician?" I asked.

"I'm trying to start a rap career," Lucas told us. Nerd and I locked eyes, knowing this would be where our 2025 list saw its inception. We told him about our Strangers' Playlist, and he was all in. He directed me to Spotify and talked about where he had performed shows since he moved to the city.

And so the list began with a song delivered from the artist himself. Blanco Rabs, as he calls himself, with his favorite song "What I Seen". Neither Nerd nor I could stop talking about him the length of our walk back to my uncle's house. We even brought him up from time to time while cruising Highway 101 on the west coast, sending him positive energy we hoped he could sense from a couple thousand miles away.

Our flight touched down in Portland where we were shocked to see sunshine after leaving record amounts of spring rain back in Georgia. We picked up our Rav4 and immediately drove south. The lure of the Redwoods called, and we had an Airstream rental waiting for us on the California coast. The Airstream's owners were new at the rental game, and we were new to using said Airstream. So everyone was on a learning curve when it came to Wifi hiccups, checking the breaker box to reset outlets, and even property damage.

Yep. I somehow managed to break glass in the Airstream--which yes, I am a known klutz, but I'm always so careful with other people's stuff. I was trying to fold back the glass cover on the stove, and the panel must have hit the perfect spot of cleavage because that thing shattered, leaving the handle in my fingers.

Many texts were exchanged since I was in fear of accidentally doing something more woeful, like knocking the RV off its leveling blocks. But the owner, Pete, happened to be a special education teacher, which means he possesses the patience to wait for a glacier to melt. Which also means he had patience for my side of the aforementioned learning curve. When presented with the request for a song as we packed our car, he responded with the same enthusiasm as Lucas back in Atlanta. Pete gave us a song to match the state from where we were departing: "California" by Tom Petty.

As we drove up Highway 101, it was obvious to west coast locals we were mere travelers. We showed up to beaches in our knit caps while they dressed as we do for the Gulf in late spring. This was their season. Tourists like ourselves brought money and curiosity beyond our need to dress more warmly. It was from these locals we gathered tunes from Billy Joel, Wailin' Jennys, and John Prine before our strangers retreated from the fullness of their days for their inland homes. We even had a Portland transplant get so excited to be asked for songs, he grabbed a pen and paper to jot down four, and then he fist bumped both of us before we parted. We were excited that one of his contributions on his list was from an artist from our home: Kishi Bashi.

Our rule on making song requests from strangers was stretched a little when we made it up to Washington. My friend, Sammy, had invited us to visit his family's farm in Camas/Washougal. We met the pigs and a black cat named BK for Barn Kitty. And while we made plans for lunch, Sammy's parents drove up. I hadn't expected to meet them, but we shook hands and eased right into conversation about southern hospitality, bad builders, and hockey. Before getting in our cars for lunch, I told Sammy's parents about our Strangers' Playlist. Sammy's dad gave us songs from The Georgia Satellites and Taj Mahal. But it was his mom gave us one I never would have expected. With a straight face in her Iowa T-shirt she gave no hesitation in offering Blackstreet's "No Diggity". Moments like this make me fall in love with strangers.

As I write this, I'm sitting at the bar in my hotel in Denver. Tonight was supposed to be the second time where I would get to see my favorite band in Seattle, and I was to have the company of the handsome man I had been dating back in the winter. After realizing that I would never be his first choice, I ended the relationship and put my focus on this trip to Colorado. The purpose is to celebrate 35 years of friendship with Christy, my best friend, and no break-up or loss of concert tickets was going to lay lamentations to it. My bartender, Erica, pops over to talk about getting older and relationships and how excited she is to meet Christy. She is trying to boss my southern ass upstairs to put on a dress and go meet locals at a bar around the corner. She's one of many strangers I've bonded with instantly since I arrived yesterday. I don't ask strangers for song contributions when I travel alone. But today, I got to swap artists with Anthony, my Uber driver with a Rhode Island accent thicker than clam chowder. He gave me the funk band JJ Grey & Mofro, and I gave him the Australian blues band, The Teskey Brothers. A variation on a theme, but still a gift from a stranger when I'm far from home.

Here's the link to this year's Strangers' Playlist if you'd like to listen to it!