For The Love Of... Music: Be A Superstar In Your Own Car

We’re having a change of pace this week on the blog. I’m having fun with the Oklahoma Women Bloggers while we recognize the stuff we love during the season of love. Go check these ladies out. They have some pretty great blogs. In the meantime, I hope you’ll join in this valentine fun.

by Kristin Nador/@KristinNador

Love music?

I do. I’ve been a music lover ever since I heard Don McLean croon American Pie out of my mom’s clock radio in 1972.  All kinds of music, anything that had good lyrics. I love story songs. Country, rock, alternative, R&B, pop, classical. I love it all. And I love to sing. I have a quick memory for songs and can sing old standards or new classics at the drop of a hat. I harmonize with Michael Buble, I belt it out with Adele, I get my twang on with Reba, and do my best quirky indie-pop imitation with Gotye. If I could have made some different choices in life I would be in L.A. working with Clive Davis or in Nashville at the Grand Ole Opry or in NYC on Broadway.

Retro-tytöt finnish singing group, photo courtesy of motopark, creative commons

There’s only one problem.

I can’t sing.

Sure, physically, I can sing. I open my mouth and sounds come out. The fact these sounds are singing may be up for debate. It’s pretty bad. I’m not like many of the contestants on American Idol, who have somehow convinced themselves that despite being completely tone deaf or having the voice muscles of a mouse, that they are the next big thing. I have no delusions. I can’t sing.

But does that stop me from singing? No way. When I want to sing, I just go to my very own music studio. It has perfect acoustics, a basic mixing board to adjust the bass and treble, it’s even mobile. I sing in my car.

I’m sure you’ve seen me, driving around the streets of Tulsa. Sometimes my fingers are playing the steering wheel like a baby grand. My head is moving from side to side. And when I hit the high notes my mouth looks like a catfish on a trot line. You might see me, but I don’t see you. Because I’m in my music studio, where no one can hear me, no one can see me, and boy, do I sound great. I definitely need to tweet Alicia Keys and set up some time to jam.

I play it pretty cool here in the city, but when I get out on the highway, or even better, do some travelling, it’s all about the playlist. Did I pack my shoes, my underwear?

Who cares!

Do I have the right playlists?

There’s the driving karaoke playlist, the taste of folk playlist, the sentimental journey playlist, the spicy flavor playlist, and the red, white, and blue playlist. What did we do without Itunes? Oh yeah, spin that dial around until a singable song popped out. Playlists are definitely better. I can sing the same songs over and over and over.

Keeper Hubby loves that. He’s the only one privileged enough to be allowed to hear one of my concerts. I try not to overwhelm him with all my razzle dazzle. He knows that singing makes me happy, so he never complains, just endures. That’s why he’s a Keeper. The majority of my car singing has no audience to cheer me on. It’s just me, singing at the top of my lungs, to an audience of me.

That’s okay, I hear the applause in my head. It’s always a standing ovation. Maybe I should re-think the whole American Idol thing. I could be a superstar.

As long as I don’t roll down the window.

Do you sing in the car? Any other interesting places you sing? Tell us about it.

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