Once the bass begins to hum across the speakers, the car transforms. It is no longer an automobile capable of getting me from point A to point B.
It is now a mobile stage geared up for my top performance. The acoustics are crystal clear. The steering wheel is my mic and my drums. My air guitar is perfectly tuned.
The car is my place to really belt out my favorites. To grind my hips to the Black Keys while I fantasize about Dan Auerbach and sing along with all the soul I can give.
I think about my life and really apply all my heart to the Alabama Shakes.
I groove like I’ve never grooved before to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings.
The Kills and the Deadweather get all my sass, the very best of my sass.
When I need to slow down and nod my head to stoner jams, I play Graveyard.
Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears get all my smiles.
The worst days, I just play Eyehategod and wail my frustrations into the empty spaces until the appropriate amount of levity has been reached.
Some days I get bluesy with Janis or Buddy Guy. Other days, it’s an air guitar on straightaways with Jimi.
The Sword gets the days when I’m ready to let my brain trip over the notes as they stumble together, and Red Fang is the best choice for stumbling over lyrics and not giving a shit if they’re only half right because they’re distorted and unclear yet begging to be sung.
No matter the tunes I choose to fit my mood, being in the car is my time to shine like no one is fucking watching whether I’m stopped at a red light or driving on a country road, and I’m okay with that. Traveling along at 60 mph while my Lancer transforms into a midnight blue stage and I become the headliner for the evening is the best sort of roadtrip even if it’s just down the block to the store. On longer trips it’s even better. Sometimes on my 13 hour treks to Texas, that stage is the only thing that keeps me awake…
That and the fear I get every time I cross into Louisiana thinking about that time I stopped at a random truck stop to pee and saw two live tigers in cages in the parking lot ready to get rid of any evidence that my body may have been in that area at any time….needless to say I don’t stop in Louisiana for bathroom breaks anymore.
This is part of Sunday Confessions with More than Cheese and Beer. Check out everyone else who linked up today on her blog!