I’m heading east on the 134 freeway. I have a 40 minute drive ahead of me during which I was planning on making a much needed phone call and catching up on what’s happening on SiriusXM Hits 1. No better time to do these things than when en route to somewhere in my vehicle.
Only thing is, when I got in my car a little while ago, "Classic Vinyl" was on the dash. I know I should make that call and do my homework (listen to top 40)…I mean if you’re a professional songwriter, it’s essential to keep current. But there’s a problem: Nilsson’s “Everybody’s Talkin’” is playing. And there’s no way I’m turning it off.
I’m singing at the top of my lungs and I'm feeling insanely joyous. “I’m goin’ where the sun keeps shining through the pouring rain.” Oh, yes I am! Right here in Southern Cali where there’s not a cloud in the sky. I’m thrilled that I’m alone because I can’t do this with anyone else—no matter how much they love me.
Not even Adam (my husband). We’ve been together for over 20 years and I’m just not as cute as I used to be when I sing at the top of my lungs.
My dear friend Suzan prefers silence when we drive together. Maybe that’s because we have vastly different tastes in music and names like Boston, Neil Young, and Frampton don’t excite her.
Alas, “Everybody’s Talkin’” ends. Bummer. But I guess I can make that call now. Uh oh—“Black Water.” Doobies. Ummm. The phone call will have to wait. “Black Water” has never been my absolute favorite song in the world, but it is right now. “I’d like to hear some funky Dixie Land,” Oh, yes I would…and by the way, I’m that Pretty Mama and you can come and take me by the hand any time you want.
Ann and Nancy. Hello Ladies. "Crazy On You" anyone? Yes please. My body tingles. My ears buzz. I continuously press the volume button on the steering wheel until the volume can't get any louder. If there is an 11, I’m there. My ears are about to pop off my head. Yesterday I was in the car with my sister. She kept turning the volume down to talk to me. Can you imagine? She wanted to TALK…with all these unbelievable songs in the air.
Omagod. There’s a new Petty station. All-Petty-all-the-time. (At least temporarily). I’ve died and gone to heaven. “Last Dance With Mary Jane.” I am no longer Pretty Mama because I am now Mary Jane. “One more time to kill the pain.” What Pain? I feel so good.
Eagles…”On The Border.” I’d much prefer “Best Of My Love” or “Ol’ ’55…but any Eagles song lately is pretty awesome and you know why.
“First Cut Is The Deepest.” Thank you, Rod. Only Maggie could have made me a teeny weeny bit more delirious. But “First Cut” will due just fine. Why? Why? Why can’t I shift over to Hits 1? There are many current chart toppers I’m into: “Stressed Out,” “Love Yourself,” “Make You Like Me,” (however juvenile that last one is). I dig that songs are getting more trippy, not quite as back to back EDM as they were a couple of years ago. Still, they simply don’t have the same impact on a ’70s Chic. Ok, I admit it: Classics connect me with my youth. But it’s also because Classics are—like the word suggests—timeless.
My arms are involved now…one is flailing about while the other mans the wheel. The guy driving the Jeep next to me is laughing and giving me a thumbs up. He looks to be about my age. His son (I think), riding shotgun, is embarrassed by our simpatico. Fossils. So be it. This is one of the benefits of getting older (or “evolving,” as Keith Richards puts it so eloquently in the fabulous documentary Under The Influence). One definitely gets more comfortable in ones skin.
So many songs. And luckily I can sing them all. And you know I will. You can take the girl out of Classic Rock but you can't take Classic Rock out of the girl. The call will just have to wait a little longer. So, I’m afraid, will Hits 1.