Which I do, if you consider the 480 hours a year I spend driving to and from work gigs. And which, if I work until I'm 60, will then total 12,720 hours. I must get my Star Trek transporter up and running. No, I know because half the reason I moved from New York City to the Bay Area was to sate my thirst for singing in the car. Not just any song will do.
Sad songs work, but only if a guilt trip is present.
Club songs work, as long as they allow you develop new dance moves while still folded into your bucket seat. Rap songs with complicated lyrics work as long as you master them all and spit them out in time with the artist with the same ease as which you breathe. What follows is the collection of tunes in my car this week. Yes, I am opening myself up to ridicule. Especially after some guy called me up this weekend to say, in language that would make his mother go ashen, that I am an ignorant slut, a banal writer and that I don't know talent.