what’s on your playlist?
written Wednesday, October 16, 2019. Newton, MA (in case you’re interested)
I’ve done a fair bit of travel for work, fun, and family over the last few years. Admittedly, much of my travel was in my car or a Penske rental truck, which is why you get to hear about my musical stylings, as well those of the folks kind enough to give me a ride in exchange for money. Also because I love music and I often find myself writing about it. All good reasons, yes?
Somewhere on the long list of things I’m not good at is “working in moving vehicles.” Planes. Trains. Automobiles. Even boats. I’m more about the scenery and the social connection. Except on planes. When I fly, I see little more than the inside of my eyelids from the time I buckle up until I hear the landing gear. It’s a thing.
When I’m taking a Lyft, the scenery also includes the musical choices of my drivers. I tend to be observant about such things. So much so that I try to predict the musical genre as soon as I see the driver. And for the last few years I’ve maintained a perfect record. I’ve been perfectly wrong.
My most recent Lyft driver was Henry. Henry picked me up at Logan Airport yesterday, grunted an acknowledgement that he was my driver, and that was the last sound I heard until my own voice said “thank you” at the end of my ride. You may be thinking Henry doesn’t belong in this story, but you’d be wrong. I’ll come back to him later.
Before Henry, I was riding comfortably through New York with an elder Russian man named Uri. I call Uri an elder because although he was clearly older than I am, I’m not sure he was elderly. We were headed back from Greenwich Village because Jenni had to have oatmeal from a tiny shop she read about called OatMeals. Uri’s Sunday morning musical choice was P!nk. Yes, that P!nk. I imagined Uri was probably bobbing and weaving in his mind even while he kept the car perfectly in our lane. I did wonder a little how many “Walks of Shame” were in his past, but his driving and choice of music were rock solid. Bravo, Uri. I love P!nk, too.
May was a very friendly driver in Fayetteville, Arkansas. She picked me up at my hotel with a big, toothy smile and a tattooed arm resting on her window. If you know me at all, you know she had my attention from that moment. I opened the back door to “Eyes of a Stranger,” and I knew I’d be in for an interesting ride. I have to admit, the music took second fiddle (no pun intended) to the conversation. May’s arm tattoo had friends, and being an ink-enthusiast myself, we had a lot to talk about. It turns out her daughter is an artist who designed most of May’s work. She even convinced her husband (not an ink-enthusiast) to have one of their daughter’s creations. I really liked May. In fact, I probably would’ve paid her to drive me all the way home, just to continue the conversation. By the way, when I got out, The Payolas had tapped out to Honeymoon Suite in her Nissan Rogue’s battle of the bands. Canada in Arkansas. Didn’t see that coming.
And there was this one time in Kentucky, when my middle-aged-white-guy driver was just chillin’ to UB40’s “Rat in Mi Kitchen.” Oh, wait. Nevermind. That was me.
Perhaps my two worst choice of music guesses came a few years back on my first ever trip to Oklahoma, of all places. It may be irrelevant to the story—since it wasn’t a Lyft driver—but it’s worth mentioning that my taxi from the airport was an honest-to-goodness, full-sized pick-up truck. You read that correctly. Pick-up taxi. In that moment, every assumption I had ever made about Oklahoma became fact.
And then it all came crashing down… Tulsa was not a sea of oil barons and pick-up taxis after all. My first Lyft ride came courtesy of Rich. Rich picked me up in an immaculate hybrid SUV that smelled delicious in a Hostess fruit pie kind of way. Rich was a very kind old man who looked like a perfect mash-up between Tom Bradford from Eight is Enough and the caretaker for Motel Hell. But it worked for Rich, especially because his musical choice was The Gap Band’s, “You Dropped a Bomb on Me.” Imagine me with my non-existent poker face trying to suppress a giggle for 15 miles… That was my first Lyft in the soup pot state.
Later that night, Kassandra (with a K, just like in Wayne’s World, but not) picked me up at the hotel for a ride to downtown Tulsa. I would’ve pegged Kassandra-with-a-K as a college kid, but she was probably in her mid-20s and only pretending to be a college kid. Or maybe she was 40, because her musical selection revealed that she was a woman after my own heart. At least in music storage and playback devices. No Sirius XM for her. No Spotify through the latest iPhone. No. Kassandra-with-a-K had a flip phone, and she proudly displayed a 3-CD box set on the passenger’s seat of her some-kind-of-nondescript-sedan. My musical choices that night were discs 1, 2, or 3 from Journey’s Time. We were late for dinner with my team, but I never stopped believing we would get there. Too easy?
I could go on, but I promised to come back to my friend, Henry. Boston Henry of the grunting and no music. I choose to believe Henry is a very nice man who doesn’t need the radio because he has music playing in his head all the time. My best guess? The Chipmunks Christmas album. I know it’s early in the year for Christmas, but I’m not judging Henry for it and neither should you.
What’s on my playlist? Like Kassandra-with-a-K, I like to give my CD player a workout. You can see the current selection above.
I went through a long stretch when I just played the soundtrack to 10 Things I Hate About You over and over. Don’t judge. It’s a hidden gem of a movie and a terrific soundtrack. If you disagree, you’re just wrong. It’s a fact, just like green olives being the best pizza topping. But not so much like everyone in Tulsa driving pick-up trucks.
Anyway, I switched to Paul Simon’s Graceland after a conversation with my dear friend and musician, Nate Shuppert. I still believe putting Paul Simon on a “Paul McCartney Radio” list is an insult to Paul Simon. Note to Spotify: I expect better from you. Graceland is also one of the best album’s ever released. Also a fact. See green olive sentence above.
But today I’m still in Boston. When I get home to my car and turn on my radio, I’ll tap the CD button and channel my old friend, Uri. Maybe we’re all just a bit Missundaztood after all.
Cheers,
.m
