Admit It: You Sing While You're Driving

There's no question in my mind. I make my living as a writer and editor, but I really belong onstage, belting out tunes and receiving standing ovations and accolades.

That's not to say that I sing well. My only remotely professional singing experience was when I was in junior high and high school in Bismarck, N.D., and I sang with a church group called Joy.

This was the mid-1970s, when you couldn't go up for communion without stumbling over one or two folk-music groups perched around the altar, strumming guitars and singing earnest songs like "Pass It On" and "One Tin Soldier."

Most of the girls in Joy were good singers. I was a mediocre singer, but they let me play too. Every Sunday, we arranged our fresh-faced selves at the front of the church and sang with a will. I cringingly remember that, during "Pass It On," one of the girls always cried, "Hey, world! Jesus loves you!" right after the line, "I'm going to shout it from the mountaintops ..."

(No, I wasn't the one who got to handle that important job, but I confess that a few years ago, after a friend's wedding, four members of Joy staged an impromptu -- and ill-advised -- one-night reunion concert. Since Wendy wasn't around, I got to shout, "Hey, world! Jesus loves you!" while my husband -- who wasn't fortunate enough to know me during my Joy career -- rolled around on the ground, laughing so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks.)

Joy was a big hit, too, let me tell you. We occasionally were asked to sing at club meetings around town, and during "Pass It On" (which obviously was our big, show-stopping number), we'd walk among the club members during the second verse, shaking hands and beaming like crazed fugitives from Up With People.

Today, not having an outlet for my musical urges, I sing in the car. Always. It doesn't matter who's driving or who's sitting beside me; I sing along with whatever song is playing. If I don't like the song, I change the station or the track, sometimes at the expense of the attention I should be devoting to not running into telephone poles or semi-trucks.

I bought a new SUV late last year. One of its biggest selling points: A CD player was standard equipment. I'd sooner drive a car without a windshield than one without at least a tape player.

Last month, I drove to Missouri to visit my parents. By the time I arrived, I was hoarse. This is my usual condition when I go home for a visit; my folks expect me to have a croaky voice when I greet them.

This time, I did duets with Karen Carpenter for miles and miles of Iowa. (It always seems like Iowa has doubled in size every time I drive through it. I blame the lack of billboards; there's nothing to read, for God's sake. And no offense, but unless you're heavily into cornfields, there's really not much scenery to admire in Iowa.)

I always sing along with Karen; not to speak ill of the dead, but her voice matches mine pretty well. I also sang along with James Taylor, Kid Rock, Santana, TLC, Bobby Sherman (I know -- it's pathetic) and the Monkees. Actually, I harmonized with pretty much anyone whose voice cropped up on a CD.

Somewhere in Iowa, forced by the state's lack of mental stimulation to actually think for myself, I started pondering favorite car songs -- the ones to which people can't help but sing along.

So when I came back to work, I asked my co-workers, who are never shy about weighing in with their opinions. That's what I like about them. Well, one of the things.

Edd, who sits across the partition from me, has obviously given serious thought to this issue. "De La Soul, Del thafunkeehomosapien, the Pharcyde, Frank Sinatra, the Smiths," Edd says. "I've got a whole tape expressly for the purpose of singing and rapping along." (I would have liked to have seen an album called "Rap Along With Ol' Blue Eyes." Maybe Edd could put something together.)

Andy, who sits in Portland, halfway across the country from me, likes the Wilson sisters: "Every time Heart's 'Barracuda' comes on the air, my chances of getting a speeding ticket increases threefold," he says.

Mary Jane, who sits somewhere in Wisconsin -- a much more interesting state than Iowa, by the way -- likes a couple of my favorites: She recommends John Denver for all western road trips, and she says "Rocky Mountain High" is required singing if you're anywhere near the Rockies. She says the Beatles are good if there are several people in the car, because "everybody knows the lyrics." Also: "Eric Clapton and Indigo Girls (you should be alone when you try to harmonize with the Indigo Girls)."

It must be something about Wisconsin, actually, because James, who works with Mary Jane, also admits singing along with John Denver, particularly on "Take Me Home, Country Roads" and "Thank God I'm A Country Boy." (Personally, I think he's just sucking up to Mary Jane.)

Allison in Cleveland likes Prince, or TAFKAP, as he's known around these parts: "Well, of course, anything by His Purpleness -- any of his songs, really," she says. "'Kiss' and 'Little Red Corvette' are especially fun to sing along to, to try to see if I can hit those notes (I usually fail miserably and look like a freak, and people driving by probably think I'm a wacko, but oh, well, it's fun)."

TJ in Minneapolis likes to sing along with a performer who, had he lived, probably would be old enough to be his great-great-grandfather (TJ is inexcusably young): "I must admit that Buddy Holly songs inspire my own vocal stylings." (TJ knows a lot of big words for his age.)

Marcia, who sits (or stands, actually) across the office from me, appreciates Motown: "Supremes," she says. "Definitely, the Supremes." She's joined (figuratively speaking) by David in Minneapolis and Debra in Orlando, who warble along to "anything Motown." Debra also likes "Sooner or Later" by the Grass Roots and "Build Me Up, Buttercup" by the Foundations. (Debra's pretty young, too, but she clearly has excellent taste in music. Either that or she's seen "There's Something About Mary" too many times.)

My former boss, Jay, is slightly closer to my age. He wails along to Ted Nugent's "Cat Scratch Fever" (a performance that I'd pay a lot to see). He also says that "Steppin' Out" by Joe Jackson "is an excellent in-the-car song -- perfect beat for the road."

Lisa, my co-worker and long-lost sister in Portland, made some good selections (in no particular order, she points out):

"Frank Sinatra -- mostly Cole Porter stuff and his '50s stuff.

"Indigo Girls -- I can do ALL the parts!

"REM -- Michael and I are in the same key.

"True confession: 'What a Feeling' from 'Flashdance' (how embarrassing!).

"Broadway show tunes -- especially 'The Sound of Music,' 'A Chorus Line,' 'Singin' in the Rain' ... I have been known to belt out 'Oklahoma' in crowded bars -- and elevators." (If you need evidence that Lisa and I are sisters under the skin, I'll confess that I have occasionally done exactly the same thing in bars -- if not "Oklahoma," then TV theme songs.)

And Nancy in Los Angeles eschews singing in favor of imitating instruments: "Mouthing all the guitar parts in Led Zeppelin's 'Kashmir' is one of my all-time favorite car singing. Actually, any Led Zeppelin guitar is fun to imitate with your mouth." Um, I'll take your word on that, Nancy.

Well, you get the idea, don't you? And you probably already know what I'm going to ask, right? Boy, are you bright.

Yup. I want you to let me know the names of your favorite car sing-along songs -- and also why. I'll compile the best ones in an upcoming column.

And remember: Hey, world! Jesus loves you!

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Note: Betsy's pop culture column, Culture Shocked, appears every Wednesday in our Entertainment section. She welcomes your questions and comments.

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