Yup, I'm singing along to some obscure stuff, surfing from station to station. I'm belting out oldies, like Tom Jones "It's Not Unusual" and The Monkees "Pleasant Valley Sunday" and Moody Blues "Forever Autumn" and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer "Karn Evil 9" and Linda Ronstadt "You're No Good." (I know you just sang that last one a little bit in your head.)
I'm singing along to all kinds of stuff -- INXS and Depeche Mode and The Clash and a combination of punk and New Wave. I don't always know the words, especially if there are indecipherable lyrics to start with, but, damn it, I am singing along anyway. Sometimes I change the words, like Stevie Ray Vaughn: "HE'S my little lover boooooooooooy!!!!" I mean, I should at least attempt to be gender-correct, if possible, although that seems slightly politically incorrect as
I do have to stop singing at one point. Frank Zappa comes on, and it's one of his more obscure ditties that, well, is slightly cacophonous. I can sing along with a lot of Zappa's more mainstream stuff (not even the tip of his musical repertoire), but this one is beyond me. "Frogs With Dirty Little Lips" isn't exactly "Big Legga Emma," you know, so I park the car in front of my house and listen wistfully.
Okay, so it's Sing Along and Enjoy Zappa Day inside my car. That works for me, too.
