Always Park In Getaway Position
The simple joy of a rental car
I rarely drive in New York City. My wife AJ and I don't own a car; we don't need the hassle of parking. But I love driving. I got my license at sixteen, training on the snowy hills of Salt Lake City. I drove everywhere during my fifteen years in Seattle. Touring in bands in my 20s and 30s, I spent ages behind the wheel of a fifteen-passenger van filled with bandmates, gear, and a mountain of fast-food wrappers.
I love the simplicity of an Uber (and I miss the days of raising my hand in the air and seconds later, feeling the strong push of a yellow cab’s pleather seat against my back). But sometimes I’d rather drive. So last week at a southern California convention, I rented a car. I was thrilled to walk to parking space B14 at the John Wayne Airport to find that I’d been upgraded from my compact choice to a huge, shiny, white Jeep Cherokee.
The best part about a rental car is that it’s not mine. I step on the gas in a way that I never would on my own vehicle. I slam the doors and the brakes harder, I crank the wheel like I’m in an action movie, and I never worry about blowing the speakers. Music is always an important part of my ride, so I typically go straight to the equalizer, crank the bass, and pull down the mids to make the music sound nothing like it was intended to, and more like the car itself is a subwoofer that exists to deliver the music more physically than audibly.
On my recent book tour, I completed dozens of long drives across America—everywhere from Alabama to Kansas to Idaho—and as much as I wanted to feel more literary by listening to podcasts or audio books, only rock music works for me in the car. Years ago, I was upset when I learned that AC/DC’s catalog wasn’t on streaming services, forced to choose between Guns ‘n Roses and The Steve Miller Band, neither of whom had enough hits to soundtrack my long drive. Now, everything is streaming, and last week I felt invincible speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway, my seat thumping with every kick and snare hit in Van Halen’s “Unchained.” You’re right, that’s not AC/DC, but I’ve stuck to my old habit of listening to bands from the state I’m driving in.
The last car I "owned" was a Honda CR-V in Seattle. Technically, my business partner Jason and I bought it for our record store, Sonic Boom Records, thanks to a tax loophole President Bush created. Jason got a Mini Cooper; I got the CR-V, and we joked about getting vanity plates: “SONIC” and “BOOM.” I loved that car, and I treated it well, which is nowhere near as fun as treating a rental car like I don’t love it. So last week in California, I took several short, frivolous drives: To Trader Joes, Starbucks, Gelson’s, anywhere to inhale that new-car smell and revel in unnecessary horsepower.
This Friday June 7, I will take the subway to see my uncle, the jazz musician, Alan Braufman, perform at National Sawdust, a beautiful venue in Williamsburg (Brooklyn). If you’re reading this, you probably know about my recent involvement in Alan’s music, including reissuing his 1975 debut album and releasing new music in 2020 and 2024. This concert is going to be amazing, and I hope those of you in NYC will consider joining me.
Next week, two books are coming out that I’m excited about: I read Banning Lyon’s memoir, “The Chair and the Valley” in one sitting, gripping my chair in fear of what might happen next. It’s a deeply personal account of his teenage years, which were largely stolen when he was wrongfully placed in a psychiatric hospital. Banning was also the original drummer in the Dallas band Hagfish (who I listened to recently, yes, while driving through Texas).
Rikki Stein, Fela Kuti’s longtime manager, has a book coming out called “Moving Music,” If it’s half as good as the stories he shared with me over lunch in London, it’s going to be fantastic. I connected with Rikki when I was doing research for a Guardian piece on the Fela Kuti / Roy Ayers Ubiquity 1979 tour of Nigeria. Rikki’s stories ranged from Roy and Fela to Jimi Hendrix, Ornette Coleman, and The Kinks. The cover is a drawing of Rikki literally moving music by pulling a tour bus full of musicians uphill on a globe. I can’t wait to learn more.
My podcast appearances have slowed but I recently had a great time chatting with Ken Grand-Pierre on his podcast, The New Exchange. You can listen here..
My memoir is called My Life in the Sunshine. You can order it here, or listen to the audiobook on Spotify.
I hope to see you somewhere soon. Upcoming events are always listed here.
Nabil Ayers / Brooklyn