Beat Surrender

Beat Surrender

Since I last put fingers to keyboard, the Grimley motoring menagerie has been culled to a single vehicle. In anticipation of the – admittedly unlikely – moment where a car comes up for sale that a) meets the current Mrs Grimley’s standards and b) is owned by a benevolent and eccentric millionaire who doesn’t object to letting it go at a fraction of its genuine value, the Primera has been sent to a new home.

This means that every occasion necessitating the involvement of a motor vehicle now has to be catered for by my budget BMW 316 coupe and this is presenting a few issues. Firstly is the fact that it is a $2000 car of European origins and occasionally takes it upon itself to behave like one. There are certain types of weather it really doesn’t like and there is absolutely no guarantee bits of interior trim will finish any given journey in the same part of the car they started in. Then there is the matter of size – I am usually a staunch supporter of the view that it really doesn’t matter, but there are certain circumstances where a bit of extra girth can come in useful. Like when you are purchasing a new shower cubicle for example.

Come on people - rock my world

But worst of all is the stereo, which has no CD player, works on an ad hoc basis and is so averse to physical contact that any adjustment necessitates hauling it from the dash mid-journey to beat it back into life. And this means that once a radio station is selected it is left on constantly for fear of having to conduct the minor electrical surgery necessary to coax entertainment back out again.
So now I’m stuck with The Rock.

I must hasten to add that there isn’t anything wrong with the Rock as such – I’m rather a fan of the Morning Rumble team – but the music they play doesn’t really suit my journey. Having Bruce Springsteen belting out ‘Born to Run’ at the top of his lungs on a glorious sunny day with a perfectly clear South Island mountain pass ahead would be almost as good as being stranded on a desert island with Stana Katic and a lifetime supply of baby oil. Almost. However when you’re stuck on a State Highway 1 slip road in the pissing rain, moving at precisely 0 kph it’s less fun than spending a week in a barrel of scorpions being screamed at by Hone Harawira’s mother.

But even if I could escape back into the archives of my CD library, I’m still not sure I could find anything suitable. While I must own a dozen incarnations of various “Best Driving Album in the World EVER” compilations, I don’t really have anything that lends itself to the monotony of a rush hour commute.

We’ve already established rock doesn’t cut it; while the various incarnations of dance music would be even more frustrating. Rap is just missing a ‘C’ and anything too downbeat would have me running a hosepipe from the exhaust and into the driver’s window.

So I’m throwing myself at the metaphorical feet of you, the good readers of Car & SUV. We’ve all had the debate about what is the greatest driving song (my own personal favourite is ‘Richard III’ by Supergrass), but what is the best commuting tune in the world? What melody can help while away the aggravation of a tedious hack and leave you arriving at work fresh and content?

Best suggestion will find itself taking pride of place on a CD in my soon-to-be-purchased new stereo. Now that will be music to my ears.

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