The Singing Man

A random man has become one of the highlights of my day.

Every single weekday, between 9:00 and 9:10am, a man drives past my house. Truthfully, hundreds of people drive past my house in that time. I live on a very busy road. Actually, on the corner of TWO busy roads. And those two roads host two different tram lines. You ever heard the sound of a tram turning a corner? I yearn for double glazed windows, but alas I am a renter and I don’t get say in these matters.

But perhaps, if I did have double glazed windows, I never would have discovered the person I refer to as The Singing Man.

Now that I think about it, I’m not even sure when The Singing Man first caught my attention. It’s been at least a year, but could it be two years? Three? Who knows.

During lockdown (Melbourne was the most locked down city in the world, NUMBER ONE BABY) a very old ute drove through our neighbourhood playing music really loudly. It wasn’t just that someone was driving around listening to their own music, it was something they were doing for the benefit of other people. I think there was a speaker system in the tray, and I definitely remember a flag I didn’t recognise, but it felt vaguely racist.

So when I started to hear music blasting again, I went to my living room window, expecting to see that old, white, kind of crappy ute. I almost felt nostalgic for the good ol’ days (260 days stuck inside my house).

But there was no crappy white ute. Where was that music coming from? In peak hour traffic, it was hard to identify which car the musis was coming from. And it wasn’t just the music. It was the singing. So loud. So enthusiastic. So flat. Like really, he might be tone deaf.

Eventually I realised there was always a specific car in the mix on the days I could hear the singing. If he was stuck at a red light, he’d be right out the front of my apartment building, and I’d be able to stand on my balcony and listen long enough to figure out what song he was warbling to.

He drives a navy blue Mazda 3 hatchback. A newer one, the ones where the back of the car looks a bit like the back of a Boston Terrier.

Same same.

From the brief glimpses of him through his open window (regardless of the weather), he appears to be in business atire. Which makes sense given the time of day, and that he passes my house only on weekdays.

I find myself thinking about him for a while after he has passed by. Who is he? Where’s he going? I wonder if his loud singing habit would surprise his co-workers. Maybe he’s quiet and reserved, and this is a little guilty pleasure. Or would they laugh and say ‘yeah I can see Gary doing that’. Is his name Gary? Imagine.

A few months ago, I made a note in my phone and titled it ‘Songs the random man sings as he drives past my house’. (I’m a creative)

An Australian classic, and definitely a great one to belt. Very cathartic, I can understand why he may have needed this one before a stressful day at the office.

I want to thank The Singing Man for reminding me of this song. You know when you hear a song and you go ‘oh yeahhhhh’ like you’ve just remembered it exists? I had that, then had to search on Spotify because I’d forgotten it’s by Dragon. Great band name.

I think by now we are getting a sense of the age of The Singing Man, yes? He’s giving elder Gen X, I feel. And I think he loves Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Okay yes, he definitely loves Rock ‘n’ Roll. But also, this song is just so damn good. It’s repetitive but almost in a trance like way? Go off, The Singing Man, you’re crushing it.

This is the most recent song I heard blasting from his car. BUT, interestingly, he wasn’t singing. I heard the music, but no singing, and ran to the living room window to see if it was in fact The Singing Man, and lo and behold it was. But no singing. Why? Are Cyndi’s vocals just not in his range? Did he had a tired and scratchy throat from all the yell-singing he does? Or does he respect women too much to yell over their anthem? (I went to an all girls school, this song was played at basically every event we had that required a DJ. And there were more of those events than you’d think)

I watched as his car rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight, not one single out-of-key note leaving his body as he went.

My dream is to one day be on street level as he passes, so I can get a good look at him. Maybe give him an approving smile. A thumbs up, even.

As someone who finds themselves becoming less patient and more bitter towards strangers, I have made the conscious decision to always find The Singing Man delightful, instead of obnoxious.

Sing on, Singing Man!