"Shower Song" by guest writer

It is my pleasure to introduce a new guest writer who I will call the Voice from the West.

He is an artist, a film maker, and a real hip dude. He likes singing in the shower, unexpected metaphors, and making me laugh.

In his first submission, "The Shower Song," the Voice of the West combines all of those passions:

It's clear why the tradition of singing in the shower began--the bathtub's design provides the quintessential acoustics for song.

With three perfectly positioned walls and a shower curtain, you receive––while, say, humming a tune––a touch of reverberation, and just the right amount of bass. For background percussion, you're accompanied by the gentle pattering of water as it strikes the tub floor. Close your eyes for a moment in any household shower and listen to your voice echo. You can almost imagine standing in a small cathedral, or huddled in the depths of the Himalayas in spring.

Millions of shy performers (a.k.a. bathroom singers) find solace in the shower. I am unquestionably one of them. But there is a stigma attached to this tradition that I would like to shake. Singing in the shower is thought of, in the popular canon, as a bashful, "amateur" hobby, to be kept behind closed doors.

In response to this terrific slander, should we not embrace our bathroom voices with vigor, like a noble giraffe embraces the highest boughs of a tree, or a pioneer embraces the savage unknown?

Let us wrench the bathroom door from its hinges for the whole neighborhood to hear. Shatter the walls of linoleum and marble with bebop and bluegrass. Let the shampoo dance and conditioner resonate.

We must sing so the bars of soap at our hips flow into honey, so the shower curtains flutter in rhapsody, and pools of water droplets nestle about us like throngs of fans on the eve of a moonlit concert.

Then, our tongues will ignite the great spirituals, hymnals, and anthems of old, and summon a new music––one that honors the sacred bathroom-singing tradition, and runs uncivil judgment down the drain. May our chants fill the plumbing and pipes, and soar in harmony with the millions of other naked, belting voices.

Long for the day of a proud, aquatic chorus. And hopefully, save a little hot water for the next singer.