Chris Perkins is the Editorial Fellow at the auto enthusiast blog Jalopnik as well as a freelance guitarist. He's originally from the suburbs of Boston and currently lives in New York City.

Chris Perkins is the Editorial Fellow at the auto enthusiast blog Jalopnik as well as a freelance guitarist. He’s originally from the suburbs of Boston and currently lives in New York.

Finding common ground between car lovers and harp lovers.

—by Chris Perkins

Her: “You mentioned before you like cars—what’s your favorite?”
Me: “Well I’ve got quite a lot of favorites but probably the Porsche 911.”
Her: “Does that fit a harp?”
Me: “No. Why would it need to?”

I’m met with a bewildered and angry stare that silently says, “Are you kidding me?” This is the first time I receive this look, but certainly not the last. Scrambling, I sputter the same question in return.

Me: “Well, what’s your favorite?”
Her: “Toyota Highlander.”
Me: “Really? That’s the one of the world’s least interesting cars.”

I’m met with the same stare as before.

Her: “Well, it’s comfortable and fits my harp well. Perfect for driving to a gig.”

I hadn’t thought of that. She probably should have just cut her losses right then and there and walked away, but she saw potential in us. Either that or she’s in perpetual denial.

[protection_text]

I’m getting too far ahead of myself, though, so let me provide some background. I am obsessed with cars–always have been, always will be. I’m so obsessed with cars I got a job writing about them at Jalopnik, a popular car blog. I’m also a guitar player, and I’m currently in school for music. Weird combination, right?

The conversation above was between my girlfriend and me shortly before we started dating. She is a harpist. Some of you might know her since the harpist community is unnervingly tight knit. Her name is Alix Raspé, though she sometimes (never) answers to Al.

Our relationship is interesting because never before (to my knowledge) have a harpist and an automotive-journalist dated. This is probably because they are two of the smallest communities on earth and rarely do their paths cross, but somehow we’ve ended up together.

[pullquote]talk to us
Sounding Board is a place for your opinion and commentary about harp-related issues. (Opinions do not necessarily reflect those of the Harp Column editorial staff.) If you have an opinion about something affecting today’s harpists, tell us in 800 words or less. We’ll pay you $100. Send submissions to: areese@harpcolumn.com.[/pullquote]

The question I was asking myself in that moment, and continued to ask myself afterwards was, “Can automotive culture and harp culture exist harmoniously?” The answer to that question is yes, but it takes some compromises and understanding from both parties.

The problem is that what a harpist needs from a car and what an auto enthusiast needs from a car are almost diametrically opposed to each other. A car enthusiast is looking for something that is quick, or stylish, or interesting—maybe even fatally flawed in some unique way. Think Mazda Miata, Chevrolet Corvette, Citroen DS, Range Rover, or anything down those lines.

On the other hand, a harpist is after a car to transport her and her harp reliably, safely, and comfortably to and from gigs. Think Honda Pilot, Chrysler Town & Country, and…now I’m bored. Sorry, I’m just kidding! I’m not that thick. Anyway, it’s easy to see how a disagreement could emerge between a harpist and a gearhead with their conflicting needs.

It certainly made for some interesting conversations between Alix and me the first few times I helped her move the harp, like the moment when, to my shock, I witnessed Alix eating in her car on the way to a gig. I’m told that this publication refers to it as “testing a car’s McFactor.”

“You know, old European cars never had cup holders. They’re just a consolation to the poor tastes of American buyers,” I sarcastically quipped.

“Well, I don’t have any other time to eat so what else do you propose I do?”

Touché. Perhaps Ferdinand Porsche didn’t consider the needs of a working harpist when he designed the 911.

“Fair enough,” I muttered indignantly. “If we’re ever moving the harp in my car please don’t eat because I really don’t want to have to clean all the crumbs.”

“Of course. I’ve just had to do this too many times on the way to a gig to care about dirtying the interior.”

This led to a big revelation for me–a harpmobile is a tool. It’s the means by which a harpist and her instrument are transported from where they are to where they need to be. The criteria for what I consider to be a great car and what a harpist considers to be a great car are vastly different, and that has to be respected.

As I gained an appreciation for the noble harpmobile, Alix simultaneously began to understand what I see in cars. To a gearhead, a car is much more than a tool. Sure, it will get you from point A to point B, but it’s more about the journey than the destination.

I took her out for a spin in my old Alfa Romeo Spider, which, for those of you who don’t know, is a two-seat convertible only marginally more practical than not having a car at all.

Her: “Wow, this is actually really fun!”
Me: “Right? It might not be able to carry anything, but the point is the car itself.”

So there you have it folks, harpists and gearheads can coexist peacefully. •