An intriguing expose by and for Ryan Schreiber.
I’d like to start out by saying a “thank you” to my friend Noah for being a sounding board for this topic.
The other day I was having a thought. Apparently that’s English slang for “thinking”; I’m trying to incorporate more of that into my vocabulary. Either way, I was having this thought.
When I was younger, I made mixed-tapes. As I got older, less so. By the time I really got to the prime mixed-tape age, technology had changed. I don’t mean for this to sound like a “kids-now-a-days” type thing; but, I’m just old enough to have had the mixed-tape experience. If you didn’t, this might sound a little (or a lot) overblown. If you did, you’ll appreciate what I mean without me having to explain it all.
I remember getting my first boom-box with side-by-side tape decks. I was pretty young, but I remember that. The first thing I think of when I think of a mixed-tape, though, is the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. It’s a book about a boy named Charlie. It’s a book about growing up. He made friends, and he fell in love. He was innocent and beautifully so. In the book Charlie, the girl he loves, and a few friends draw names for a secret Santa. “The first present is going to be a mix tape. I just know that it should.” It was the perfect gift. There were times when a mixed-tape was the perfect gift. “Now-a-days” a mixed-CD or playlist has become the go-to-gift for many people because it seems personal and it’s easy enough to pull off. I guess this example is exactly how it’s all changed.
Part of me wants to say “it’s just not the same”, and leave it at that. It’s so much more than I could put into words. The mixed-tape process was different for everybody back then; the maker and the recipient.
Making a mixed-tape was a process. It took planning and purpose. More than anything, it took dedication. Sure, now we can pick some songs and listen to them and rearrange them. I mean, of course we can still plan out a theme for our mixes. The mixed-tape was special, though. If you want to just give it a go, and test a mix to see how well it goes together, just throw some songs onto a playlist and hit play. In the days of mixed-tape gone by, it took a lot more time. That had a magical quality. The music, the mix, took on a meaning. The creation, too, took more. We had to sit there and listen to the songs play as it went, making sure to hit the right button at exactly the right time. With each song, the excitement grew; how perfect it all was, and how much you really love the song playing. It wasn’t as easy as clicking “burn” and having iTunes tell you that there were too many songs, or being able to select the songs, and do the math yourself. Toward the end of each side, the question lingered, “did I do this right?”
As if that weren’t enough, there were inevitably gaps between each song. Sometimes a second, sometimes a few and that’s where the real magic happened. It wasn’t silence, though. It was the faint buzz that belied the effort.
For the listener, it wasn’t so easy to skip over the songs. We had to be committed as a listener. We had to appreciate the care that the whole process took. It’s important to remember, too, that it wasn’t so easy back then to hit up Napster (or other P2P), or a torrent site, or even iTunes and get your hands on music you might never had heard otherwise. This was our way of exposing each other. The novelty of the songs added to it all.
This isn’t an emo kid thing, either. One of the music-defining moments that will stay with me forever is playing basketball when I was probably 13 with some of my friends. We walked to three different basketball courts before finding one that had an outlet. The boom-box blasted some of the best hip-hop I’d ever heard. It was all new and different. Nothing like I’d heard before; underground, chopped, screwed. That moment was one of the seminal moments in my musical life.
They were almost like time capsule, locking us into place musically. This is something that you can relate to if you made mixed-cd’s or if you keep your old playlists. A few weeks ago I popped in some of my old mixed-CD’s and rocked. It took me back to that place. When the songs came on, it was amazing how quickly I remember the whole disc. It was amazing how quickly I remember everything. When “Existentialism on prom-night” came on one, it took me back to breaking up with my girlfriend. Still, the ease of making, mixed-CD’s or playlists don’t have the same effect. Of the probably 50 mixes I put in, each one was a lot like the last (accounting, of course, for genre shifts), because it was so easy to just pop them in and pop them out.
The mixed-tape is gone. I couldn’t bring it back if I wanted to. They were uniquely special for the listener and the maker. It connected us in ways that we didn’t consciously realize at the time. This wasn’t meant to be wistful, it was meant to be celebratory. It was meant to remind us what we once had. R.I.P. mixed-tape.