A friend recently gave me a mixtape (a mixed CD really, but you know what I mean). My husband will occasionally make me a playlist of all the new songs he has bought on iTunes, but it has been years since someone made me a proper mixtape and I was delighted. When I listened to it, my mind was already running ahead to the mix I would make in return (because that’s how these things work). A song I put on my mental list, one of my favorites, happened to be the next track my friend had chosen. Eureka! Another kindred spirit in the world. But even better than discovering our sameness, there were a few tracks from artists I hadn’t listened to before. I am now obsessed with two of the songs (just ask my kids, who are walking around humming the tunes). I also had the fun of making a mix myself, reminding me how much I love certain bands and songs. (Note to readers: if you’ve OD’d on The Shins or the Once soundtrack, don’t panic, a little break is all you need to bring back the love.) In fact, the unexpected pleasure of this mixtape exchange has renewed my dampened enthusiasm and got me thinking about the communal pleasure of sharing music.
Of course, mixtapes were a significant part of my adolescence and most of my romantic relationships. I haven’t had a cassette player for years, but I still have most of my tapes, nestled among old love letters, every bit as precious and tender. As a young woman, I used to worry about the influence boys had on my taste. I was wary of adopting their cultures too completely and losing my sense of self. Now, I’m grateful that, even if our relationships didn’t survive, my love for Black Sabbath, Billy Bragg, or the Smiths does.
But boyfriends weren’t the only ones to impact my musical life. My iTunes library is an autobiography of all my relationships. There is the musical theater from my parents, the Tori Amos and Ani DiFranco from one of my oldest friends. The Outkast and Lupe Fiasco came from my Hip-hop loving brothers — we have, since our teens, been doing musical cultural exchanges, like the Judgment Night soundtrack, which brought alternative bands and rappers, like Cypress Hill and Sonic Youth, together. There is the jazz, Steve Earle and Belle and Sebastian, which I listened to with my friend Aaron (while my husband scoffed at us because of the lack of guitar riffs or synthesizers).
There are also so many bands I’ve discovered or reconsidered because of a friend’s advice. For instance, I first listened to Bright Eyes eight or nine years ago after reading rave reviews in Rolling Stone and Spin. At the time, it didn’t move me. Years later, a trusted friend, whose taste is eerily similar to my own, suggested I give Bright Eyes another chance, with the caveat that I should listen with headphones and no distractions. I was seriously smitten the second time around. I could go on and on — the point is that the people in my life have made a huge impact on my musical life.
I’ve noticed sometimes in the comments that readers mention they don’t know half the artists and songs I’m talking about. I understand what that’s like. Having spent lots of Saturdays wandering around bookstores or garage sales with my dad, who was always hunting for unusual original cast recordings or film soundtracks on records, I was no stranger to the collector personality. However, my first mixtapes came from punk rock boys who insisted that obscure first albums or grainy badly dubbed tracks you’ve never heard of were always the best. They always knew more than you and took great pleasure in asserting their superior taste and knowledge. This fetishism, which I dubbed “punk rock elitism” at the time, always bugged me. In hindsight I understand that they were just kids trying to figure out how to be cool, but it’s depressing how often that mentality sticks with people into adulthood. Personally, I’m not interested in jealously guarding my knowledge of music, as though it will be tainted or lessened by sharing. I understand the pleasure of unearthing a treasure on your own, but I truly enjoy spreading the love.
When is the last time you made someone a mixtape? Received one? Do you have rules about who you give them to and how you make them? How have others impacted your libraries?
(All the images are from High Fidelity, which you music nerds already knew. And, yes I do think about the narrative arc or mood when making a mixtape)
I actually made a mixed CD about 2 years ago for my niece, who was 16 at the time. I wrote little comments about each song, telling her why I’d included it or what that song meant to me. It was all my current favorites at the time, and I still love listening to that mix. Prior to that however, it was almost 9 years ago with two notable exceptions. I made a mixed CD for Ruth as a part of my wedding present to her. A few months later, I was the recipient of a couple from my husband, part of his courting (I actually had to think twice about how far our relationship could go because I wasn’t all that impressed). It seems like such a personal gesture, it almost seems hard to fathom creating one for a casual acquaintance, coworker, etc.
You’re a cool aunt.
I like both — making mixes for people I know really well and making mixes for people I’m getting to know. They just seem to serve different functions and would require different amounts of energy.
The last time I got a mixtape was right after I graduated from high school. My girlfriend made me this bizarre tape that contained various classical pieces (Pines of Rome, some Palestrina motets) and some avant-garde jazz/gospel stuff. Not a typcial mix, to be sure, but we were both huge music nerds (not just “geeks”), so it fit really well.
Heidi – do you use imix? You need to make us a “Doves and Serpents” imix, methinks.
Heidi, what a great post! I loved it … it so captures the essence of exchanging mix tapes. I did this so much as a teenager and later over the years with whole different sets of friends with CD’s. From the romantic mix tape exchanges to just exchanging music back and forth with good friends. The ones you recieve truly expand your music world and the excitement that comes with sharing the music you love with others is just as fun. This post totally made my day :-)
“The times you lived through, the people you shared those times with – nothing brings it all to life like an old mix tape. It does a better job of storing up memories than actual brain tissue can do. Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they can add up to the story of a life.”
– Rob Sheffield (Love Is a Mix Tape)
“But for me, if we’re talking about romance, cassettes wipe the floor with MP3s. This has nothing to do with superstition, or nostalgia. MP3s buzz straight to your brain. That’s part of what I love about them. But the rhythm of the mix tape is the rhythm of romance, the analog hum of a physical connection between two sloppy human bodies. The cassette is full of tape hiss and room tone; it’s full of wasted space, unnecessary noise. Compared to the go-go-go rhythm of an MP3, mix tapes are hopelessly inefficient. You go back to a cassette the way a detective sits and pours drinks for the elderly motel clerk who tells stories about the old days–you know you might be somewhat bored, but there might be a clue in there somewhere. And if there isn’t, what the hell? It’s not a bad time. You know you will waste time. You plan on it.”
– Rob Sheffield (Love Is a Mix Tape)
Heidi, check out “Love Is a Mix Tape.” It’s got your name recorded all over it.
I will, sounds perfect for me and I’ve always liked Sheffield’s writing and reviews.
” Years later, a trusted friend, whose taste is eerily similar to my own…”
I have friends like that too!