Thursday, June 3, 2010
There is a mix tape for every occasion.
I loved the mix tape. Consider the mix tape another antiquated piece of years gone by swept under the rug of life by the relentless onslaught of technology. I make a mix cd every Christmas season, but it's not quite as charming. The more seasoned mix tape producer could walk the tight rope that is the difference between over self-indulgence (perhaps a 10 minute Sonic Youth song) and pandering (pop songs, mostly). I was a miser of a little kid and tried to recycle my mix tapes, often times after my mom had made her own mix tape with assorted Latin band and oldies numbers on it. One time I went to a girlfriends house in a last ditch effort to keep our relationship together and I knew I had to have an assortment of songs that screamed "this man is in pain. His misery star burns bright and true and his eagerness to wallow in it with the help of Robert Smith knows no end." I didn't realize that when you record over a cassette so frequently the songs that were recorded over will eventually bleed through. So as I was attempting to convey the urgency and emotional investment in the situation, the unmistakable sound of a Mariachi bands horns and oompa oompa bass parts come crawling out from beneath the emotional wreckage of Dramarama's ode to desperation and gateway to stalking "Anything, Anything, Anything". Did my lo-fi mash-up of Latino drinking music and 80's one hit wonders kill the moment? Absolutely. Did she break up with me? Oh yeah. But she did make out with me right before we broke up, which was a distant, distant second best thing.