Also, nobody ever bloody called them ‘Mixtapes’ back then and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. They were above all a heartfelt and genuine way of sharing your enthusiasm for music – you can find my thoughts on some of the less widely known personal favourites that I initially discovered through compilation tapes way back when here – which carried more weight than a casual Spotify link that doesn’t actually work when you click on it.
#PIZZICATO FIVE TWIGGY TWIGGY SPOTIFY HOW TO#
Depending on who the intended recipient was, you had to carefully consider what would make a good opening track, what would make a good closing track, what would go well in what order between them, not to mention how to avoid filling space with the dialogue bits from the Pulp Fiction soundtrack which Adam And Joe rightly identified as ‘an offence punishable by punching’. As it all had to be done by hand and in real time – it’s staggering to think of how accustomed everyone once was to gauging how many minutes were left on a side of a cassette just by looking at how much tape was still on the left hand spool – it was an artform that demanded effort and dedication and in the process usually inadvertently revealed more about the individual frantically slamming tapes in and out of the double cassette deck than they perhaps would have accounted for. Some designed their own covers, some just wrote the title of the song and the name of the artist on the inlay card and invariably ran out of space three letters before the end of European Son (To Delmore Schwartz) by The Velvet Underground And Nico, but it was what was on the actual tapes that really mattered. There was a time when compilation tapes – lovingly curated collections of your favourite or indeed least favourite music on a C60 or C90 cassette, put together for the entertainment of a friend or lover or even enemy – were as ubiquitous and proliferate as unwanted and unshiftable five pence pieces.
It’s probable that The Guyliner would have slightly less to say – though I would be equally interested to hear it regardless – on the subject of the other major constituent element of this story. Anyway, that’s as much as I have to say on the subject for now, although I would nonetheless still be interested to know what The Guyliner makes of all of this. It doesn’t even get me to the church on time. Putting it very bluntly, no confession, no religion, I don’t believe in modern love.
If you really want to know more about my thoughts on all things dating and modern, then you can listen to me talking about Ant-Man And The Wasp – a screwball romantic comedy crime caper with size-changing biotech suits that I somehow still felt alarmingly ‘seen’ by – here.
Partly on account of a lack of inclination to stray into excessively personal territory within what is already by definition an atypically personal diversion, and partly because this really is about the CD itself, or rather the music on it but let’s not start sounding like a 6Music phone-in that nobody has quite worked out a format for here. It would be very easy – and indeed tempting – to make this into some variety of entertainingly end-of-tether rant about the exasperation and unpredictability of modern dating, and how technology has insisted on providing ‘solutions’ that nobody asked for and in doing so taken an already desperately flawed concept and made it even more complicated still precisely on account of its lack of complication, and how the old ‘rules’ no longer apply which given that they were roughly equivalent to the rules of those sort of games called things like Petting Zoo KABLAMMO! that you get in hipster board game cafes only played with blindfolds on in a force ten gale should probably be something of a welcome relief but isn’t, and how people you know who aren’t single seethe with polite envy about how easy it must be now with all the apps and everything while your internal monologue continually runs “me and you, and you and me, no matter how they toss the dice, it had to be, the only one for me is you, and y-… oh right, they’ve stopped replying”, and how these are really just trivial weary observations from the male side of the equation and lord alone knows what women have to put up with on an unrelenting basis, but that won’t be happening here. No, really.īefore we get to that, though, it’s important to get some context out of the way. This is a story about a CD that I made for someone who didn’t have a CD player.
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