I don't make many mixed tapes. I demand too much from myself in the areas of thematic and emotional cohesion. Today I have made an exception because it's Valentine's Day and I really have nothing else to do. Also, I heard that a mixed tape of songs made without any thought beyond determining a few songs that the listener might like makes a fine gift. If you can do it within one hour, I'll give you five.
Honestly, making a mixed tape about love is like making a board out of wood. I guess you could make a board out of anything, but it's pretty easy to find wood.
So what drives people to mixed-tape making? When I told my roommate I was going to make a mixed tape he asked who it was for. That's a pretty good indication that mixed tapes from non-DJs tend to be messages, invocations of a feeling that needs to be imparted.
It really is gorgeous to use someone else's words and music to convey how you feel. It takes a certain gumption to force through the obstacle of corniness, and even more to deliver the package to the audience. I myself have never found that kind of force. The fact remains that a lot of people do; however, it's possible that people are so self-absorbed that they don't think about the dangers of interpretation.
For those mixers who are aware of the listener, there is the danger that the audience could assume the creator is blissfully unaware of the imposition the work makes. The tape demands to be interpreted on terms that can't exclude the maker. That's why I made my tape for me.
As a medium, the mixed tape is really removed. The tape goes from the songwriter, to the musicians, to the producer, who has to combine things in the same complicated manner that the musician combined notes and words, and finally, to the audience. The form allows for a lot of meaning to accrue, but it's still got to be sorted by an audience or else it doesn't matter.
Of course, making a mixed tape doesn't really have to mean it's getting sent to anyone; I made mine for me. However, it will necessarily be an expression of a feeling that the maker wants someone to feel later. That someone could be a loved one, I guess.
If the mixed tape is indeed made for a loved one then there are still a lot of options. You could organize it according to a narrative. You could organize it according to musical influence. The possibilities go on, but the deeper the mixer gets, the harder it becomes. Even if one tries to make a party mix, the way the songs hang together needs to be a concern.
So I pushed myself past all these hang-ups and made a damn mixed tape about Valentine's Day and longing and sex. It went pretty well, but then the tape ran out on the last song. It's a peculiarity of tape that there is a finite amount of recording material not once, but twice. Fitting songs onto the tape properly is of paramount concern. So the tape ran out on the second side and I listened. It was a sort of depressing song with a catchy beat, and the last lines that made it onto the tape were, \And now we all know/ The words were true/ To the sappiest songs."" And that's the beauty of regular old tape.
Justin R. Damm is a senior majoring in English who may be reached at scavenberry@hotmail.com. His column runs every Monday in The Daily Cardinal.
