For the most part, they are all gone.
There were probably over a hundred of them. Could of been more, but a lot of them, they had been re-used. White out changed everything.
Mix tapes.
Not hip hop mix tapes (although there were literally mix tapes made of hip hop,) but straight up mix tapes- collections of songs; a mix of songs on a cassette tape. They were everything from age 10 to age 27. My whole world was based around mix tapes- the playing of them and the making of them. But then one day, just like with the dinosaurs, they were all gone.
Maxwell made solid blank tapes. Ninety minutes was standard, 110 for something special, and 120 for serious business. A block of them- maybe a pack of ten, was consistently one of the most reliable gifts I would recieve in regards to how happy I was to get them. The problem was never filling them. The problem was always what should fill them. Sometimes there were themes or sometimes for someone. Always a treat was taping an album and deciding what to fill the blank space with. Should it be old songs of that band or something that sounded like them; something along the same lines? I don't remember using fast forward all that much. It was all about pressing play and then pressing eject. When they made walkmen that would flip 'em automatically, it, like White Out and duel tape decks, changed everything.
A favorite reason to make a mix tape was a road trip. It started when I was younger as a passenger and continued up to when I could drive and rocked the Escort to and from Baltimore. This included plane trips; making a mix or two for the plane ride to Florida. One of the most important things I always needed to pack was batteries. If batteries were to go dead, shit went south quick- unless you had back ups. So always remember extra batteries. And always pack one more tape than you think you should, because you never know.
Chris Murton, a friend from high school, made one of my favorite mix tapes; a tape I listened to all through college. It was warm up music for our soccer team that year and was an amazing mix tape made up old school hip hop and funk jams. They were songs Murton had used when he took break-dancing classes at the Y. I don't remember when I last listened to that mix, but I also never remember taking a trip when I didn't bring that tape with me.
In the Mix Tape Hall of Fame, Kenny Smith, the Kenny Smith, would be in there. When we came back for sophomore year at Goucher, Kenny came back from his parents' house in central New Jersey with perhaps what was one of the most impressive collections of mix tapes- in terms of size, scope and attention to detail, I had ever seen. They were all Phish bootlegs. A lot of them. Kenny had spent the summer pumping gas and using the Internet to find bootlegs to trade for. I didn't know where to start, there were just so many. So many shows and set lists, that I didn't know how to pick one to listen too. But Kenny did. Impressively. He was like a librarian presiding over his own collection. He could match any mood or social setting with a set- frequently in less than five minutes. During those five minutes, I'd be playing Murton's Soccer mix tape.
Mix tapes, as I got older, became like scrapbooks and were retrospectively, very revealing and informational. I could follow relationships through what songs were on mixes and what bands had creeped in. I could see moods and speculate what was going in my life at the time of a certain mix's creating. Thinking back, the last times tapes were regularly in my life was when I lived up on the Eastern Prom in Portland with Obie and we used them in the bathroom for the Bathroom Boombox. The Bathroom Boombox, like mix tapes, was an essential part of every bathroom I regularly used until I moved to Philadelphia. Regardless of whose it was, the Bathroom Boombox was old, large, and had small splotches of paint on it. For my Bathroom Boombox, it was replaced by Bathroom Clock Radio and with that change, mix tapes all put disappeared. They either didn't survive the move off the Prom or didn't survive Mom's purging of the basement.
During those last few years in Portland, mix tapes were ushered out of existence by the progress of buring CD's. Soon mix tapes were all but completely replaced by mix CD's. For the most part, this was a good change. It made it easier and tape decks were becoming obsolete. Especially when I was playing with Sidecar, the burned CD became a major staple in all of our lives. We were constantly buring CD's; something to give away at shows. Put labels on 'em and they'd almost look professional. I-tunes came along and like the automatic side-changer on Walkmens before it, was a game changer. It made playlists easier to create, no scrap paper was needed anymore and mistakes easily fixed. And as a bonus, it was incredibly faster to burn a mix CD than to record a mix tape. I'm not a scientist. I don't know the ratio or percentage of how faster it was. I'm sorry. But you can see and probably know, it was faster.
But in some cases, the magic was gone. It was gone for a simple reason: skip. Skip was the new fast forward. Part of the magic and soul of mix tapes was the construction of them, the order of the songs. It was meant to be seen as whole. Mix CD's lost that because skip made it so easy to miss a song or two; ruining the intended flow of a mix. The hope that the mix would be listened to every time from start to finish faded fast. Burned CD's were shorter, easier to make, and slightly cooler looking and like raccoons replacing dinosaurs, they moved right in and took over the game.
So here's to mix tapes. Here's to the Head-Bobbin' Tunes mix and the Maine or Bust mix. Here's to the Reggae mix, the Hip Hop mix, and the Let's Get Wasted Loud Music mix. Here's to the Darkroom Jams mix, the Flight to Boulder mix, or the Jamtastic Tunes mix.
You are gone, but not forgotten.
Showing posts with label sidecar radio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sidecar radio. Show all posts
What up, Bayonne!
Bayonne.
It's my new favorite thing to say. You can't help but swing it with some attitude when you say it. I want to use it as a verb- maybe even an adjective. I would be perfectly happy calling a dog Bayonne, although dog names are already lining up and Bayonne would be third behind Buoy and McFly. I'm not sure of the order, only sure of the awesome names.
Bay-ONN.
The town of Bayonne is in the industrial offshoot of NYC part of Jersey. Not much to look at and it's only redeeming quality might be the name. BaaaaayyoHHNNN. But I cruised up yesterday then took a little jaunt over to lovely Jersey City. Speeding up the Jersey Turnpike in the rumblin' 350, I was running late to my meeting; my meeting in BAYONNNNNE and was blasting the new Rustic Overtones' record. It's still unsettling, but it's growing on me. I can't help but miss the devastating horn lines that seemed to have been replaced with grand string parts. It's just different, it lacks the POP of previous Rustic records, which could probably be attributed to the do-it-yourself production the dudes did. But it sounds muted and static. There's big parts, but I have to imagine them as bigger to do them justice. Ultimately I'd say it's a cool record, just a record from a different Rustic than I started to listen to in high school- a band that drinks with Ray LaMontagne now instead of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
Cranked the new Sidecar EP too and continue to love the first song, "Hospitals on Fire." There's an acoustic tune on there, just Chayes solo and while it reminds me a lot of Sublime's acoustic album, it reminds me more of the power Chayes has with just his voice and an acoustic guitar. Dude has such a big voice and it's got some soul in it now, seemingly a product of growing older and living more. All the bells & whistles of Sidecar are fun, but Chayes drives that band and I'd be just as content to listen to him perform solo than with the band. I'd actually like to see that. It seems ages ago when that's all he did- if anything, accompanied by a dude and a dijembe. I wonder if my thirties will go by as quickly as my twenties did.
After Bayonne...BAYONNE!!...it was on to Jersey City, which is a little slice of heaven that is a little bit of hell when trying to park a rambling 350. The lots are all monthly and the garages all have a clearance of under 6 feet. But I took a chance with a garage and squeaked through at five miles an hour, just barely clearing the ceiling and the lights and the pipes that we're hanging down. I could see each pipe shake a little every time I went under one. But I made it and made it out, too. I was worried about that, thinking the change in direction mixed with the incline could really do some damage. The only certainty of the situation was that I was getting out, one way or the other. When I pulled up to the gate, the attendant did a double take and his eyes grew wider the closer I got.
You can't park that in here, he said.
Well I did, I said.
How? He asked.
Carefully.
But shit, saying Bayonne when you're drunk must be fun.
On the way back to Philly, with the sun setting and cars with one person in them darting their way through traffic, I played Them Crooked Vultures loudly as a way to ease out the frustration of the day. It seemed like some folks could have car-pooled, but like they said in Singles- people love their cars.
Back home, Flaherty & the Sea Captains were getting ready for a show in NH and it was good to catch up & talk music with Adam. Dude's getting married, which seems fun. He's not nervous, just excited. Probably a good way to look at it.
Kind of like Bayonne, baby! Ain't no need to get nervous, just excited. It's only going to get more awesome the longer you're there.
Bayonne!
It's my new favorite thing to say. You can't help but swing it with some attitude when you say it. I want to use it as a verb- maybe even an adjective. I would be perfectly happy calling a dog Bayonne, although dog names are already lining up and Bayonne would be third behind Buoy and McFly. I'm not sure of the order, only sure of the awesome names.
Bay-ONN.
The town of Bayonne is in the industrial offshoot of NYC part of Jersey. Not much to look at and it's only redeeming quality might be the name. BaaaaayyoHHNNN. But I cruised up yesterday then took a little jaunt over to lovely Jersey City. Speeding up the Jersey Turnpike in the rumblin' 350, I was running late to my meeting; my meeting in BAYONNNNNE and was blasting the new Rustic Overtones' record. It's still unsettling, but it's growing on me. I can't help but miss the devastating horn lines that seemed to have been replaced with grand string parts. It's just different, it lacks the POP of previous Rustic records, which could probably be attributed to the do-it-yourself production the dudes did. But it sounds muted and static. There's big parts, but I have to imagine them as bigger to do them justice. Ultimately I'd say it's a cool record, just a record from a different Rustic than I started to listen to in high school- a band that drinks with Ray LaMontagne now instead of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.
Cranked the new Sidecar EP too and continue to love the first song, "Hospitals on Fire." There's an acoustic tune on there, just Chayes solo and while it reminds me a lot of Sublime's acoustic album, it reminds me more of the power Chayes has with just his voice and an acoustic guitar. Dude has such a big voice and it's got some soul in it now, seemingly a product of growing older and living more. All the bells & whistles of Sidecar are fun, but Chayes drives that band and I'd be just as content to listen to him perform solo than with the band. I'd actually like to see that. It seems ages ago when that's all he did- if anything, accompanied by a dude and a dijembe. I wonder if my thirties will go by as quickly as my twenties did.
After Bayonne...BAYONNE!!...it was on to Jersey City, which is a little slice of heaven that is a little bit of hell when trying to park a rambling 350. The lots are all monthly and the garages all have a clearance of under 6 feet. But I took a chance with a garage and squeaked through at five miles an hour, just barely clearing the ceiling and the lights and the pipes that we're hanging down. I could see each pipe shake a little every time I went under one. But I made it and made it out, too. I was worried about that, thinking the change in direction mixed with the incline could really do some damage. The only certainty of the situation was that I was getting out, one way or the other. When I pulled up to the gate, the attendant did a double take and his eyes grew wider the closer I got.
You can't park that in here, he said.
Well I did, I said.
How? He asked.
Carefully.
But shit, saying Bayonne when you're drunk must be fun.
On the way back to Philly, with the sun setting and cars with one person in them darting their way through traffic, I played Them Crooked Vultures loudly as a way to ease out the frustration of the day. It seemed like some folks could have car-pooled, but like they said in Singles- people love their cars.
Back home, Flaherty & the Sea Captains were getting ready for a show in NH and it was good to catch up & talk music with Adam. Dude's getting married, which seems fun. He's not nervous, just excited. Probably a good way to look at it.
Kind of like Bayonne, baby! Ain't no need to get nervous, just excited. It's only going to get more awesome the longer you're there.
Bayonne!
Busted Gas Gauge Blues, but no sleep til the Turkey is served.
The gas gauge in the Blazer is busted. It stays on full and only drops to empty when it gets frighteningly close to actually being empty. Two times now I've run out of gas, and both at precarious times. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how you fix a broken gas gauge and super unfortunately, playing a guessing game with fuel levels isn't nearly as awesome or thrilling as you'd expect.
But we made it home; made it to Portland.
Dugan doesn't care for traffic and needs to learn to just freakin' deal with it. I almost forgot Erin at a rest stop on the Merritt Parkway, but moments earlier had a Denali back into me. So it could have been worse. Right?
Of course getting through NYC was the hardest part, but nothing beats the drive from Hartford to Portland- especially at night. The roads don't end and you drive on enough of them to get annoyed at each & every one. Just when you think you're close, cruising past lovely Worcester, you still need to hit 495 and then finally 95- riding that prickly bastard until exit 53. Couple of turns after that you're home. When do we eat? Is there a cold beer around?
It was nice to see that Obama's plan to create late-night traffic jams on our busiest stretches of Interstate isn't limited to the mid-Atlantic. I'm also thinking about the thousands & thousands of dollars that have been spent on traffic cones & headlamps. Not sure if this is what he had in mind when he passed the Stimulus Bill, but it's totally what's happened. I don't even think the God-fearing, America-loving Republicans have caught on yet. Thank God for that.
There are few things as frustrating as late-night traffic jams. Having a giant, barking dog in the car when in said jam is probably one of the few things on the list. Every once in a while, I'd feel Dugan's breath next to my ear and would catch his big, giant melon out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't tell if he was nosey or concerned. Still can't.
Rolled into Portland a little after one and threw down a couple Coors Lights to help me fall asleep. Spending today finishing up work and walking around Portland, still expecting to recognize people. But it's been three years, dude. So much has changed and it's easy to think that nothing has. You come home thinking everything will be exactly like it was on the day you left.
But it ain't, bubba.
Bars are closed, coffee shops take place in Paris now, and the ol' rock band is opening up for 311 at the big joint tonight. It'd be easier to be happy if it weren't so hard to swallow. Playing in that goddamn band is the one thing I consistently miss about living in Portland and I'd be lying if I wasn't routing for some form of failure after I left. You leave something, you want your absence and departure to be acknowledged. You want it to be slightly less awesome then when you were a part of it. It's selfish and a lame way of thinking- but I'm not thinking these thoughts on purpose. The thoughts I'm having on purpose are thoughts of being stoked for the dudes and happy for them. I'm sure if I could control my thoughts I'd sleep better. But that's not the case, so I'm resigned to trying to think about other things.
Like turkey, Sunday Funday with the Lady, and picking up the new Rustic disc on Friday.
I missed Turkey Day last year due to illness and I'll be goddamned if I'm going to miss it this year. There is no social drinking situation between now and 2pm tomorrow that would be so incredibly awesome that it would possibly jeopardize Turkey Day for Ryno. None.
Good thing the booze cruise is on Friday.
But good for Chayes and Solemente. I'd be hard pressed to think of two dudes I'd rather have open for 311 the night before Turkey Day at the big joint. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for working amps, a receptive crowd, and free booze in the dressing room.
Good luck tonight Christian Hayes Element and I'll see you Saturday, road.
But we made it home; made it to Portland.
Dugan doesn't care for traffic and needs to learn to just freakin' deal with it. I almost forgot Erin at a rest stop on the Merritt Parkway, but moments earlier had a Denali back into me. So it could have been worse. Right?
Of course getting through NYC was the hardest part, but nothing beats the drive from Hartford to Portland- especially at night. The roads don't end and you drive on enough of them to get annoyed at each & every one. Just when you think you're close, cruising past lovely Worcester, you still need to hit 495 and then finally 95- riding that prickly bastard until exit 53. Couple of turns after that you're home. When do we eat? Is there a cold beer around?
It was nice to see that Obama's plan to create late-night traffic jams on our busiest stretches of Interstate isn't limited to the mid-Atlantic. I'm also thinking about the thousands & thousands of dollars that have been spent on traffic cones & headlamps. Not sure if this is what he had in mind when he passed the Stimulus Bill, but it's totally what's happened. I don't even think the God-fearing, America-loving Republicans have caught on yet. Thank God for that.
There are few things as frustrating as late-night traffic jams. Having a giant, barking dog in the car when in said jam is probably one of the few things on the list. Every once in a while, I'd feel Dugan's breath next to my ear and would catch his big, giant melon out of the corner of my eye. I couldn't tell if he was nosey or concerned. Still can't.
Rolled into Portland a little after one and threw down a couple Coors Lights to help me fall asleep. Spending today finishing up work and walking around Portland, still expecting to recognize people. But it's been three years, dude. So much has changed and it's easy to think that nothing has. You come home thinking everything will be exactly like it was on the day you left.
But it ain't, bubba.
Bars are closed, coffee shops take place in Paris now, and the ol' rock band is opening up for 311 at the big joint tonight. It'd be easier to be happy if it weren't so hard to swallow. Playing in that goddamn band is the one thing I consistently miss about living in Portland and I'd be lying if I wasn't routing for some form of failure after I left. You leave something, you want your absence and departure to be acknowledged. You want it to be slightly less awesome then when you were a part of it. It's selfish and a lame way of thinking- but I'm not thinking these thoughts on purpose. The thoughts I'm having on purpose are thoughts of being stoked for the dudes and happy for them. I'm sure if I could control my thoughts I'd sleep better. But that's not the case, so I'm resigned to trying to think about other things.
Like turkey, Sunday Funday with the Lady, and picking up the new Rustic disc on Friday.
I missed Turkey Day last year due to illness and I'll be goddamned if I'm going to miss it this year. There is no social drinking situation between now and 2pm tomorrow that would be so incredibly awesome that it would possibly jeopardize Turkey Day for Ryno. None.
Good thing the booze cruise is on Friday.
But good for Chayes and Solemente. I'd be hard pressed to think of two dudes I'd rather have open for 311 the night before Turkey Day at the big joint. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for working amps, a receptive crowd, and free booze in the dressing room.
Good luck tonight Christian Hayes Element and I'll see you Saturday, road.
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