Mixed Bag
by Zayne Reeves

Last year, I flew to Calgary to visit a friend I hadn't seen in years, catch a music festival and do a little hiking in Banff.  Now, as far as the hiking goes, I cannot stress the "little" part of the equation enough. While both my friend and her boyfriend are very much at ease trekking through the mountains, I have the distinct feeling that our fellow hikers passing us both up and down the trail were thinking to themselves; "That sure is nice of that couple to take the Make A Wish kid out and show him a good time." And while I know that there are few things more tedious than listening to someone prattle on about their vacation, please allow me to slip in a gratuitous, deeply heartfelt plug for Calgary's own fried chicken institution, Chicken On The Way. If you are like me and love good fried chicken to a degree that unsettles those closest to you, Chicken On The Way kicks about seven different kinds of extra crispy ass.

Moving the plot along, there was a moment where I sat down with my friend on her living room floor while she gave me a guided tour through her CD collection. At some point after she had played John Cale's "Dying On The Vine" for me, she revealed this brightly colored orange crate full of mix tapes that I'd made her over the years.  She thanked me for them and told me how much they had meant to her and all the artists and songs that they'd exposed her to. I am always caught off guard when someone expresses genuine appreciation to me and I felt myself wanting to leave the room to cry. I'm not writing all this to pat myself on the back (ok, maybe just a tad) but rather because it gave me a "Gadzooks!" moment. If there is anything, anything at all, that I have contributed to this person's life that will have a lasting impact it is probably in those tapes. Friendships have a way of humming along until they just stop humming one day. People fall in and out of love, get married, get divorced, organize PTA meetings, get promoted, pull a Martin Blank and assassinate the President of Paraguay with a fork......these things do happen and not all friendships survive them. 

So, I sat there and wondered what specific songs on those tapes meant to her and what sort of impact they'd had on her life.  After you hear a song that's truly special to you for the first time, you feel this need to look around and see if anyone still recognizes you because you couldn't possibly be the same person after listening to Harry Nilsson sing “Save The Last Dance.”  Did Richard Buckner's “Lil Wallet Picture” make her take a walk during an ungodly hour of night just to think about people who weren't there anymore? Did she listen to Mississippi John Hurt sing “Avalon Blues” and feel as if the eyes of God were lifting open the sky? Did Shatner's take on “Common People” bring her to realize that, ultimately, all roads lead back to TJ Hooker? The tapes in that orange crate had personality and warmth; qualities lacking in the cd-r's I had been burning for the past couple of years as part of my sad little concession to the teeth-chattering death rattle of cassette.

It's interesting how the mythology of the mix tape works because, even though I grew up in the era of cassettes muscling vinyl out for rack space at record stores, I knew that there was no way a piece of plastic with a spool of magnetic tape inside it had any of the grandeur or meaningful ritual associated with vinyl. Having said that, not even vinyl in all its glory has the same level of character contained in a handmade mix tape. Not for me anyway. A mix tape is your own ninety minute autobiography starring someone else's words and melodies that you somehow make your own once you hit that "Play-Rec" button and, as Steve Earle would say, magnetize the motherfucker.  Without uttering a sound, or even being in the same state, I have told those I care about that I would not even be recognizable to them if it weren't for the way Gillian Welch sings the words "I took a lazy turn through the red eye zone" off “April The 14th, Part I.”  Maybe they listen to that particular song and it zips right past them. Doesn't matter. I know exactly what it was that Gillian and David confessed on my behalf.

Since that day in Calgary (I've always wanted to say that!), I've gone back exclusively to making mix tapes for the people in my life as well as those I want to step into my life.  Under the right circumstances, giving someone a mix tape can serve almost as a first date experience. What you are telling them with that tape is "Please look at me." If you are reading this and can't remember the last time you made a mix tape for a loved one, I know you are probably a busy person but you really should make the time to sit down alone in a room and spin your life's story again because the right song on the right tape might just change both your worlds for the better.

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