This week, I rediscovered an old mix tape. Listening to it reminded me of the beautiful young lady who made it for me.

Then, I got to thinking about the lost art of the mix tape. And I wondered...

Sure, many people make playlists. Some are great. Some are simply mediocre. Yet, with the advent of iTunes, Spotify, 8 Tracks, and Pandora, everyone has the option to share their playlist with the world. Whether they are great. Or mediocre.

Does this make them less personal?

I suppose that depends on if the playlist was intended for someone in particular. Or if it was for yourself. Or if the music on the mix has any special reason for being there.

However, creating an actual “mix tape” (and, to a point, mix CD) requires a certain level of talent, planning, dedication and finesse. Cassette tapes have a finite amount of time to work with—you have to convey your intent within thirty, forty-five, or if you were lucky, fifty-five minutes (my favorite cassettes to work with were the 110 minute blanks from TDK) per side. Plus, you had to plan the music so that the side didn’t run out before the song did.

At least, in order to make a really good mix tape, you had to keep this in mind. Perhaps we all had friends who gave zero fucks, and while driving down the road, a song you love cuts mid-track when the tape switches sides.

Also, in the age before digital download, you’re only able to include songs you have access to. Cassette-to-cassette was a popular option. Programmable CD changers were even better. If you’re desperate to include the latest hit, recording it off the radio—hoping against hope that the jock would keep his mouth shut as the song ended and the next song didn’t overlap (too much).

Honestly, my early mix tapes sucked. A lot of jock’s voices cut into dead air. Re-recording over a track that didn’t fit, but not exactly erasing the previous song.

As with projects I was passionate about, I gained a certain sense of pride over my mix tapes. Friends asked me to make copies. Girls never complained about their gifts. Road trips were supremely enjoyable.

Then, I met Meegan. Bright-eyed, beautiful, charming Meegan. I liked her right away, and took advantage of any opportunity to spend time with her... including a road trip.

During that road trip, I was exposed to music I had never heard before. Some of it new, some of it classic, some of it old. Some of it unique... even by today’s standards. I also discovered blueberry dessert pizza, but that’s a topic for another day.

So, she made me a mix tape with the music she likes. I still have it, and treasure it as if it were gold or diamonds.

I have since digitized it, and the playlist lives on my iPod, but listening to it always puts a smile on my face.

I wonder if she kept a copy? Or maybe she copied a mix tape she’d made for herself? Or maybe she hardly planned it at all—simply throwing together songs and hoping they fit. No, there’s definitely a hint of thought and caring within the mix.

I know whenever I made a mix tape for someone, I always made myself a copy first. I’d listen to it in the car for a few days—just to make sure that the songs went with each other, and there were few, if any, faux pas recorded.

Many of these, I still have as well.

Finite limits may be gone from the creation of playlists, and I may be able to quickly download any song I deem necessary to fit into the playlist—such as those songs I remember only in dreams (does this happen to anyone else?)—but I still tend to keep my playlists short, sweet, and thoughtful. As if I could quickly burn it to an eighty minute CD upon request.

Maybe it isn’t a lost art after all.

What i'm listening to:

Run to You
Bryan Adams
Reckless