Memories of Mix Tapes

After a few days bumping along the bottom of the blogging barrel, I have arrived at the weekend armed with a glass of red wine, a new blog, and no idea what my fingers might write next. Once you realise my fingers are almost entirely responsible for the content I publish to the internet, with little or no involvement from my brain, a lot of things start to make sense.

Tears for Fears just burst through the computer speakers with “Everybody Want’s to Rule the World” – courtesy of an 80s playlist from Spotify. I’m becoming increasingly lazy when it comes to music – happy to leave a playlist running in the background for hour upon hour. In my teens and early twenties music meant more somehow – the contents of a mix tape was a window to your soul. When somebody shared a tape with you, you knew they had spent hours compiling it – carefully editing and curating – scrawling the artists and track names into the paper cover with care.

My children must be sick of Nik Kershaw, Howard Jones, Duran Duran, ABC, Go West, Roxy Music, The Eurythmics, and the countless other artists of decades past I gravitate towards if left unsupervised. It probably doesn’t help that I look down my nose at Stormzy, Ed Sheeran, and Lewis Capaldi with such aloof derision (mostly designed to annoy my children – one of the few vices I can indulge in while washing up to the strains of yet another sentimental whinge-fest by Mr Sheeran).

I remember making a mix tape for somebody I worked with many years ago, and trying to hide a message within the selection of songs. I was secretly moritifed when I learned she had no interest in listening to anything outside of the “top 40”, and had completely ignored three quarters of the tracks I so carefully compiled.

Journey have just begun singing “Don’t Stop Believing” – forever etched in my memory as the theme song to that movie where the impossibly pretty serving staff dance on a drink sodden bar without breaking their ankles *. Of course there are other memories of concert footage from YouTube, involving skin tight denim, massive hair, and Steve “The Voice” Perry belting the song out to an adoring audience of similarly stretch-denim clad massive hair fans.

My other half and eldest daughter have just returned from an induction at the local gymnasium. Apparently tonight they went on the walking machines and cross-trainers – doing “cardio”. I guess that means the end of my partner-in-running-crime. Doing the “Couch to 5K” before Christmas reminded me how much I like running. It’s a shame the weather doesn’t feel the same way – it’s been raining pretty consistently since late August last year. Doing anything outside seems to involve coats, waterproofs, hats, and changes of clothes – which in turn causes the biggest clothes washing mountain in the known universe.

Anyway. I’ve probably rambled on quite long enough. The glass of red wine is now empty, and acquiring another will no doubt involve a walk (in the rain) to the corner shop. I swear the man behind the counter thinks I live on a mixture of bread, washing up liquid, cheap wine, and chocolate.

  • A wonderful friend just informed me that my memory is broken! The lead actress in Coyote Ugly sings “Can’t Fight the Moonlight” – not “Can’t Fight That Feeling”. Please excuse me while I have wonder what else I can’t remember!

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