Rest in Peace, Mix-tapes

Living in the dawn of the digital era has its merits.

I love the ease by which music can be accessed. I love the power it places in the hands of the artist. I like the fact that an entire music library can be contained in a portable device smaller than a fist. It's exciting; it's convenient; it's revolutionary.

But it's tragic.

Why? Because a huge source of joy from my adolescence has now become obsolete, and thus future generations may never understand its deep fulfillment. Goodbye, mix-tape/mix-cd. (Note: while the cd is a form of digital music, the development and creation involved resembles a more primitive form... a form rendered obsolete by the triumphal entry of the iPod).

I remember sitting for hours on end, composing the perfect mix. Whether the theme was in honor of a genre, a season, or an emotion, the songs were chosen with irreproachable savvy. New favorites meet timeless classics; tracks placed in order either by gut feeling or according to a strict imaginary manual; playlist checked and double-checked just in case any of my friends held a spontaneous "best mix of the year" pageant. Ultimately, the power was mine, and I was prepared to live with the consequences: occasional criticism, regret of wrongful additions, lament of wrongful omissions, etc.

Nothing made a better gift. A mix-tape/mix-cd says, "listen to what I love." It says, "I think you might like this." It says, "I love you enough to share this with you."

Making playlists on a computer or an mp3 player is simply incomparable. It's noncommittal. It's impersonal. You can't gift it. It's too temporary.

I'm not a traditionalist normally, but I will actively resist letting go of this artform. Would you join me? I'll make you a mix if you'll make me one.