I went to the dentist yesterday and driving through the light rain, I put a tape on. You remember tapes, right?
Anyway, this one particular tape was pre-mp3 player…hell, they all were, but anyway, it my attempt at putting together a mix of stuff I liked off of various compilations I had. So there’s like 2 songs by this phenomenal band called Boxer, a Screw 32 song, some stuff by Digger, and about 5 songs in a row by this band I’d discovered called Funeral Oration.
Man, I forgot how good FO were. They’re (or were) from the Netherlands (that’s in Europe, kids!) and somehow ended up on all these Hopeless Records compilations. I think Hopeless put out their entire discography or greatest hits or singles or something in the US at one point. I figured (at the time I made the tape), “what the hell, I ALWAYS listen to tapes and this band rules, I may as well put all their shit on here that I have!”
Good move. ‘Cause I think I sold those comps for beer money a while back.
I like digging up old tapes. Not out of any sort of retro-fetish obesession with everything I had and did when I was 15 (being 15 sucked for me), but mostly for the lame-ass memories. I read Rob Sheffield’s Love Is A Mix Tape and loved it. Not because it was hip or anything like that, but because he makes these connections, emotionally, between tapes and memories of him and his late wife. Each tape, no matter how weird, is part of a story, and stories always rule. I love telling stories, it’s why I started writing, so I could tell them. It’s what I love about books. Shit, I remember stories connected to tapes I don’t even have any more. How weird is that?
What were we talking about? Oh yeah, Funeral Oration. Good band. Also, I have a cavity. Fuck teeth.