Romance ahoy
One of the best things about renting films on iTunes and streaming them is that there are no tedious adverts to sit through. In particular there are no 'piracy' adverts (not, you might imagine a timely public service announcement about giving the coast of Somalia a wide berth if in anything less than an battleship, but about movie piracy, and not the ones starring Johnny Depp either). If the authorities are serious about catching the movie pirates then I suggest they do a round of pubs and arrest the people selling dodgy DVDs out of a basket (why the hell is it always a basket?), or go to a car booter, rather than litter the front end of DVDs with crap adverts
Those adverts were hellish annoying, and, for those of us who have seen it all before, doubly irritating.
Because back in the day when they had proper record shops (independent, small, dusty, run by staff who cared deeply...about being smug), proper records (vinyl), and proper pop stars (blokes wore more make up than the women, hair like a startled seagull, shoulder pads you could land a 747 on), records used to come with a little sign in the corner of the sleeve declaring that home taping would kill the music industry.
No, Simon Cowell did. What home taping did was allow the cation of the mix tape which, before the invention of STDs, was the best way to show somebody that you loved them.
Back in the 80s, nobody could be arsed with the analogue version of file sharing, that is, copying an LP onto a cassette for your mates and then handing them round in the playground. Instead, everyone used to go round each others' houses and listen to the music together. Home taping was more or less reserved for taping the top 40 on a Sunday, a practice that nobody ever indulged in more than a couple of times because of the nerve-shredding skill required to record a song without the DJ talking over the intro and then speaking again over the last few seconds. I am sure that attics and sheds the country over are full of recordings of the middle of pop songs and the first syllable of 'that was...'.
As a romantic gift though, the mix tape was ideal. It was personal, it sent a message and it was cheap, leaving a young man (men make mix tapes, women receive mix tapes) plenty in the budget for Lynx should things go well. They also make the ideal anonymous gift, being easily posted, deposited, or gaffa-taped to the front door of the object of your affection.
The small card inlay is an ideal canvas for not just the track listing, but exquisite biro art, with plenty of hearts and flowers. The tracks can be jaunty pop songs interspersed with the occasional gushy ballad. It's all about hitting the right note, conveying how you feel about a person. Having the same song played over and over and over again rarely results in a successful seduction but if it does, hold onto the tape because when the inevitable break-up occurs, you'll be able to listen to it repeatedly while sobbing and thinking this was 'our song'.
The tricky thing was gauging the reaction and judging whether to risk public humiliation and private heartache. Best result, you hear her saying how great she thought the tape was, casually reveal you were glad she liked it and you arrange to do something interesting involving chips. Bad result, you hear her saying how great she thought the tape was, some other scrote expresses an interest in the same bands and she either lends him the tape or they arrange to go off and do something interesting, involving chips. Apocalyptic result, you get the tape back the next day, it has been recorded over, with the sounds of her brother and his friends doing very bad impressions of you declaring your love for his little sister. It ends not as you are now hoping with a death threat, but instead a message from the object of your affection kindly explaining that you appreciate the thought, but don't ever speak to her again, posting stuff anonymously is creepy, being spotted in the bushes doing so is worse, and your taste in music is atrocious.
The mix tape was a rite of passage and recording one, even if you never sent it, was an important formative cultural event in the life of a young man. Today it's easier than ever to make a mix CD or playlist, and I wonder if there are lovelorn bedroom DJs out there patiently assembling a twelve track message of affection, or if it's a thing of the past. File sharing may well be piracy, but using music to send a romantic message is surely what the damn stuff was invented for in the first place. Send somebody a mix tape, you're not a music pirate, you're a love buccaneer.
Those adverts were hellish annoying, and, for those of us who have seen it all before, doubly irritating.
Because back in the day when they had proper record shops (independent, small, dusty, run by staff who cared deeply...about being smug), proper records (vinyl), and proper pop stars (blokes wore more make up than the women, hair like a startled seagull, shoulder pads you could land a 747 on), records used to come with a little sign in the corner of the sleeve declaring that home taping would kill the music industry.
No, Simon Cowell did. What home taping did was allow the cation of the mix tape which, before the invention of STDs, was the best way to show somebody that you loved them.
Back in the 80s, nobody could be arsed with the analogue version of file sharing, that is, copying an LP onto a cassette for your mates and then handing them round in the playground. Instead, everyone used to go round each others' houses and listen to the music together. Home taping was more or less reserved for taping the top 40 on a Sunday, a practice that nobody ever indulged in more than a couple of times because of the nerve-shredding skill required to record a song without the DJ talking over the intro and then speaking again over the last few seconds. I am sure that attics and sheds the country over are full of recordings of the middle of pop songs and the first syllable of 'that was...'.
As a romantic gift though, the mix tape was ideal. It was personal, it sent a message and it was cheap, leaving a young man (men make mix tapes, women receive mix tapes) plenty in the budget for Lynx should things go well. They also make the ideal anonymous gift, being easily posted, deposited, or gaffa-taped to the front door of the object of your affection.
The small card inlay is an ideal canvas for not just the track listing, but exquisite biro art, with plenty of hearts and flowers. The tracks can be jaunty pop songs interspersed with the occasional gushy ballad. It's all about hitting the right note, conveying how you feel about a person. Having the same song played over and over and over again rarely results in a successful seduction but if it does, hold onto the tape because when the inevitable break-up occurs, you'll be able to listen to it repeatedly while sobbing and thinking this was 'our song'.
The tricky thing was gauging the reaction and judging whether to risk public humiliation and private heartache. Best result, you hear her saying how great she thought the tape was, casually reveal you were glad she liked it and you arrange to do something interesting involving chips. Bad result, you hear her saying how great she thought the tape was, some other scrote expresses an interest in the same bands and she either lends him the tape or they arrange to go off and do something interesting, involving chips. Apocalyptic result, you get the tape back the next day, it has been recorded over, with the sounds of her brother and his friends doing very bad impressions of you declaring your love for his little sister. It ends not as you are now hoping with a death threat, but instead a message from the object of your affection kindly explaining that you appreciate the thought, but don't ever speak to her again, posting stuff anonymously is creepy, being spotted in the bushes doing so is worse, and your taste in music is atrocious.
The mix tape was a rite of passage and recording one, even if you never sent it, was an important formative cultural event in the life of a young man. Today it's easier than ever to make a mix CD or playlist, and I wonder if there are lovelorn bedroom DJs out there patiently assembling a twelve track message of affection, or if it's a thing of the past. File sharing may well be piracy, but using music to send a romantic message is surely what the damn stuff was invented for in the first place. Send somebody a mix tape, you're not a music pirate, you're a love buccaneer.
Labels: Music, Relationships, Romance
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