Mixtape Magic
My father's legacy wound in stacked spools of nostalgia and rediscovery.
Have you ever made or received a cassette mixtape? There’s something to be said about not only physically holding a tangible creation, but also committing the time and effort to “make” said thing. We take for granted the modernized ability to “drag-and-drop” with ease — a convenience unfathomable during the pre-digital era of analog technology.
Mixtapes are the epitome of curation. Every decision is carefully planned for the finite minutes in magnetic tape. Artists and albums are evaluated — who and what are worthy inclusions? Songs are prioritized — which on Side A or which on Side B? Order is contemplated — which progression stands the test of time during play?
While Spotify playlists are the present day counterparts for which length is (in theory) limitless, it’s worth considering the benefits of mixtape parameters as well as the deliberate choices and omissions therein. The fixed duration on Sides A and B make the creator more judicious in their choices. As such, the flow and order of these limited selections matter.
Over the last few weeks, I was helping my mom pack and move to a new place. She had me go through the stuff we had accumulated over the last twenty-something years. Some of the things I’d hoped to find were my dad's old mixtapes. When he wasn’t out catching a round of golf or playing mahjong with my aunts, he’d be chilling by our living room stereo like a mad scientist, compiling his latest mixtape. His cassettes became the accompanying soundtrack of our car rides, whether to my weekly piano lesson or on family road trips.
A new business venture set in motion my dad’s relocation to Hong Kong from late 1995 until early 1998. Unfortunately, due to our life established in the US — my schooling and my mom’s job — it wasn’t feasible for us to join him. In addition, transcontinental airfare was pretty expensive then, so my dad had only been able to return home once or twice a year, with us visiting Hong Kong just one time. While we’d have weekly conversations on the phone, he would also send letters during his stretch of absences, frequently enclosed with mixtapes he made for us overseas.
It is also wild to realize I'm now the same age my mother was when my dad was away for work. I couldn’t imagine being away from my partner for that long while taking care of an eight-year-old. I remember missing him desperately during those years, unable to comprehend how my mother handled it all with such grace, especially now knowing his eventual cancer diagnosis was what would ultimately bring him home for good. Those letters, and to a greater extent his mixtapes, kept composed the weight of his void. When we couldn’t physically be together, then at least we could listen to the latest tracks he had deemed his favorites.
These mixtapes were his labors of love, making up for those months lost across the world. Like Proustian sorcery, I was back here in my old room as my school-aged self, while I read the written track lists, inserted a cassette into my old tape player, and pressed play. As the audio bellowed, beside the ASMR of sorting and stacking tapes in chronological piles, I could feel his lingering warmth, decades later.
I feel very lucky to have found these mixtapes again — I look forward to listening through them, savoring each one. Though, I wouldn’t call his labeling system foolproof. Some tapes had details for Sides A and B, while others were just broadly titled. In 1997 alone, he had a series called Goodies, from I to XIII, with no other information. It was Specials in 1995, and 1996 was a mix between Favorites and Good Mixes. Whatever the name, the overarching vibe was primarily “Lite FM” and “Yacht Rock” — “Dad Music” in the best sense. However silly, that was my father, and it’s what endeared him to many people.
Aren’t wine tastings precisely another form of mixtape creation? A predetermined arrangement (track order and pacing) of bottlings (song and genres) over the course of a set timeframe (Sides A and B), usually with a narrative flow and theme. Perhaps this is the unconscious origin behind my deep connection with storytelling.
Just as excited as my dad was to share new favorite songs with his latest recipient, I’m motivated in bringing people together to profess my current wine obsession. Wine tastings have now become my mixtapes, their woven stories my calling card, all as earnest love letters to my father’s memory.
