Tape Me Back To The Future!

I am listening to tapes. In a motel room. In Featherston. How very late 80s/early 90s of me…

Ask me how I arrived here, and I’ll tell you by car.

I can’t be more specific than that. Because I don’t quite know how I ended up listening to tapes again. But I could sense it coming…right after I threw them all out!

The cassette tape was my first love with music. The first time I felt connected to music myself. I mean, sure, I loved the family record player, and even got pretty good at dropping the needle in the groove (or as close enough to it) at a very young age. But tapes were more my domain.

Some 40 years ago, I had my first tape deck, and, wow, once I started collecting cassettes it was all on. I got my first (and almost only) Walkman a few years on from that. A red Sony which I loved with all my heart, even though it was mid-range at best. But hey, it did the job! I didn’t know there could really be anything better. And I was happy with that.

I kept tapes in my car for a while longer, and even when I switched to CDs, I still picked up the odd cassette tape as they started to drop in price. They were a pain but they were charming. I loved building a solid collection of jazz albums on tape. I had things by Max Roach and Django Reinhardt and Miles Davis and John Coltrane and Buddy Rich and Billie Holiday on cassette. I was 12 and and 13 and 14, and this music hit me so hard. And some days it still does. And some days I feel brilliantly alone in the world listening to that stuff, like it’s my own private party, even though there are people that know far more about those artists than I ever will. Sometimes you just feel like you’re out there on your own — and in only the best possible way.

And I reckon tapes are key to this vibe.

But more recently I did away with almost every cassette tape I had. I wasn’t using them. And I gave away the tape-deck component from my stereo. So I had no tapes and no way of playing any. This was for the best, because the only cassettes in the house were recordings of old bands I was in and jams that I allegedly had when I was at university and high school. No one needs to be hearing those. Least of all me.

And then, a couple of weeks back, a mate messages and sends me the picture of the Halloween Kills soundtrack on brand new cassette. And me being this stupid soundtrack collector, I have to have it. I just flip over it. Even though I already have that album on vinyl.

I buy a cheap Walkman — enough to do the job. I don’t want state of the art. If there even is such a thing. I’m not paying hundreds of dollars. I’m up for tens of dollars at best.

This is my entire tape collection:

I will never part with the Judd albums (his solo record, Private Lives, and the second Schnell Fenster album, Ok Alright Ahuh Oh Yeah). They’re part of an archive I’m building at any rate. I just want as many of the Split Enz-related physical items as is realistic. The Paul Kelly? Well, push comes to shove, that’s my favourite album of his. The one that holds the most weight for me. A weird choice maybe, but it’s connected to the time I nearly ruined his gig!

And it’s connected to when I started reviewing. And it’s just a great, great set of songs by one of my favourite songwriters. And, yep, I know, too, that it’s not going to be the obvious choice. So that does please me baby! (I know it’s meant to be tease me baby…)

And wow. How about that Bliss. That is the essential Kiwi music compilation. The one I grew up with. First of all, it was my brother that brought it home on CD. But my uncle used to have the tape doing the circuit in his truck. And that was when my uncle was the coolest. I haven’t seen him for years. I doubt he’s still cool. No one ever maintains such levels.

I’m not going to go out and buy a load of tapes. I’m not even going to tell you they’re better. They’re not. But they are fun. They are nostalgic. And they have a limited life, which has a charm. And is a weird kink of sorts.

I sent a picture to another mate. He wrote back in praise. And added, “If you stop the tape collection from tomorrow, it will still be better than most could ever hope for!”

But I think we all know this is more of a new beginning than a complete full stop.

Anyway, we are here overnight in Featherston, in a motel. For a job tomorrow. A gig. A thing to do. I’m just the chaperone. The driver. The manager. And I’m killing time with my wee tape collection. And it’s bonkers. But it’s lovely. Some people paint flowers. Some do jigsaw puzzles. Others like to go out for walks even in the dark, even in the cold, because it’s an exploration. Or read the biggest paperback book they can find. Apparently I love to sit and listen to tapes, displaying them on a motel bedspread. This, now, is who I am. And I’m quite okay with that.

The private world of the cassette tape in the Walkman. The secrets you were sure you were telling yourself, soundtracked by someone else’s music that you owned, or borrowed, or were permanently previewing. It’s more tactile, and comes with the momentary heartbreak that a pencil could sometimes sort, and sometimes completely ruin. You pushed too hard and it was over. Well, we all know that feeling, right?