I keep some mixtapes upon the shelf. They hide a nasty stain or gloss over some messy memories from another era. Actually, they’re mix CDs. I still like them, and I’m still sensitive to the urge behind their creation.
Because playlists have become technically easy to assemble online, I suppose we’re inclined to make them effortful in some other way, so they’ll remain meaningful. In “Why we crave human-curated playlists,” Justin Fowler touches briefly on how we try. Elsewhere, the blog Largehearted Boy features Book Notes, which are playlists compiled by authors who want to elaborate on themes in their books.
Finally, bop.fm is making it simpler to use embedded playlists. Merely listening to one doesn’t require user registration, which has been an annoying obstacle with other music streaming services.
Most of the music I now buy was shared through social media or used as part of the soundtrack for a film or television program. I work in silence, so ten minutes of listening is the equivalent of a smoke break. The recommendation algorithms built into streaming services are helpful, but I owe more to the old mixtapes that introduced me to metal and blues and to friends who find and post throwbacks and new songs.
The title of this post is a line from Lorca’s “New Songs” (“Cantos nuevos”) translated by Catherine Brown. Go on down the rabbit hole, if you’re of a mind to. A.S. Kline’s translation of “New Songs” is on page 9 of the freely distributed book Twenty-Six Early Poems of Federico García Lorca.