Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time by Rob Sheffield

By Rob Sheffield

What's love? nice minds were grappling with this question during the a while, and within the sleek period, they've got get a hold of many alternative solutions. based on Western thinker Pat Benatar, love is a battlefield. Her paisan Frank Sinatra may upload the corollary that love is a young capture. Love hurts. Love stinks. Love bites, love bleeds, love is the drug. The troubadours of our occasions agree: they wish to understand what love is, and so they wish you to teach them. however the resolution is easy: Love is a mixture tape.

In the Nineties, while "alternative" used to be by surprise mainstream, bands like Pearl Jam and Pavement, Nirvana and R.E.M.--bands 12 months prior to may were too bizarre for MTV- have been MTV. It was once the last decade of Kurt Cobain and Shania Twain and Taylor Dayne, a time that ended all too quickly. the limits of yank tradition have been exploding, and song used to be best the way.

It used to be additionally whilst a shy tune geek named Rob Sheffield met a hell-raising Appalachian punk-rock lady named Renée, who was once approach too cool for him yet fell in love with him besides. He used to be tall. She used to be brief. He was once shy. She used to be a social butterfly. She used to be the single one that laughed at his jokes after they have been so undesirable, they usually have been continuously undesirable. that they had not anything in universal other than that they either enjoyed tune. tune introduced them jointly and saved them jointly. And it used to be song that might aid Rob via a unexpected, unfathomable loss.

In Love Is a mixture Tape, Rob, now a author for Rolling Stone, makes use of the songs on fifteen combine tapes to inform the tale of his short time with Renée. From Elvis to Missy Elliott, the Rolling Stones to Yo l. a. Tengo, the songs on those tapes make up the soundtrack to their lives.

Rob Sheffield isn't a musician, he's a author, and Love Is a mixture Tape isn't a love track- however it may well besides be. this is often Rob's tribute to tune, to the last decade that formed him, yet such a lot of all to 1 unforgettable lady.

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Additional info for Love is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song at a Time

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Piranhas," she said and pointed to the yellow tile.  "You do love me," she said.  We slid on the magazines, and that became part of the step.  The music was over, maybe for a long time.  "Freddie,'' she said again.  And all the time, inside the frenzy was the calm. Memory hovered about my head, becoming visible at intervals, like particles of dust in twilight—the alley behind the Bree where we bought pot, beneath the slide in the Woodard schoolyard where Dee Page 58 and I first made love, the corner of 5th and Main where the knobby prostitutes hawked, the vacant lot behind the Mesa Drive—In where we made up dialogue for the huge silent screen, all the places we grew up lost—the men in suits and vests with high­polish shoes, the bearded transvestite who collected bottles in the basket of his bicycle, the black butcher with red slabs of meat, the abandoned Sinclair station covered with names, my name, Dee's, Lonnie's, Wilson's, Eugene's—the curtains of my parents' house drawn closed, the liquor store on 49th with the neon dinosaur, the all­night diner on 4th Avenue, Lonnie's Coupe de Ville, the asphalt bedrooms, the Unemployment building, my mother, who told me the last people who lived here didn't know how to behave.

Go back to sleep," Charley said again. " I asked. He didn't say anything. " "You woke us up," I said. " I asked.  Ask was too offended to reply. " Ask didn't want the story to fizzle out.  Charley relaxed but Ask seemed tense, so I elbowed him under the sheet.  I hooked my head around the porch railing, but all I could see was neon red, yellow, blue. " "You're too young to understand," he said. " "What you said to her," I said. Page 35 Charley didn't do anything but stare at us, then back at the cafe.

He wiped at his face, eyebrows.  "Ask Wilson," he said.  "Wilson is clean," I said again, louder.  We cheated together on spelling, stole cigarettes from Quick Mart, made a wreath from oleander leaves for her mother's grave.  Now he was clean, but she was gone.  He, at least, would be sympathetic—we were both looking for girlfriends.  I headed for the Unemployment building.  My letters were returned.  It was then she promised to come to Oregon in the summer. " I asked.  I just threw it back at her upside down to make her hush.

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