Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Katherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support.
Speaker 1: Now let me say a little about how to use
Speaker 1: this podcast. I have a story to tell you, and
Speaker 1: it exists really simply as a soft place to rest
Speaker 1: your mind. I'll read it twice, and I'll go a
Speaker 1: little slower the second time through. Just follow along with
Speaker 1: my voice and the simple shape of the story, and
Speaker 1: before you know it, you'll be deeply asleep. If you
Speaker 1: wake in the middle of the night, you could listen
Speaker 1: again or just think back through any details from the
Speaker 1: story that you can remember. Doing so gives your brain
Speaker 1: a job to do, which shifts it out of default mode,
Speaker 1: and when that happens, you'll fall right back to sleep.
Speaker 1: This is brain training, and it does take a bit
Speaker 1: of practice, so be patient if you are new to this.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called Mixtape, and it's a story
Speaker 1: about a box of memories. Tangled up with songs. It's
Speaker 1: also about the messages we send with the tracks. We
Speaker 1: pick out new batteries in an old walkman, and finding
Speaker 1: the music that helps you find yourself. Now, turn off
Speaker 1: your light, put away anything you've been looking at or
Speaker 1: playing with, and get as comfortable as you can. Let
Speaker 1: me remind you if you've forgotten that you don't have
Speaker 1: to earn your rest, You just need it and deserve
Speaker 1: it like fresh water and food and deep breaths. So
Speaker 1: you've done enough for the day. It's enough. Let's rest.
Speaker 1: Take a deep, slow breath, in through your nose and
Speaker 1: out through your mouth. Nice one more in and out.
Speaker 1: Good mixtape. There was an art to it. The first
Speaker 1: song had to be really, really good. It needed to
Speaker 1: pull you in and lay the framework for the mood
Speaker 1: you were attempting to build. But the second song had
Speaker 1: to be even better. It had to surprise the listener
Speaker 1: who had assumed that all the magic had been spent
Speaker 1: on the first track. Then it would pull back a bit,
Speaker 1: a song with less punch but more poetry, maybe something
Speaker 1: a little odd but catchy. And then a song you
Speaker 1: hadn't heard in ages but loved and remembered every word
Speaker 1: of with room for one more song. On the first
Speaker 1: side of the tape, it was time for another heavy hitter,
Speaker 1: something that would be rewind, owned and played again before
Speaker 1: the cassette was flipped. Then the second side called for
Speaker 1: some nostalgia, slower songs, harmonies that you felt inside your
Speaker 1: chest when you sing along. The whole thing was, of
Speaker 1: course a message of some sort, shared favorites for growing
Speaker 1: a friendship, showing off your taste or prowess as a curator,
Speaker 1: but very often it was a kind of covert love letter,
Speaker 1: and the second side was the best place to slip
Speaker 1: in a song or two that showed your heart. It
Speaker 1: was all deniable if need be. They were just songs,
Speaker 1: but they weren't, and finding the one or two that
Speaker 1: might make the listener. With their headphones pressed against their ears,
Speaker 1: their walkmen clutched in one hand as they crossed campus,
Speaker 1: stop and wonder or smile. Well, that was the point
Speaker 1: of it all. If you were really going to go
Speaker 1: all out, you named the mix and scrawled it out
Speaker 1: on the label stuck to the tape, something enigmatic and
Speaker 1: impressive sounding, or a scrap of an inside joke that
Speaker 1: reminded them of how you'd laughed together. You might even
Speaker 1: design a cover, some hand drawn art or a photo
Speaker 1: that had gone through the copier and come out a
Speaker 1: bit streaky, but that only added to the effect, then
Speaker 1: folding it just so so it would mimic the J
Speaker 1: card that usually sat in the hinged plastic case. Did
Speaker 1: you write anything inside the cover? How brave were you?
Speaker 1: Did you just write out the playlist? Or maybe you
Speaker 1: wanted them to discover it one song at a time.
Speaker 1: That's how I like to do it. It kept the
Speaker 1: mystery and hopefully weaved a sort of spell as it
Speaker 1: went from one track to another. I'd forgotten just how
Speaker 1: much thought went into those mixes, almost forgotten about the
Speaker 1: idea of cassette tapes at all until I found a
Speaker 1: shoe box full on a shelf in the basement. It
Speaker 1: was inside a bigger box full of things I'd cleaned
Speaker 1: out of my car, the one that had just barely
Speaker 1: gotten me through the last two years of high school
Speaker 1: and the first two of college. I couldn't remember what
Speaker 1: kind it had been, except that it was red, and
Speaker 1: while I didn't start reliably and the heat was hit
Speaker 1: or miss in the winter, it had a moon roof
Speaker 1: which I thought was the fanciest thing I'd ever seen.
Speaker 1: That box of cassettes, when I'd pulled off the top
Speaker 1: and looked down into the mess of them, had brought
Speaker 1: back a flood of memories. Some were tapes I'd bought
Speaker 1: at the music store, and I remembered standing in front
Speaker 1: of the racks of new music, figuring out if I
Speaker 1: could afford more than one, and if it was going
Speaker 1: to be just one, which one. I thought about how
Speaker 1: we'd listened to the same tapes over and over, how
Speaker 1: you could come to know the songs in order, and
Speaker 1: when the flip to side B would be In the
Speaker 1: box were a few with very beat up cases that
Speaker 1: had been carried in back pockets and book bags, passed
Speaker 1: back and forth at lunch and traded for weeks at
Speaker 1: a time. I swung open a few cases and took
Speaker 1: out the liner notes to read what the artists had written.
Speaker 1: Some were just lyrics, and others had pictures of the band,
Speaker 1: drawings and quotes. These had felt so meaningful, so special,
Speaker 1: when I'd opened them for the first time. There is
Speaker 1: something about finding the music that feels like it was
Speaker 1: written for you. When you're growing up, you're trying on
Speaker 1: different ideas and styles, and when something fits you down
Speaker 1: to your bones, it might be the first time you
Speaker 1: feel like you belong. That changes a lot, So no
Speaker 1: wonder we made these mixes with such care. They were
Speaker 1: a way of asking if we belonged with each other.
Speaker 1: In the bottom of the box, past the tapes I
Speaker 1: bought from the music store or the mixtapes, most of
Speaker 1: them were loose, without cases, just a few words scratched
Speaker 1: out on the labels, and suddenly I had to hear
Speaker 1: them again. I went through the boxes, in the shelves
Speaker 1: around me. There must be a tape player somewhere here.
Speaker 1: I'd had a stereo that had a record player built
Speaker 1: into its top, an a M F M dial in
Speaker 1: the middle, and two tape decks on the bottom that
Speaker 1: let you record from one tape right on to the other,
Speaker 1: the height of technology at the time, but that had
Speaker 1: been sold in a garage sale when I was still
Speaker 1: in high school. I found a flat, black tape deck
Speaker 1: with a microphone attached and a bright red record button,
Speaker 1: and remembered that for a while, folks would make all
Speaker 1: sorts of recordings with devices like these. We'd just talk
Speaker 1: into them as if they were our diaries. We'd record
Speaker 1: family histories or tape birthday parties to play back later,
Speaker 1: though I can't imagine that was ever actually done much
Speaker 1: beside it in the same box was exactly what I needed.
Speaker 1: My Walkman bright yellow and with the headphones still plugged in.
Speaker 1: I rushed to the kitchen drawer for a couple of
Speaker 1: batteries and settled on the sofa with the Walkmen and
Speaker 1: the box of tapes. I played a few i'd made myself.
Speaker 1: Songs for driving with the windows rolled down, songs for
Speaker 1: amping myself up before a test or audition, songs for
Speaker 1: a broken heart. I found some in the handwriting of
Speaker 1: my best friend. Funny how you don't forget how someone
Speaker 1: writes their ease or ms. These songs made me smile
Speaker 1: and taped my toes on the living room rug, remembering
Speaker 1: how we'd listen stretched out on one of our beds
Speaker 1: on Friday nights, talking for hours and eating bowls of
Speaker 1: popcorn till one of our parents got fed up with
Speaker 1: the music and told us to pack it in for
Speaker 1: the night. Finally, and maybe I'd been saving it since
Speaker 1: i'd first spotted it in the bottom of the box,
Speaker 1: I laid a tape, whose case was still carefully preserved.
Speaker 1: The tape had my name written in read ink on
Speaker 1: the label for you from me, it said. I turned
Speaker 1: the cassette over in my hands a time or two.
Speaker 1: I'd played it so many times that it was probably
Speaker 1: near worn out, but I hoped it would play at
Speaker 1: least once more. I flipped it to side A and
Speaker 1: slid it carefully into my walkman and pressed play mixtape.
Speaker 1: There was an art to it. The first song had
Speaker 1: to be really, really good. It needed to pull you
Speaker 1: in and lay the framework for the mood you were
Speaker 1: attempting to build. But the second song had to be
Speaker 1: even better. It had to surprise the listener who'd assumed
Speaker 1: that all the magic had been spent on the first track.
Speaker 1: Then it would pull back a bit, a song with
Speaker 1: less punch but more poetry, maybe something a little odd
Speaker 1: but catchee. And then a song you hadn't heard in
Speaker 1: ages but loved and remembered every word of. With room
Speaker 1: for one more song on the first side of the tape,
Speaker 1: it was time for another heavy hitter, something that would
Speaker 1: be rewound and played again before the cassette was flipped.
Speaker 1: Then the second side called for some nostalgia, slower songs,
Speaker 1: harmonies that you felt inside your chest when you sang along.
Speaker 1: The whole thing was, of course a message of some sort,
Speaker 1: shared favorites, for growing a friendship, showing off your taste
Speaker 1: or prowess as a curator. But very often it was
Speaker 1: the kind of covert love letter, and the second side
Speaker 1: was the best place to slip in a song or
Speaker 1: two that showed your heart. It was all deniable if
Speaker 1: need be. They were just songs, but they weren't, and
Speaker 1: finding the one or two that might make the listener,
Speaker 1: with their headphones pressed against their ears, their walkmen clutched
Speaker 1: in one hand as they crossed campus stop and wonder
Speaker 1: or smile. Well, that was the point of it all.
Speaker 1: If you were really going all out, you named the
Speaker 1: mix and scrawled it out on the label stuck to
Speaker 1: the tape, something enigmatic and impressive sounding, or a scrap
Speaker 1: of an inside joke that reminded them of how you'd
Speaker 1: laughed together. You might even design a cover, some hand
Speaker 1: drawn art or a photo that had gone through the
Speaker 1: copier and come out a bit streaky, but that only
Speaker 1: added to the effect. Then folding it just right so
Speaker 1: it would mimic the J card that usually sat in
Speaker 1: the hinged plastic case. Did you write anything inside the cover?
Speaker 1: How brave were you? Did you just write out the playlist?
Speaker 1: Or maybe you wanted them to discover it one song
Speaker 1: at a time. That's how I liked to do it.
Speaker 1: It kept the mystery and hopefully weaved a sort of
Speaker 1: spell as it went from one track to another. I'd
Speaker 1: forgotten just how much thought went into those mixes, almost
Speaker 1: forgotten about the idea of cassette tapes at all until
Speaker 1: I found a shoe box full on a shelf in
Speaker 1: the basement. It was inside a bigger box full of
Speaker 1: things I'd gleaned out of my first car, the one
Speaker 1: that had barely gotten me through the last two years
Speaker 1: of high school and the first two of college. I
Speaker 1: couldn't remember what kind it had been, except that it
Speaker 1: was read and while it didn't start reliably and the
Speaker 1: heat was hit or miss in the winter, it had
Speaker 1: a moon roof, which I'd thought was the fanciest thing
Speaker 1: I'd ever seen. That box of cassette, when I'd pulled
Speaker 1: off the top and looked down into the mess of them,
Speaker 1: had brought back a flood of memories. Some were tapes
Speaker 1: I'd bought at the music store, and I remembered standing
Speaker 1: in front of the racks of new music, figuring out
Speaker 1: if I could afford more than one, if it was
Speaker 1: just going to be one, which one? I thought about
Speaker 1: how we'd listen to the same tapes over and over,
Speaker 1: how you came to know the songs in order, and
Speaker 1: when the flip to side B would come In the
Speaker 1: box were a few with very beat up cases. They
Speaker 1: had been carried in back pockets and book bags, passed
Speaker 1: back and forth at lunch, and traded for weeks at
Speaker 1: a time. I swung open a few cases and took
Speaker 1: out the liner notes to read what the artists had written.
Speaker 1: Some were just lyrics, and others had pictures of the band,
Speaker 1: drawings or quotes. These had felt so meaningful, so special,
Speaker 1: when I'd opened them for the first time. There is
Speaker 1: something about finding the music that feels like it was
Speaker 1: written for you. When you're growing up, you're trying on
Speaker 1: different ideas and styles, and when something fits down to
Speaker 1: your bones, it might be the first time you feel
Speaker 1: like you belong. That changes a lot. No wonder we
Speaker 1: made these mixes with such care. They were away of
Speaker 1: asking if we belonged with each other. In the bottom
Speaker 1: of the box. Past the tapes I'd bought from the
Speaker 1: music store were the mixtapes. Most of them were loose
Speaker 1: without cases, just a few words scratched out on the labels,
Speaker 1: and suddenly I had to hear them again. I went
Speaker 1: through the box in the shelves around me. There must
Speaker 1: be a tape player somewhere here. I'd had a stereo
Speaker 1: that had a record player built into its top, an
Speaker 1: AM FM dial in the middle, and two tape decks
Speaker 1: on the bottom that let you record from one tape
Speaker 1: directly onto another, the height of technology at the time,
Speaker 1: but that had been sold in a garage sale when
Speaker 1: I was still in high school. I found a flat
Speaker 1: black tape deck with a microphone attached and a bright
Speaker 1: red record button, and remembered that for a while, folks
Speaker 1: would make all sorts of recordings with devices like these.
Speaker 1: We'd just talk into them as if they were our diaries.
Speaker 1: We'd record family histories or tape birthday parties to play
Speaker 1: back later, though I can't imagine that was ever much
Speaker 1: done beside it. In the same box was exactly what
Speaker 1: I needed. My old Walkman, bright yellow and with the
Speaker 1: headphones still plugged in. I rushed to the kitchen drawer
Speaker 1: for a couple of batteries and settled on the sofa
Speaker 1: with the walkman and the box of tapes. I played
Speaker 1: a few i'd made myself. Songs for driving with the
Speaker 1: windows rolled down, songs for amping myself up before a
Speaker 1: test or audition, songs for a broken heart. I found
Speaker 1: some in the handwriting of my best friend Funny you
Speaker 1: don't forget how someone writes their ease or ms. These
Speaker 1: songs made me smile. Had taped my toes on the
Speaker 1: living room rug, remembering how we'd listen stretched out on
Speaker 1: one of our beds on Friday nights, talking for hours
Speaker 1: and eating bowls of popcorn till one of our parents
Speaker 1: got fed up with the music and told us to
Speaker 1: pack it in for the night. Finally, and maybe I'd
Speaker 1: been saving it since i'd first spotted it in the
Speaker 1: bottom of the box. I played a tape whose case
Speaker 1: was still carefully preserved. The tape had my name written
Speaker 1: in red ink and the label for you from me,
Speaker 1: I'd said. I turned the cassette over in my hands
Speaker 1: a time or two. I'd played it so many times
Speaker 1: that it was probably near worn out, but I hoped
Speaker 1: it would play at least once more. I flipped it
Speaker 1: to side A and slid it carefully into my Walkman
Speaker 1: and pressed play Sweet Dreams.