There’s an article in the Guardian on “curated compilation albums”, citing New Order’s already-released “Back To Mine”, Morrissey’s forthcoming “Under The Influence” album, and a curious new series called “The Date Tapes”, based on personal compilations made with the sole intention of getting the listener to fall into the tape-maker’s arms.
Frustratingly, full tracklistings of the latter two are not yet available, as all the songs on shop-released compilations have to be cleared individually with the various licensees, a tiresome process which can ensue right up until the release date. This is where the proper hand-made comp tape (or “mix tape” as they say in the US) has the edge. Not only is it far more personal, but you don’t have to ask the wretched band’s permission to include their song. Some groups, like The Beatles, appear to be far too mean to let their songs appear on any various artist compilations at all, so that instantly compromises many “my favourite songs” selections.
As intriguing as finding out what songs Morrissey would want to DJ to the world with, it just wouldn’t be a patch on Mr M making a comp tape for you personally. Not only could he put on whatever he wanted without having to get clearance, but he could tailor it to whatever he thinks about you and what he thinks you alone should hear. And you could have fun reading too much significance into his selections. Does that song title mean something? Is he trying to tell me something with that song’s lyric? That’s the whole point of the home-made comp tape.
The Guardian article neglects to mention EMI’s “Songbook” series, a curious project of 1999 which comprised ten beautifully-packaged albums, each representing the choices of a fellow of cultish repute. It was a rum assortment: US cartoonists Robert Crumb, Gilbert Shelton and Peter Bagge jostling with the likes of writers Clive Barker, Hunter S Thompson, and Iain Banks, plus the Thunderbirds creator Gerry Anderson, illustrators Ralph Steadman and Savage Pencil, and the poet Ivor Cutler.
Why those ten men were chosen in particular, I have no idea. But the appeal of such albums can only be limited by definition. First of all, you have to be interested in the person doing the selection. And then you have to care about what they like to listen to. For instance, I quite admire Mr Crumb’s comic work, but I’m not in the least bit interested in his ragtime jazz record collection. If I was, I’d read an interview to find out just who his favourite artists were, and then go out and procure the records myself. Which I’d then enjoy far more.
The trouble with curator compilations is that they are made for no one in particular. More often than not, they can become the aural equivalent of some bore at a party telling you the entire plot of their favourite film. “Have you not seen it? Well, it starts with this man…” It never occurs to such people that the reason you haven’t seen that film is because you didn’t want to. They don’t care who you are. You are just a random pair of ears.
Proper, personal, home-made comp tapes (and now, CDRs) are a different matter altogether. I’m in the process of whittling down my possessions in general, but it will be hard to part with the many comp tapes made for me over the years. It’d be like throwing out old letters. Each one represents a time in my past, a place, a friendship. In fact, I’d rather part with most of my proper CDs and records than those tapes. The way things are going, I may well do just that.
If I were to make a comp tape for anyone right now, I would put all of “The Smell Of Our Own” by the Hidden Cameras, on Side One. And then put it on Side Two as well. It’s out today, in fact. Their new album. You really shoud hear it. Whoever you are.
Actual “date tapes”, however, are not my cup of tea. It’s interesting to glance at other people’s date tape selections, and to read tales of date tape woe, but the idea of making a tape purely to get the intended listener to rub up against you at some point in the near future is really not me. I wouldn’t know where to start, for one thing. But I do have friends who have confessed to using, say, certain songs by the Cocteau Twins as a form of musical Rohypnol. “Play this song to them, and they will be yours. It never fails”. I can’t remember which songs in particular they used.
Just as well. The words “seduction” and “Dickon Edwards” are not likely to crop up in any word association game.
