You Can Have My Walkman, Just Don’t Take My Mix Tape: These objects contain meaning. (Kera Bolonik, 8/28/26, NY Times)
The popularity of home taping exploded in 1979, with the introduction of the Sony Walkman. At last, you could listen to what you wanted when you were on the move.
The music industry wasn’t pleased with this development, blaming it for a pronounced drop in the sales of vinyl records. The British Phonographic Institute, a trade association in London, mounted a campaign with a reproachful slogan: “Home taping is killing music. And it’s illegal.” In the United States, music executives pressed lawmakers to place a fee on blank cassettes and home recording equipment. George David Weiss, the president of the Songwriters Guild, likened home taping to theft.
None of it stopped youthful Gen X-ers from turning themselves into amateur curators of sound. While this new pastime gave them the chance to to hear their favorite songs in the order of their choosing, it served other purposes, too. “I am what I play,” David Bowie sang on the 1979 song “D.J.,” and the living-room D.J.s of the early 1980s used the medium of the mix tape to claim their identities, introduce themselves to others, flex their musical knowledge, telegraph messages and even flirt.
Forty years after I started making and exchanging mix tapes, I can still remember which friend introduced me to which artist. Mix tapes had a way of casting an indelible imprint on our musical taste, fashion sense — even our worldview.