David Nadelberg: OBLITERATION
As a teenager, I was mystified by that guy who got to make out with a stranger on the dance floor. On one hand, I envied him. He was a suave, sexual magnet who lured the ladies by the sheer power of his machismo. One the other hand, he was creepy.
And then one night in college, thanks to several red plastic cups of beer and a girl in tight white top, I magically became, well… that guy.
We were at a rave in Ithaca, New York. I was drunk-ish. She was stoned-ish. Despite our inebriated vision, it was lust at first sight-ish.
With no regard for the social codes of PDA, we began groping one another during a song that involved heavy BPM, a highly repetitive chorus, and lots of whistle tweets. After twenty minutes of electronic thump and grind, I decided to do the chivalrous thing and introduce myself.
This was the start of my relationship with Amy, a short-lived affair that, from that moment on, was defined by music. Not surprisingly, during one of our first sober conversations, Amy and I discussed our mutual love of making mixtapes.
We shared an appreciation for the artistry involved in coming up with mixtape titles, artwork and of course, the perfect set list. To me, mixtapes were more than mere compilations. They were expressions—portraits of personalities, feelings, or relationships.
So when I revealed that despite my years of making tapes, no one had ever given one to me, Amy made it her mission to pop my mixtape cherry.
A few weeks later, Amy handed me a decorative, yellow cassette. It even had a title. “Obliteration,” the spine read. Obliteration was to be the soundtrack of our relationship.
That night, I put Obliteration into my roommate’s stereo, climbed onto my bunk and waited to feel obliterated. After all these years, I was finally about to discover what all the fuss was about.
Sixty minutes later, Side A was complete. I lay in bed spent from the experience. But in the hours that followed, a sense of disconnect emerged. I liked it. But it didn’t consume me. It felt like it could have been made for anyone.
Truth be told, Obliteration was inconsistent with what I needed out of a mixtape relationship. It featured songs from bands I liked (Ned’s Atomic Dust Bin, The Pixies), bands I kinda liked (Depeche Mode, Juliana Hatfield), bands I disliked (Toad the Wet Sprocket, 2 Unlimited) and bands I still to this day have no clue about (The Magic Dragon, Mock Turtles). As much as I appreciated it, the tape seemed thrown together. Kinda like two strangers making out on a dance floor.
I spent so many years building up the idea of receiving a mixtape from someone, that I failed to consider one key possibility: what if I didn’t love the cassette as much as I loved the gesture? Can a mixtape with such a build-up ever live up to its expectations?
Then again, maybe the lukewarm feelings weren’t exclusive to me. Reading the liner notes, I now notice a curious theme of emotional distance in her song selections: Don’t Get too Close, Leave Me Alone, Walking Away, Go West, Liar… and Torture. Hell, even the mixtape’s very title implied dissolve.
I had to face the music—it wasn’t meant to be.
Eventually, Amy and I dated others, lost touch, and grew up. Then last year, we reconnected. This time, we did not meet in a loud, sweaty dance club but rather in a loud, air-conditioned strip mall chain restaurant. En route, I remember wondering if we might feel some sort of renewed attraction or spark, as if our relationship had a B-side, and all we had to do was wait a decade to flip it over.
We sat down, ate our combo meals, and reminisced. I told her I still had Obliteration, and I’ve always cherished its unique place in my life. She barely remembered it, though abruptly apologized about The Mock Turtles. The meal didn’t end with any groping, but a warm hug—the kind you give to old friends.
Looking back, I’m not sure what we had. But she popped my mixtape cherry. And you never forget your first. Or, to quote a song she placed in the middle of Side B, “I can’t forget… but I don’t remember what.”
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Curve: Horror Head |
Ride: Taste |
David Nadelberg is the creator of MORTIFIED, a comedic forum (on the stage, on the page, & on the screen) for adults to share the strange and embarrassing things they created as kids. Born in Michigan, Nadelberg now lives in Los Angeles. His latest mixtape is actually a CD for toddlers that makes his pal Marty’s kid incoherent with joy.
They were into you, so they made you a tape. Today you don't have a cassette player, but you still can't toss that mix. We share the stories and the soundtrack to your earliest loves.
I love a guy who looks for meaning in a mix tape. I always had the feeling only girls did that… in vain. I like that there’s a Jock Rock song in the mix, too. Classic.
I will never live this mixtape down, evidently. I’m cringing at the total lack of sense the set list makes, but there’s some goodies at least and I’d like to point out that the song was owned by us ravers before those damn jocks took it over. And hey, for what it’s worth, Dave, I forgot the tape but making out with you on the dance floor is etched in my memory. And my top was blue.
I used to think putting a song or two from Rent on every mix tape I concocted made me sound “urban.” Oh, why…..
Really lovely story, despite all the groping and squelched expectations. I believe the female-to-male mixtape is destined to be at least 40% disappointing, though I couldn’t say why that is. Perhaps for its scarcity?
Nothing says I love you like the song “Its Hard” by the Who.
Great story Dave!
The mixed tape is definitely the male domain. Men cannot choose flowers. Men cannot colour-coordinate a room. Men can’t even say the right words at the right time. But men *can* string a carefully-selected songs into a colourful bouquet of sound and lyrics.
But Melissa, how do women not hear the message? It’s as simple as men are: I like you, I made this for you, and these songs make me think of you.
Most importantly, it is an artistic outlet. Making a mixed tape allows us to be creative yet still masculine, tender and yet still masculine, goofy and — yet — still masculine.
I’ll admit I wasn’t the world’s best mixer, but looking back on some of those tapes brings back a lot of great (and sometimes awkward) moments.
Hilarious story of yours though Dave! Talk about mixed messages! (No pun intended…) I think I could improve a little bit on the tape you got. Given the underlying message of the overall tape, perhaps “Wave of Mutilation” would have been a better choice from The Pixies. And maybe swap out one of the New Order songs with Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart”.
Isn’t it sad that young’uns these days won’t ever have the experience of giving and receiving a mixed tape? I’m creating a “Mixed Playlist” for my iPod right now, but it’s not nearly the same. But what about a “mixed website” like this — post all the songs on a website with a player. Not sure it’s legal, but it is certainly a public way of declaring your love…
Anyway, thanks for sharing!
~Graham
:D
Wow David, I’m impressed you even saved the tape. Although you are a nostalgic prick. I’m sure JZ has a mixed tape he can get really teary about. I saved nothing from my teenage years, and it’s a shame. I’m sure I had a large collection of mix tapes with Depeche Mode, Crowded House, Oingo Boingo and the like, that I created but never found the balls to actually gift upon the lucky (or unlucky) girl.
- Mattyshack
The cool thing about this tape though is that it totally pre-dates the whole lame hipster syndrome seen in today’s twenty somethings, where you depend on vintage tracks to somehow give you the street cred you never really knew anything about anyways. this tape wasn’t for just anybody, it was for you, it was music that she had lying around sure, but it was for you.
I, like David, think that every mixtape has to have a meaning, even be a story. I didn’t get to give mixtapes (or more like I did a couple but the people I was going to give them to disappeared before they could get them), but now with the age of CDs or mp3, I give “mixcds” or “mixrars” that have a meaning, a story unfolding, like the many “mixcds” I gave to my now ex’s.
Funny thing, before even discovering this website I was preparing a real “mixtape” for a friend.
Anyway, I’m glad I found this website and I got to read about the history of people doing and getting mixtapes, and even heard them.
-David
David: Love the books!
Amy: Love your use of Ween, my favorite band!
Holy pile of Barbie corpses! I haven’t heard “Horror Head” since high school. What on earth did I do with that great album?! Doppelganger, right? Oh the nostalgia… but “Obliteration”? I was ready for some NIN or old scary Nick Cave. Or a more violent Curve song. Ah well, we all can’t do perfect mixtape titles. I love how snooty you were about it.
But clearly, That Amy is still pretty much awesome. You really should have given her more credit. So maybe she can correct this, but I [girl perspective] figure she probably put her favoritest songs of the moment on it that she thought you would be impressed with (and don’t forget how hard it was to choose those last trax that had to fit at the end of the side but not leave too much blank tape).
I love a guy who listens to music not only for fun but because of its meaning. Guys like that are very rare.
Thank you for being there. Thanks for the mix tape.