Playlist for every mood, that’s how I roll. Songs that make you cry, make you dance, make you scream, make you beam, your guilty pleasures.
I remember distinctly. The feeling; the warm, cake batter feeling of someone handing you a mixed CD. You’d take hold of the thin, fragile disc, open the white enveloped casing. Carefully, as your fingers grasp the edges not to scratch its gentle mirrored finish, you’d examine the message written on the front with the Sharpie, still potent (usually little hearts, a to: & from:). In that disc, held 10-15 songs that truly represented what you meant to the giver. Hours of scrolling through illegally download mp3s to find the perfect playlist composed of inside jokes, hidden confessions and enticement into a personally refined music taste.
The first mixed CD I ever received was from my childhood best friend Sara. I wasn’t allowed to listen to Brittany Spears, so she snuck at least three of her top hits in there. She encouraged my rebellious musical revolution. From there I received masterful collections of pump-up hits from my swim team gal pals and of course several from my high school boyfriend. What a world I could dive into as I sped around town in my P.T. Cruiser blessed with the most beautiful assemblage of artfully crafted albums of the 2000’s. What a world I could dive into with my CD player blasted to full volume, a pencil behind my ear and blank paper in front of me. Mixed CD’s began my current love affair and dependence on music in order to complete any task at hand— especially a creative one.
Since the days of i-phones and public Spotify playlists, the gift of music has not been the same. No intricacies, no decoding, no personalized confessions of true friendship or love. I just received from a friend via text, an apple playlist. A collection of “in your feels” songs, to be more specific. Beautiful, yet the feeling didn’t quite match.
But, then I fell in love with vinyls. (Oh LORD, HERE COMES ANOTHER URBAN OUTFITTERS, HIPSTER, WANNABE… my name is Brie and I just have a passion for vintage) Call me what you may, the ritual is empowering. Reflect on your mood, scan your albums, decide on what you’d like your mood to be, rescan, open the (usually) aesthetically dynamic cover, pull out the beautiful black disc and set it on the machine. The needle touches the pirouetting vinyl, letting out the tiniest of fuzzy bluffs, and then you’ve Blue-Sca-Dooed into the universe of your choosing.
When it comes to creating, music is always vital for the process. Poetry, rhythm, storytelling— just as they appear in melody, they appear in art pieces. I draw and have always drawn on adroit lyricists. Even more so, routine. Six tracks and switch, put the brush down, find a new noise. Keep your mind flowing, keep your hands moving.
