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Summary…
In an era where digital streaming streaming services dominate the music industry, a surprising retro revival is taking place: the comeback of the cassette tape.
h/t NIKKEI Asia
Blather…
Everything old (in physical media) is eventually going to be new again.
I’m currently writing for the newest best music newsletter out there: Apocalypse Music News. Please head out to the newsletter site and sign up for the only music news that matters! I mean, what better offer have you gotten recently?
For no other reason than taking long drags off the nostalgia pipe and guzzling a case of schmaltz beer, I’ve decided to really get back into creating custom compact cassette tapes.
After discovering the retro synthwave stylings of Candy Apple Blue, I began to explore further. Much to my surprise, there are number of musical acts putting out this fantastic fresh throwback music. 40 years later, it’s like ’83 all over again. It’s like listening to excellent new wave music back in the day, today.
It’s quite refreshing, because I am one of those people who cannot for the life of me comprehend the current state of popular music. I’m not going as far as decrying all modern popular music as utter crap…but most of it is shitty…ish. To be frank, I’m old, I’m getting grumpier, and my opinions are those of an old grumpy suburban-dwelling white dude.
In the blink of an eye, I’m sure I’ll be shopping for Velcro-closure New Balance sneaks…
All these bands sell FLAC versions of their albums for less than the cost of an album on cassette back in ’83; I started buying a few. This week, I snagged albums from FM-84 and Timecop1983. The high-quality digital copies are nice, but the endgame for me is to play these new old jams on my Pioneer stereo altar.
Hence, insanity ensued…
I already had my trusty JVC TD-R441 deck ready to go.
Due to the tiny computer noises made during general computering, I needed to run the FLAC files from my laptop, so I could use my main PC while recording.
In doing that, my only way to monitor the recording was via headphones. Instead, I grabbed a cheap Dell 2.1 powered PC speaker set. That is plugged into the headphone jack of the JVC allowing me to monitor w/o being tethered to the deck.
That Photoshop class I took at New Horizon’s Learning Center back in ’98 was easily the most valuable tech class I’ve ever taken.
Once I got the J-card template perfect, I filled it in with the details of the album I was recording. Then it was printed, trimmed, folded, and dropped into the cassette case.
Finally, when the cassette recording was complete, I popped it into the big bad Pioneer CT-F1250 and blissed out to the magic of yesterday’s songs today.
This is truly a preposterous amount of effort to listen to songs that are available on every streaming platform. But the joy of creating custom tapes takes me back to recording songs off the radio with my Soundesign boombox. And it’s pretty damn fun!
Thanks to Carly and Hoyt of Candy Apple Blue for the inspiration! If you love ’80s new wave, you need to check them out—STAT!
At this point, I’m too far down the rabbit hole, and I have plenty of blanks to “burn.”
—
© 2023 – ∞ B. Charles Donley
This is an excerpt from my forthcoming novel Finding Fidelity...
Radio Ga Ga
It went without saying that my father and I rarely spoke on our respective birthdays. In fact, if we sent cards at all, they were always tardy. Although, I think he held the current record at 16 days belated, I regularly mailed his card a week late. To the best of my recollection, I was probably just out of college the last time there was actually money in a birthday card from Leo. And I stopped slipping gift cards into his birthday cards a decade back. Hence, a week after my 38th birthday, I was a bit surprised to get a phone call from him requesting that I stop over when I had the chance.
When I arrived, my father told me he had something to show me in the workshop. As we spelunked into the confined space, I could see a pair of large speakers on either side of the workbench at the far end. Due to the narrow aspect of the room, I could not tell if there was anything between the somewhat familiar speakers. As he stepped aside, I saw the shiny silver Pioneer SX-780 receiver and the Pioneer PL-400 turntable of my youth situated between the Marantz 33/330 3-way sonic towers.
“Is this your original system from the Valentine lake house?” I asked.
“You bet!” he beamed.
I began my interrogation, “You hung onto it all these years? Seriously? Where the hell was it?”
“I had it under the stairwell ever since I moved to this place. I stumbled across it a month back when I was looking for some folding chairs.”
“Jeez! That’s unbelievable!” I exclaimed with exuberance the belied my disbelief.
At this, the old man allowed a rare smile to advance across his lips. He continued, “Did you know that the world’s biggest and best turntable shop is right here in your own backyard? I took the record player into Jerry Raskin’s place, and they fixed it right up. They had to replace the cartridge and needle. It was $75, but I’ll split the cost with you—happy birthday!”
“You’re giving it all to me?” The shock I had experienced when I first saw the Hi-Fi artifacts was quickly transforming into unbridled joy at the prospect of owning them.
“Hey, why not? What the hell am I going to do with will all this?” He was still beaming at my enthusiasm.
I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but a question had been smoldering ever since Leo stepped aside to reveal these family treasures.
“I don’t suppose your record collection was under the stairs?”
Leo hesitated, his jubilant expression instantly transformed into one of regret.
“You know…just before I moved, I traded all of them to a guy at the antique mall for store credit. I didn’t want to lug them to this place. I wish I had kept them now, but at the time, I never thought anyone would listen to them again,” he lamented.
“No worries. The fact that you kept the stereo all these years is still pretty unbelievable,” I reassured him.
“Well, let’s load it up—shall we?” Leo proposed with a hit of encouragement in his voice and a bounce in his step.
Up until this point, there had been a half-dozen watershed moments in my lifetime. Each had a unique soundtrack. Leo was now responsible for a third of them.
Unbeknownst to him, what he likely assumed would be a bit of a lark, was a magnanimous gesture of incalculable significance. I had neither considered the HiFi system of my youth for at least twenty-five years, nor had I listened to an LP in that time. In fact, I was on my fifth iPod, which was somewhere in glove compartment of my car on that fateful evening. What he couldn’t have imagined when he dug the dusty HiFi setup out from under his stairwell, is that he would spawn a musical renaissance amid the tumult of a divorce and mid-life crisis.
The music would allay much of the future pain and angst set to haunt me. For as I struggled to define who I was going to be downstream from that dreaded milestone birthday, I began to pursue, collect, and most importantly, hear music for the first time in a long time. There is nothing so powerful as music to breathe life into long dormant memories. There is nothing so powerful as music to heal the weary soul. And there is nothing so powerful as music to ignite a little hope.
I thanked him profusely, wrote him a check for $32.50, and sped home to hook it all up to hear it once again. Seeing these relics, possessing these relics, induced a flood of memories as I drove home. The first wave involved the unlikely duo of Bruce Springsteen and Casey Kasem. I recalled struggling to assimilate into the awkward mass of pubescent humanity meandering the hallways of my middle school, and the song and story from which I would forge the emotional armor that protected me. Every Sunday, I listened to Casey count them down on the big silver stereo. I did this religiously in those days. For me, more than any pastor at any church preaching any sermon, Casey sold salvation on a weekly basis for the cost of a couple dozen commercial breaks.
Although this is presented as fiction, the events are mostly non-fiction. Here are the various photos of what that magnanimous gesture yielded…in other words, this is v1.0…
But like most HiFi enthusiasts, I couldn’t help myself any more than I could stop myself (or even slow myself down). So, for a decade, I’ve been chasing silver era Pioneer stereo gear all over the greater Minneapolis St. Paul area. I’ve met dozens of interesting folks, I’ve exchanged as much gear as cash, but most importantly, I’ve had the time of my life.
As much as music has given me, the fantastical gear upon which I’ve come to rely as that all-important conduit between the media and music has become family. Dudes name their cars, boats, etc… My assemblage of muscular vintage HiFi gear is my “Wall of Sound”. Yea, I know Phil Spector has dibs, but I doubt my co-option would bother him much at this point.
I was recently pondering how I got from the events described in my forthcoming novel to the today. It got me to excavating: I dredged up a dormant FB account, I mined the photo hard drive on my desk, I gazed back at my ill-illustrious Insta career. Eventually, I uncovered snapshots of each major release of “my main rig” along this journey (obviously I have other rigs). And although the old man’s gear is not part of the current line-up, it’s stacked safely in the bedroom of my 15-year-old daughter—the next generation of musical super fan.
It’s in the DNA.
Without further adieu, I present an evolution of my adventures in HiFi…
And so the journey continues as the “Wall of Sound” evolves. Before this accidental hobby captivated my imagination, I had shed all of my physical media. My last act being the donation of 600 CDs to the Great River Regional Library. I’d long since dove headlong into the wave of digital music (I was a Napster early adopter). Before I donated them, I had ripped them all to 160kbs MP3 files arranged meticulously into genres, sub genres, folders, and sub folders.
Today, I’ve come full-circle. My album collection is pushing 6,000…
My compact cassette collection is pushing 1,200…
I’ve somehow acquired nearly 600 8-tracks…
And while it remains the most anemic of all of the formats, I’ve managed to scrape together a couple hundred compact discs (mostly purchased at live shows)…
But it’s cool to be that know-it-all who knew digital was “all that”, and then decided “all that” maybe wasn’t where my heart was all along. As this essay comes to a conclusion, I’m pushing the half-century mark. I’d love to show that little kid jamming to Juice Newton, Dr. Hook, and Beach boys records on his old man’s stereo what those tender moments of musical infatuation would someday yield.
He would’ve never believed me.
—
Copyright © 2021 – ∞ Blake Charles Donley
I’m a member of a single solitary HiFi group on the Bookface almighty: Silver Pioneer. This group, besides discussing and debating strictly Pioneer HiFi gear from the silver era, is strictly easygoing and chill. It’s a rather agreeable community of (mostly) older (mostly) chaps who appreciate the build, the sound, and the eternal charm of vintage ’70s Pioneer HiFi gear.
In the words of the late, great, Kurt Vonnegut, “Communities are crucial…”
Lately, I’ve noticed there seems to be a rush on behalf of auto makers to “reissue” classic muscle cars like the Dodge Charger, Chevrolet Camaro, and Ford Mustang (among others). This is a transparent (and flaccid) attempt to cash in on these iconic brands. Let’s just say that the modern-day versions of these once potent muscle cars are not fooling anyone, save for the poor dupes behind the wheel. That’s how the member’s of the Pioneer Silver group feel about the various eras of HiFi gear that came after the silver era.
Anyway, one fine day a few months back, a Polish chap named Artur posted a psuedo-ad for his little project on our little community’s Facebook page. With the apt moniker of, The Tapeless Deck Project, he retrofits old cassette decks with a specific model of Samsung smartphone (where the tape would normally go). Essentially, this transforms the deck into a streaming media player of sorts. From your own smartphone, you can load digital music files onto the Samsung device inside the deck and thus control it remotely.
After seeing the Pioneer CT-300 conversion he did on the aforementioned Facebook group page, I sent this query to him via his contact form:
I would actually need to procure a “needs new belts” unit from eBay. I don’t have one on hand at the moment. My question is: is there any way to add bluetooth? Essentially, I have the entire Pioneer blue fluoroscan series (SA-9800, CT-F1250, TX-9800, SG-9800, etc…). What I can’t find anywhere is a matching Bluetooth receiver. I understand that the converted deck would have 64GB of internal storage. And that is great, but ultimately, I need the ability to stream to a (matching) silver series fluoroscan component. Converting a CT-F650 (or 600) would do the trick. Thank you for your consideration.
He replied:
I see no problem with installing a Bluetooth receiver inside the deck. I already made such projects 🙂 You may order both Tapeless Deck modification + BT module installation in one machine – or just only BT, as you wish. Please note that I’m located in Poland, Europe, so sending the deck over the ocean may be a bit crazy (and expensive :). My customers from US/Canada usually ask me to find a suitable machine here, on Polish market or they just buy a deck on European eBay and have it shipped directly to me. At the moment I see one “need new belts” Pioneer CT-F650 for about 130 USD – https://allegro.pl/oferta/pioneer-ct-f650-10713085251 It is roughly the equivalent of shipping between the US and Poland, so you can have a deck for free 🙂 Regards, Artur
And that is precisely how these little flights of tickling my fancy begin…
Needless to say, after a few minor adjustments—we actually ended up with another Pioneer CT-300 like the one he featured on the Facebook group page—this beauty is in my basement.
My Pioneer CT-300 tapeless deck is completely crammed with insane mods. Artur removed the cassette heads and such and installed a Samsung device that has 64GB of storage for digital music files. It can be loaded via the home WiFi network. The deck then becomes a digital music player that functions with the normal cassette deck buttons, switches, and knobs.
Additionally, a number of cassette skins/animations are preloaded so that a cassette appears to be playing through the window. There are 30 skins/animations in all. I settled on the Pioneer N1-60 (of course I did).
Finally, he installed a Bluetooth receiver allowing me to stream directly to the deck. The Tape Start switch below the power button is used to switch between the 64GB onboard storage and Bluetooth modes. The little blue light under the counter indicates the deck is in Bluetooth mode and automatically blinks when nothing is paired. The cassette animation works in both modes. The flippin’ fluoroscan meters even function and bounce to the active source! The attention to detail is nothing short of staggering!
A device like this is a true blend of art and (retro) tech.
Of all the pieces of Pioneer gear I’ve been able to acquire, there was never an option for a media streaming box with Bluetooth functionality. In fact, of the “somewhat matching” silvery devices on the market today, none came cheaper than $500 (most were triple that), and none were manufactured by Pioneer. Hence, I did not blink at the $750 USD price tag (which included acquiring a Pioneer CT-300 deck for $130 USD from a Polish auction site). Artur even installed a transformer, so that the deck would run on the standard 120V US electric system.
The dude is a bit of a genius in my book.
There are only a handful of ancillary TOTL Pioneer pieces left for me to acquire (in no particular order):
Most of these would be well north of $1,000.
But for now, the “Wall of Sound” truly takes up an entire north wall of my region of the basement…
This vision quest (favorite soundtrack) was kicked off waaaay back on my 39th birthday when my old man gave me the vintage Pioneer system I listened to as a kid (SX-780 receiver + PL-400 turntable). I had no idea he’d kept that gear all those years. Today, a decade later, this affliction has been one of the great joys of this lifetime. If history is any indication, that will never change.
Cheers!
—
Copyright © 2021 – ∞ Blake Charles Donley
Out of the blue, I received the following message via FB Messenger…
I get it that no one reads this blog. I mean, I have access to the stats, so I know that NO ONE reads this blog.
However, if you are one of the one who does, you know how vital cassettes were to my survival in this particular lifetime, especially during my middle school/high school epoch. Therefore, an offer like this indeed registered on my personal Richter Scale.
The stellar human, total dude, and polymathic stud—he’s possessed of mad wood working skillz, he’s woke on podcasts, he has total nostalgia recall capabilities, and he’s hella gracious—who made the offer, just happens to live in the other neighborhood I periodically inhabit. You see, I split my time betwen Minneapolis (where my kids live) and Atlanta (where my wife lives). Trust me, you’ll understand it after I write my magnum opus and accept my academy award for “Best Adapted Screenplay”. But for now, just go with it as a “different” normal.
Anyway, being offered a two Nike shoe boxes and a Case Logic 15-cassette caddy overflowing with cassettes is not an unheard of experience for someone like me: an “audiophile” who covets all recorded music mediums (save 78s and Edison Phonograph Cylinders—gotta draw the line somewhere). But to be offered this volume and caliber of recorded music on compact cassette tapes, which incidentally are “Better Than You Don’t Remember“, was a straight thrill—I ain’t gonna lie!
Full disclosure: when I get an offer like this, I’m torn. On one hand, I obviously want a well-curated compact cassette collection from the late ’80s—duh! On the other hand, I know what it would mean to me if I still had my own collection rather than hawking it at Down in the Valley in the early ’90s, only to turn around, literally, and buy copious amounts of used Eagles, Bob Seger, and (The) Who CDs with the proceeds.
My total dude southern neighbor assured me that “getting back into cassettes” was not on his radar, or his kids’ radars, or the radars of anyone with whom he was aware, related to, or casually associated…except me!
Yay me!
On a sunny March afternoon in ATL—sun in MSP in March is as rare as an OG cassette copy of Sublime’s Jah Won’t Pay the Bills on Skunk Records—my wifey and I swung by and picked up the magnetically coated polyester-type plastic film booty. It was a kick—I ain’t gonna lie!
Needless to say, the Pioneer mothership soundwall is located in a basement rumpus room in MSP, not in the unfinished basement storage zone in ATL.
And my big bad TOTL Pioneer CT-F1250 was exactly 1,117 miles away from the two boxes of tapes and one Case Logic caddy that I was cradling in my arms. Hence, I was going to have to endure the tedious yet familiar two hour and two minute return flight from ATL > MSP before I could hear the majestic notes of someone else’s teenage dreams.
Upon arriving back home from my trip home, I carefully unpacked all of the jewels and dropped them strategically in the open slots of one of the myriad wall-mounted Napa Valley Box Co. wooden cassette caddys that adorn my basement walls.
Tape by tape, I rolled my way through my neighbor’s teen epoch. In the process, I picked up a decent amount of music knowledge, such as…
Roger Waters’ Radio K.A.O.S. has been short shrift’d by AllMusic.
As I’ve always suspected, John Hiatt has one of those so-distinct vocal styles.
.38 Special was indeed special!
Anyway, I can’t adequately describe how delightful my trip through my latest acquisition has been. As my idol Bruce Springsteen once said…
“There is nothing so satisfying as busting the plastic seal on a new cassette, cracking open the case, and inhaling that new cassette smell.”
Actually, it was I who said that. And, older tapes present a completely wonderfully different bouquet—like that new record smell vs. an older mustier gem.
As I perused the cache of old-new stock tapes, I was struck by something.
Important.
Crucial, actually.
Among us diggers, there is a thing commonly referred to as: “record Karma”. It’s a pretty simple concept that takes a bit of time to explain and is best understood via example. I’ll give a first-hand account form my own experience, as only a first-hand experience can be accounted…
There is a Goodwill a scant three miles from our MSP home. Without getting mired in the intricacies of my custody arrangement, I see my kids every other weekend (and other days during the week). On my weekends, my daughter and I usually hit as many thrift stores as we can, and we hit ’em hard! We are ninja-like in our dismantling of any given outlet, and we know each store’s strengths and weaknesses.
On one particular trip to our local Goodwill, I ran across a freshly donated collection of AOR standards hastily crammed into the makeshift LP rack—actually a repurposed magazine rack—at the rear corner of the store. We’re talking High Infidelity, Against the Wind, On the Border, and so on, and etc…
Normally, despite previously owning at least a half-dozen different copies of each of these LPs at any given point since my 2009 vinyl Renaissance sparked my thrifting Odyssey, I’d snap them up for any number of rational (and irrational) reasons. Mainly, I’d snap them up strictly on principle. But, on that particular day, I was struck by the need to contribute to, rather than draw from, the well of record Karma.
I left that vein of vinyl gold and platinum—every LP in the run had been certified gold or platinum (many times over in some cases)—in that rickety white metal magazine rack for the next teenager, hipster, or oldster to discover. I wanted those records, but someone else likely needed ’em. I hope whomever needed ’em got ’em.
To my simplistic way of thinking, I believe that if you stack up enough of these displays of restraint, grace, and gratitude, really cool shit like your neighbor gifting you like 75 cassettes happens.
That’s what I’m going with anyway.
Thanks Matt! Your tapes will be graciously absorbed into my collection of 900+ cassettes and live to roll another day…many other days in some cases (like that Warren Zevon tape).
—
© 2020 – ∞ B. Charles Donley
Throughout my frequent thrifting operations, I occasionally run across nostalgically crucial artifacts, implements and devices. Sometimes, I’m totally floored when I run across something I’d forgotten ever existed.
Take the time I found an Advance Watch Co. Ltd. QUARTZ DIGITAL ALL PURPOSE CLOCK.
Sure, to the average human, it probably looks like a cheap crappy digital clock—clearly from the ’80s. Well, it is all that. It also happens to be the clock my father chose to affix to the dash of his 1981 light blue Toyota Corolla SR-5 two-door liftback.
Dad was notorious for luring my younger brother and I out on Saturday morning errands with the promise of a stop at Perkins for pancakes (my brother) and French toast (me). After breakfast, We’d spend the rest of the morning staring at this clock (my brother from the shotgun seat, me from the back seat) praying that whichever hardware store, department store, or garage sale we were headed to was the last stop of the morning. Needless to say, I literally spent hours staring at this clock. Seeing it 35 years later in it’s original packaging hanging on a peg in a thrift store nearly triggered a nostalgic seizure.
Other times while thrifting, I’m dogged by stuff that seems to follow me from thrift store to thrift store—things like: DVD players, Precious Moments figurines, and endless copies of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass’ six-time-platinum masterpiece: Whipped Cream.
Periodically, I track down things that I purposely hunt for at thrift stores. I never pass up a functioning Sony Walkman cassette or CD player. I buy every new or lightly used “Designed by Michael Graves for Target” gadget I find. And, I snatch up any Napa Valley Box Co. media storage caddy, case, or rack. The reason is that the difference between the thrift store cost and the market (a.k.a. eBay) price is generally enough to make it worth my while.
Along those lines, I generally lay claim to anything made by Case Logic. Mainly for the aforementioned reason, but also because I’ve likely owned and utilized at least two dozen of their portable media storage products over the course of my lifetime. Also, their products trigger nearly the same nostalgia hit as my dad’s car clock.
As a kid born in ’72, I saw both the cassette and CD revolutions come and go before my 30th birthday. I owned hundreds of each at various points in the ’80s and ’90s. Bewitched by the convenience of digital music, I dumped all my physical media during the great Napster revolution at the turn of the century.
Ironic twist alert: I’ve spent the past decade acquiring more cassettes than I ever owned in the late ’80s—nearly 900 tapes as of today—doh!
Anyway, as I headed off to college in August of 1990, I was war-torn between the two formats. At that time, CD burners were still years away from existing, much less being affordable. And before digital music files and players became the de facto standard for portable audio—”back in my day” anecdote coming—we were forced to haul our tapes and CDs along with us when music-on-the-go was the order of the day (or night).
On a recent thrift outing, I snapped up a Case Logic DM-24 portable padded nylon case. The only reason I know it was a DM-24, is that tucked inside one of the pockets was all of the original paperwork. Included in the usual stack of warranty cards, product registration cards, and index cards, was the 1993 Case Logic catalog in the form of a small yet colorful accordion-style brochure. It was too great not to scan for posterity. See if you can spot the DM-24…
Seeing the breadth of the Case Logic product line in 1993—arguably the height of the company’s popularity—didn’t quite trigger a nostalgic seizure, but it did vault me back to at least a dozen points in the past when I owned one or three of the products featured.
Specifically, the CL-15 Tape Case was always zipped and loaded each and every weekend we made the two-hour drive to visit my grandparents in rural western Minnesota. They had no TV reception to speak of, I was two hours from my friends, and my grandpa spun only polka music on his ancient Panasonic turntable. I needed at least 15 tapes to pass the time during two days in the most boring spot on the planet. I still run across these CL-15 cases all the time in thrift stores for $2-3. They are easily the most common Case Logic product I find, likely because they used to sell them branded and loaded with 15 TDK blank tapes at Musicland and Target.
These CL-15 cases generally fetch $15-20 on eBay depending on condition and color scheme—the more colorful the better, duh!
Eventually, during my college daze (1990-95), I drifted toward CDs and graduated to numerous of the padded CD cases (most likely the CD-15 and CD-30). Over the years, I may have even owned a CD-60, and it may have been grey. Unfortunately, Case Logic never produced the case that would have allowed me to tote my entire CD collection with me: the CD-500.
I hope I presented a compelling case for preserving these wondrous Case Logic catalog images on the interwebs for all of eternity…or however much time humanity has left.
—
© 2020 – ∞ B. Charles Donley
The scene of the crime…
Once inside…
My haul…
It’s on days like these—Record Store Day ’17—where the utility factor of my hilariously garish basement really smiles up my soul. Spinning the RSD version of Fleetwood Mac’s Mirage (complete with alternate mixes of “Gypsy”, “Hold On” and “Oh Diane”) is a truly decadent indulgence when it emanates from some extraordinary vintage Pioneer Hi-Fi gear.
What.
A.
Blast!
Now for the standard disclaimers (the list grows each time I post a photo)…
Despite all this, it sounds fantastic…even with the shitty EQ settings 😉
Also…
Yes, those are VHS tapes on the left. Yes, VHS was the worst format for movies ever! I was born in ’72, I was deeply affected by VHS in my formative years. Going to Video Update (later: Movie Gallery) or Blockbuster was a treat for us geezers. It’s nostalgia more than anything else. I’ve heard of Blu-ray, I swear.
Yes, that is a wall of ~700 compact cassette tapes to the left of the Pioneer gear (I have LPs and CDs also). I realize other than dime-store music boxes, compact cassettes had the worst sound ever! (see: child of the ’80s, nostalgia)
—
Copyright © 2017 – ∞ B. Charles Donley
Waxing Phonographic 