Once in a while, I like to make myself a sandwich. I don’ t just mean I haphazardl y slap together something of the peanut b utter and jam v ariety; I’ m talking about an epic culinary creation. Enter the garlic aoli. Break out avocadoes and assorted greens. A little pesto for that freerange chicken? And the bread— oh, the bread! It’ s so far from that horrible sugary white stuff that shares part of its name with the much more desirable Wonder Woman, that it might as well be from a different food group entirely. A sandwich like this takes time, thought, and effort, and the result is, well, delicious.
editor’ s note
Once in a while, I like to make myself a sandwich. I don’ t just mean I haphazardl y slap together something of the peanut b utter and jam v ariety; I’ m talking about an epic culinary creation. Enter the garlic aoli. Break out avocadoes and assorted greens. A little pesto for that freerange chicken? And the bread— oh, the bread! It’ s so far from that horrible sugary white stuff that shares part of its name with the much more desirable Wonder Woman, that it might as well be from a different food group entirely. A sandwich like this takes time, thought, and effort, and the result is, well, delicious.
This lunchtime delight is a lot like something else that takes time, thought, and effor t— a mixtape. How? Well... The bread is your opener. It has to be substantial, yet it also needs subtlety. The first tune on a mixtape, whether you’ re making it for a fr iend, a relative, a lover, or, best of all, a prospective lover, sets the scene for the rest of the mix. It’ s the first bite and it had better be a good one or your listener will be chucking that tape down next to the sprouts and lemon.
Next, you’ re crunching into cool lettuce, a refreshing cleanse, a tune tha t hints a t what’ s coming while not g iving away too m uch. It’ s a neutral song, a moment of hesitation. It br ings you down slightly from the substance of that first tune, but doesn’ t let you go. It’ s fresh, clean, crisp.
But the middle ma tters most. Here’ s the meat, the mustard, the veggies, juxtaposing and complementing flavours, the content and context for everything your listener has already experienced and for all that they’ re about to hear. This is the cohesive centre, where the tunes reach backwards and forwards, simultaneously connecting every element together. Choose car efully. Maybe you shouldn’ t put pineapple into a roast beef sandwich, but you can put it in with pork. These songs tell y our story, and they are oh so tasty.
As the tape comes to a close, the final few tunes reflect the beginning and leave an aftertaste that has your listener wanting more. It’ s the bread all over again.
Mixtapes, unlike gourmet sandwiches, are slowly becoming extinct. As tapes disappear, so do their progeny. If there was one thing that cassettes did well, it was being a medium for the mixtape. Now, it’ s too easy to put together a playlist and because it’ s so easy, the end product suffers. The time, thought, and effort has gone. A playlist is a peanut butter sandwich.
But while mixtapes might be fading into history, radio is still here. Radio has all the elements of a good mixtape and a great sandwich, wrapped up in a neat little packet of airwaves. Even better, radio is like having the chef sit with you while you eat, describing the distinct characteristics of eac h ingredient and telling y ou why they all work so well together.
Last year, the sand wich celebrated its 250th birthday. This is the fir st anniversary of [ sic ] magazine. Love live the sandwich, long live the mixtape, and long live our little magazine.
– Matt J. Simmons
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