Playlist making is a love language that’s existed for as long as transferable media onto physical forms has. Cassettes are inherently romantic. Pushing a pen through the rollers of some little box that has a person’s, your person’s, handwriting scrawled over it to re-listen to the songs they chose (while thinking of you) is sickeningly sweet. The next best saccharine, more practical and accessible, is the CD.
I love making CDs for people. I have for years starting in fifth grade, burning Shakira and Lady Gaga songs for my girlfriends. I expect my loved ones to be on the same page as me. This extends sonically. Sometimes, I make them as birthday gifts, other times, they’re an extension of limerence I have concerning someone who’s caught my eye. Either way, I take pride in evoking feelings that resonate with mine, the other party, and the gap in between us.
The gap is not necessarily bad. It could be physical distance. It could be the other two parts of the venn diagram concerning our musical taste. It could be the intuitive understanding of what you need to hear next. I consider myself better than a streaming platform’s algorithm. You should too if you already don’t.
I know these sentiments concern playlist curation in general, though my point here specifically is the romance in hardware. I consider myself what I like to call an “analog apologist” (I really hope I’m the first person who’s coined this epithet. My pride won’t let me Google it to see if that’s true or not). I have feelings for physical devices. Am I materialistic? Yes, totally. Unapologetically. Nevermind that! I’m talking about how beautiful it is to have something created for some single purpose, taking up space and existing proudly.
In a multipurpose, all-in-one world, being single-purposed in presence, in thingness, it’s a form of rebellion and it’s a push to slow down. I think. I also think that that’s why things like dandyism appeal to me so much. I’m here for it, call me self-indulgent. I won’t mind.
When you make a playlist on a streaming site for someone, firstly, it could very well be public and accessible to anyone and everyone. If you’re into voyeurism, that’s fine. My Spotify playlists are almost all private. I’m selfish with my music. Secondly, and more importantly, it’s temporary at best. Regardless of whether or not person A and person B fall out, and the playlist is deleted, a song or two gets taken down (or worse– remade), or AI gains sentience in its take over and decides to dissolve streaming platforms and in turn, those flimsy love letters stored there.
A CD guarantees permanence. A CD validates the past, present, and future. You can decide for yourself whether that’s good or bad.