We have a guest blog from Brady Langmann (he writes for the Pitt News, so this is a HUGE deal) talking about music and its various connections. He created a playlist at the bottom with some very nice tunes:
Music is the way to a woman’s heart. At least that’s what I thought in high school, when I burned a CD for damn near every girl who looked at me sideways. The CDs were typically made of shit your average lumbersexual preteen without a driver’s license would listen to. But god, I put work into those things. Hours. Days. Weeks. More time than I spent watching Charmed and humiliating myself at soccer practice.
I stopped making CDs for girls when I was 15, shortly after I went on my first date. A friend of mine, who went to an all-girls school across town, decided to put me out of my post-pubescent misery and set me up with a classmate of hers. It was a double date—me, First Date Girl, mutual friend, and mutual friend’s friend—at the local Red Robin. Yes, a fucking Red Robin. And we were still young enough that our parents had to drive us there. Judge me.
I thought the date was a success, from First Date Girl to the bottomless fries (I would’ve fallen for a houseplant at that point). So when I heard that First Date Girl’s birthday was the next week, I had a killer idea for a follow-up. I told myself: What an opportunity! I’ll burn her the best damn CD in the history of CD-burning, toss in a smooth-as-shit love letter explaining how much I’m into her, have our mutual friend slip it in her locker, and she’ll straight-up swoon!
Maybe it was because I was shorter than her, maybe she didn’t dig desperate dudes who wore cargo shorts and listened to Bon Iver, or maybe the music was so goddamn awful that she never wanted to see me again. Either way, First Date Girl sent me a thesis-length text the next day explaining a) how much the CD surprised her, b) how sweet I was, and c) that she wasn’t looking for a relationship anymore.
Seven years and a handful of kinda-sorta-not-really-romances later, I still put together the occasional mix. For a friend, for myself, whatever. I’d like to think my music taste in music has improved since then. Or not. Maybe it’s still the stuff of broken relationships. You be the judge.