Mixtape Memories - Series Premiere Friday, 11/3 8pm

Six years ago, we produced four episodes of Mixtape Memories, but then life got in the way and production stopped.  But now, it's back!

The first episode of Mixtape Memories premieres on November 3 at 8pm (central). Each week, we will feature a special mixtape from my collection (and maybe yours!).

Each new episode of Mixtape Memories will repeat on the following Wednesday at 1 pm (central) and then be made available on Mixcloud.

If you would like to perhaps submit your own mixtape for inclusion in an upcoming episode, hit the tab above and fill out the form. We would love to hear from you!

Thanks, Dave Aklinski

It was the last day of school.  I was planning on heading down to the Chicago Blues Fest with some co-workers, but I had to clean my desk and haul some books down to the "rebind" room.  That took longer than I had anticipated.  Plus, the weather didn't look so great.  So, I decided to skip that trip and just head home.

On the way, I stopped off at my local record store, Rainbow Records in Barrington, to treat myself to a little vinyl.  There are always albums that I want, but inevitably, when I get to the record store, I never seem to be able to remember any of them.  Been looking for some Cure, but vinyl Cure is a little difficult to find.  Saw Sting's debut album, but I have that on cd and decided against it

Browsing through the Rs, I came across Tattoo You, the 1981 release from the Rolling Stones.  Back when the album was released, I checked it out at the library and made a copy on cassette.  That cassette has long since vanished. 

So there it was:  my vinyl choice of the day:  The Rolling Stones.

There were two copies of Tattoo You.  After inspecting the vinyl, I chose the better.  After all, this album is 30 years old.  This copy was almost pristine: no noticeable scratches or smudges.  The only thing is that the previous owner's name was written not only on the cover, but also on the sleeve and on the record label itself:

Dave Aklinski

He was the owner of the record.  A proud owner, I must say.  Why else would he have written his name over all parts of the album?

Over the course of the last several months as I have rediscovered my love for vinyl, that is one thing that I have noticed about many of the used albums I have come across:  people liked to put their names on them.  To mark their territory, so to speak.  As if to say, "Hey, this is mine."  Of course, people shared albums all of the time and placing one's name on the album assured that the album would be returned  There are still some albums that I know I had in my collection that are now noticeably absent.  I never placed my name on any of my albums.  And look where that's gotten me, wondering whatever happened to Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel, among others.

Writing names on albums was more than just marking territory though.  It was more than just saying, "This album belongs to me." It was as if that name becomes a declaration of  faith in the artist and what that artist represents.  We all develop very personal relationships with music and it is music that marks very specific moments in our lives.  Years later a song can trigger a memory.  A feeling.  A moment that may have been lost and suddenly returned as if it were yesterday by a few chords from a guitar riff.  That is power and we come to feel that we own the music itself on that record.  Once it is made by the artists it becomes ours.  We're attached to it as if it were made just for us.  Which is why we sometimes feel slighted when we feel that an artist has "sold out."  When I first heard Robert Plant's voice selling Cadillac I almost fell off my seat.  Are you kidding me?  Led Zeppelin and Cadillac? 

That's not all music, of course.  I can't imagine a time down the road when I worry that Lady Gaga has sold out.  Or having some Britney Spears' song sparking a memory. 

Music is such a personal thing.  Dave Aklinski was not just declaring that Tattoo You was his.  It was a little more than that.  I assume that there must have been several Stones albums in his collection.  He was a Stones fan and that mark on the cover was a declaration of "fandome," if that is even a word.  If not, it should be.    Someone who puts their name on an album no doubt has had some very vigorous discussions about that band--perhaps defending them against some naysayers or discussing the virtues of one album over another.  That's what it means to be a fan.

So I paid $3.21 for Dave Arlinksi's Tattoo You album.  You can't get a better deal than that.  I played it for my two boys when I got home and we danced in the basement to "Start Me Up."  And I was reminded of the time back in 1981 when I watched a Stones concert on pay-per-view with some friends.  I can still see Mick Jagger running around the stage in tight yellow pants and an orange tank top.  Yep, that's the power of music.

Thanks, Dave Aklinski, for taking such good care of that album. 

And if anyone knows a Dave Aklinski in the Chicago area who at one time owned this Tattoo You album, tell him that I now have it.

And I am taking good care of it.

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You can hear selections from Tattoo You and other Rolling Stones' albums on The Vinyl Voyage, where all music is played on vinyl---just as music should be.

"He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother": The Story of a Song

We all have those songs which touch us in certain ways. Music has that ability---to stir emotions, to wrangle memories. We have the tendency to claim songs as our own for what they do within us. For me, no song is more poignant and powerful than “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother.”

The song was written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell, their only collaboration as songwriters. Russell was dying of cancer at the time and his lyrics for this song would be the last he ever wrote. The origin of the phrase is unknown, but it did appear as the title of an article in Kiwanis magazine in 1924 and then later became the motto for Father Flanagan’s Boy’s Town in the 1940s.

Written in the late 60s, the song conjures images of the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam. In fact, every year when I teach Vietnam, I use music to tell the story and “He Ain’t Heavy He’s My Brother” highlights 1970, the year of it’s release. However, for me, the song has nothing to do with Vietnam.

For me, the song is about my brother.

My brother, Christopher, had recently turned three when he was tragically stuck and killed by a car in 1974. I was just a month away from turning six and, although it had happened almost 40 years ago, the details of that day are seared into my memory as if it had occurred not years, but moments ago. If I close my eyes I can still see that sunny Sunday afternoon. My brother was riding his big wheel; I could see him from the top of an A-frame tree house recently constructed in a friend’s back yard. In my excitement over the tree house, I called out to him.  A train had recently rumbled along the tracks behind the house. Other children were playing, their laughs could be heard echoing throughout the neighborhood.

And then…..then our lives changed forever.

It’s not something I often talk about. In fact, I didn’t talk about it much growing up. I kept to myself.

It was in music where I found refuge.

I first heard “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” sometime in 1975 or so. My parents had recently bought Olivia Newton-John’s release, Clearly Love. I can still picture the album cover: Olivia standing in a denim jacket, a slight smile on her face as wind blows through her feathered hair. Olivia Newton-John may have been my first crush. The song is the final song on the album and it would be the first song in my life to become emotionally significant.

I may not have understood the true meaning of the song at the time, but the refrain struck a chord. I thought the song was about losing a brother and being sad about it. Olivia sang it so mournfully. And so beautifully. It must have been about me.

If I’m laden at all

I’m laden with sadness.

I listened to the song whenever I could. When it came on the reel to reel my parents had, I stopped and listened. When I got older, I played it myself—sometimes over and over.

Most people are familiar with the more famous Hollies version. I, however, wouldn’t be aware of that version for many years. But when I bought The Hollies’ Greatest Hits on cassette in the early 80s, it would be that version that would carry me through the next decade or so. As a teacher, I would play the Hollies’ version to my classes. My students may have been thinking about Vietnam, but not me. I sat in the back of the classroom, thinking about my brother. Sometimes doing all I could to hold back the tears, staring at the image I had placed on the overhead of a soldier carrying a wounded comrade through the jungle.

I recently became familiar with the very first recording of the song. Neil Diamond actually recorded the song before the Hollies, but would release it later.   It appears on his 1970 release Tap Root Manuscript, which I just recently picked up in a used record store.  Although it is the oldest, my relationship with Neil Diamond’s version is still in its infancy. But I like it. In many ways, it is better than the Hollies version. It is better than Olivia’s. Neil Diamond may not be the best singer, but his voice exudes emotion. As a man in my early 40s, it is this version that I turn to more often. It speaks to me in a way the others don't.

My brother would have turned 40 this year.  As I get older, his presence in my life grows more significant.  I look upon my two boys and sometimes see subtle reflections of Chris.  When you think about it, people never really die---they live on in our lives in numerous ways, shades of them appearing unexpectedly in others.  And songs like "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" help us cope and, in turn, keep the memory alive.   In the end, it doesn't matter the original intent of the song.  True art transcends purpose and becomes something more---much, much more.  Art has the ability to help us deal with life's curve balls.  It can calm us and excite us.  But, most of all, art makes us pause every now and then, especially when we are consumed with the minutiae of everyday living, to remind us about what is truly important.

In honor of what would have been my brother's 40th birthday, I created a video dedicated to his memory. Of course, "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" is the soundtrack. It couldn't have been anything else.

Mix Tape Memories

If you grew up in the 80s, no doubt you took your vinyl collection and made mix tapes.  The Sony Walkman went on sale in the United States in 1980 and nearly everyone I knew eventually had one.  I brought it to school, listened to it on the bus---not too different from kids today with their iPods and mp3 players.

The only difference is that more thought went into a mix tape--after all, you only had 60-90 minutes for all of the songs you wanted to include.  A mix tape was all about mood.  It was about current feelings.  It was about friends.  Mix tapes were more inter-relational.  We would make mix tapes for road trips into the city; mix tapes for special events.  We would give mix tapes as gifts.  iPods are about the individual; mix tapes were more about friends. Mix tapes were meant to be shared.

I had a special mix tape entitled, "Depression Songs."  Too bad I no longer have that one.  It was a tape with songs that would make me more depressed when I was depressed.  We tried to be creative with our mix tapes by making names for them to highlight the particular mood we were in when making them. I recently pulled out my cassette collection and there are mix tapes entitled, "Songs I Made When I Had Nothing to Do,"  "A Rainy Evening, Sipping Coffee in Front of a Fire," and "Oh For a Muse of Fire."  Of course, I was not all that creative most of the time:  most of my mix tapes are simply titled, "Many Songs #1" and so on.

I still have many of my mix tapes.  I wish I had more.  Unfortunately, my car was broken into one night at the mall and my tape collection was stolen.  That was about 1988, I think.  But I still have many.  Of course, mix tapes turned into mix cds--but I think that, too, is a thing of the past.

Before high school, I made mix tapes by simply recording songs off of the radio.  How many of you did that?  I still have some of those tapes and they are very interesting---a musical snapshot of a particular time in my life.

Starting this month, the Vinyl Voyage will begin a new show entitled, "Mix Tape Memories."  Currently, I am listening to a mix tape I made on October 18, 1986.  I had just started college and no doubt made it for the ride downstate.  As a freshman I didn't have a car, so I often took a bus.  I couldn't have survived without my Walkman.

This will be the first mix tape on "Mix Tape Memories."  It includes artists such as Oingo Boingo, R.E.M., Tones on Tails, Shriekback, Boomtown Rats, Depeche Mode and the B-52's----just to name a few.

Check back for more details.