It all began for me around 1983 with that humble mixed tape.
My patience was unwavering, poised by the radio with my trusty portable tape recorder cradled close, every sense attuned. My ears strained to catch the first notes of a song while listening for the DJ's fading words, a signal to press the "play" and "record" buttons in perfect synchrony. In those moments, silence reigned, often on the floor, as I restrained my urge to sing along with the melodies of my favourite tunes. Even my breathing dared not disrupt the sacred recording process. Only when the last strains faded, and the DJ's return was still pending would I press the stop button, ending the recording. Then, with my neatest handwriting, I'd write the song's title and artist onto the inside liner of the cassette tape. This ritual repeated, song after song, each new track that fit the thematic tape I was creating. Themes sprung forth organically from the airwaves, whether a tape dedicated to a single artist due to my album-budget constraints or a symphony of love songs related to a latest crush. My themed playlists were only limited by the radio's offerings.
As I ventured into my late teens, my boyfriend of the time embarked on a “DJing” hobby. His radio show at the University of Toronto and his DJ friends ushered me into a different realm of music with a superior grade of mixed tapes courtesy of the access to sound system equipment that deftly copied from tapes and vinyl records. Seemingly ahead of the mainstream radio stations, my boyfriend created mixed tapes introducing me to previously unheard musicians like Steven Tin Tin Duffy and Stevie B, providing me with a commodity to share with friends to offer a glimpse into the music that was coming next. His mixed tapes were legendary.
Then, the era of CDs dawned, coinciding seamlessly with my first job. With newfound income, I plunged into music purchases, growing my CD collection with passion. The concept of "mixed CDs" wasn’t something I pursued, but my family did own a five-disc carousel CD player. When loaded with my CDs and using the shuffle feature, it became the embodiment of the ultimate "mixed tape."
I am fully aware, dear reader, that this evolution of music consumption is a shared narrative, and the subsequent chapter unfolded with Apple's iPod taking center stage. My first iPod, a sleek Nano from 2005, bore witness to painstakingly transferring my CDs onto my computer before they were downloaded to the iPod. Then, progressing to the iPod Classic, with its docking connector, I relinquished my CDs for this library of my music and set out to create and update curated playlists, which continue to be the mainstream of what I listen to every day.
My playlists matured from those initial mixed tape days into diverse themes, each with fitting titles. Playlists with songs that serve as the perfect backdrop for a relaxed Sunday afternoon cooking new recipes, a score of music that makes me dance regardless of place or time, songs that evoke the coziness of Fall, playlists extracted from the setlists of unforgettable concerts, or simply collections that encompass the complete discographies of cherished artists.
You get the picture, dear reader, I’m an avid music listener and especially a connoisseur of curated sounds tailored to each activity, a roadmap for every activity or journey, both literal and metaphorical.
Sadly for Karl, the iPod was not on the market in 1900, let alone the option of a CD or mixed tape. Karl's far more rudimentary playlist took the form of his own voice, melodies hummed or whistled as he pedalled through his travels on his trusty Red Bird bicycle. I know, dear Reader, it’s just so endearing.
But instead of me telling you all about those songs, I’ll share Karl’s words from a letter he wrote to sister Mattie from Benares (now Varanasi) on December 18th:
“In Toronto I learned a song “Oh I don’t know” and all through Michigan I whistled it. If I whistle it now it seems as though I were crossing that country again, walking uphill and eating blackberries.
In Chicago I learned “Just as the sun went down” and that kept me whistling until Minneapolis was reached. Then I got hold of “Just one girl” (song I knew) and “She was bred in Old Kentucky” another song and these kept me going until I got to Spokane. There I picked up “At a Georgia Camp Meeting”... and I whistled until I got to Seattle, here I got a song, the name of which I do not know, anyhow it carried me into Vancouver and at Melborne I learned “Absent minded Begger” and “Sons of the sea” which lasted until I got to Sydney, here I learned “Sultans Ground March” which took me to Brisbane and “She’s my lady love” was next on the list and kept fresh until I go to rock Hampton, then I made another change and picked up “All I want is a little bit off the top” a comic song, same time as “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”, which lasted me to Townsville when I learned an Organ grinders tune and did not hear any more until I got back to NewCastle - another organ manipulator, named our “Soldiers of the Queen” ….pretty often and every time I whistled that piece, a glimpse of NewCastle comes back to me. The harbour with its hundreds of sailing ships, sails all furled and yards braced up etc.
The same with all the other songs when I whistle them, up comes the country through which I passed at the time of learning the songs. Everything turns up and I can see the place as though I had gone through, but yesterday.”
Some songs hold a unique historical significance, like the "Absent-Minded Beggar," composed to rally support for soldiers in the Second Boer War and the popular 1898 British March titled “Soldiers of the Queen”. However, interspersed among the battle marches are two minstrel songs with verses bearing distressing lyrics of racism and intolerance. Notwithstanding excluding those songs, I unearthed the other ten of Karl's referenced songs, extracted from diverse renditions. These songs have become my latest playlist, called "Karl's Songs." Admittedly, the archival recordings are of poor quality and generally, the songs are unlikely ever to rival my current themed playlists. But the marvel of Karl's songs lies in its existence.
Should you choose to listen, please leave a comment. I’d love to hear your thoughts or know if you are familiar with these tunes. I’m quite certain you’ll recognize the melody "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again," a hit during the "Spanish-American War” but substitute Johnny’s name with “the ants” and then let me know.
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