Mister Sampsell recently [finally] upgraded to a CD player. What would he do with his miles and miles of magnetic audiotape?
…I gave myself a present and had a CD player (AM/FM/CD!) put into my Toyota Tercel. Now, instead of reliving the ’90s (Superchunk, Spinanes, Pavement) or the ’80s (Go-Betweens, Robyn Hitchcock, the Fall), I can listen to current bands! No longer must I feel like a dweeb—parked in the 7-Eleven parking lot, Slurpee in my hand, mouthful of corn dog—as I rummaged through the cracked, dusty tape cases in my glove box looking for that Human League EP-on-cassette. No one can mistake me for an out-of-touch thirtysomething anymore.
So I decided this: I’m going to pull out my boxes of cassettes and sell them all. But who buys these things anymore? Poor saps with tape players in their cars? Old street punks still getting drunk to Black Flag (I admit, I had five of their tapes)? Single moms who never get sick of Cameo and Prince (OK, I had those, too. Shut up.)?