If you’re near my age of 41, you may recall compiling mixed tapes and giving them to your friends. Not too many years later, you probably ripped your music from CDs and burned a road trip mix or two. And then we found Napster and MP3s so we had the ultimate CD mix of 50 or so songs. I probably have a few in a box collecting dust somewhere.
Now, we can compile playlists in our favorite streaming service and share them around the world. Many are coming around to physical media, as streaming services are fickle and barely pay artists. Given this new climate where sharing is cold and digital, I decided to take a risk and give a colleague of mine a full album to try to recapture the joy of sharing something I found enjoyable and hoped they would too. The risky elements were: they didn’t ask for this album, I don’t know if they liked the band, and I was uncertain they’d enjoy the genre. The less risky elements were: I know they have a turntable, like Japanese House, Taylor Swift, and Chappell Roan, and they genuinely appreciate music.
The album I chose was The Beths’ The Straight Line Was A Lie. After a few listens to the album, it just seemed to fit my colleague’s tastes.
The effortless pop-rock sensibilities of The Beths complement their laid-back yet thoughtful demeanor. I decided to order a vinyl copy ahead of their leave of absence from the office. When it arrived, I was so excited to deliver the gift. I figured it’d keep them company while they convalesced at home. I left the album with a note on their office desk right before they left on leave. And then my giddiness melted into fears and what-ifs. What if they hate it? What if I made too many assumptions? Could I offend them by suggesting I know better what they should be listening to? To top it off, I wouldn’t see them again in person for nearly two months.
I knew I was taking a risk, but I underestimated how big a risk it was. Sure, I’d been given plenty of gifts I didn’t want or even like. As a kid, I got copious amounts of shirts and pants from Mervyn’s that I had to wear to church and take photos in to send back to my relatives. Oh, and various colognes, books, and gadgets that people assumed I’d like. I’m not turning up my nose at these things. They just seemed impersonal and pretty low risk. I was attempting to do something more thoughtful and really was nervous I had missed the mark, that first week especially. But
I tried to tell myself it was the thought that counts, and even if my coworker didn’t like The Beths, they’d have another record in their collection for guests.
I kept putting various spins like that on my gift adventure over the coming weeks. I tried to get a friend to reassure me that I hadn’t made a mistake. It helped a little. And after about a month, I resigned myself to just accepting the results. The date of my friend and colleague’s return is getting closer. Then came the news they’d be gone longer than anticipated, damn.
Luckily, it wasn’t too much longer, and the day arrived when they stepped back into the office. Everyone on my team was glad to have them back. I especially wanted to hear their thoughts on the record. But a week went by, and they didn’t bring it up. I didn’t see it as rude. I thought I’d be rude if I said something. And then I started thinking, oh shoot, the note fell off the desk, or the album got picked up by the cleaning crew. Nevertheless, I tried to stay cool.
A week goes by, and then a Monday, and now it’s Tuesday the following week. That afternoon, they stopped by my office with a card and the album in hand. They wanted to give it back to me. Ope! It was a gift. A moment of panic hit me; they didn’t like it. But then I remembered my note had suggested I’d been listening to the album, and maybe they thought I loaned it out. I let them know it was a gift, and that I don’t even own a turntable. Yes, I know I need to rectify that. I do have a CD player, though, and physical media isn’t anathema to me.
Now, we finally get to discuss the album. They hadn’t even heard of the band! However, they loved the album and listened to the rest of their entire discography.
We bonded over enjoying Liz Stokes’s New Zealand accent. I got the joy of sharing how I had discovered the band at The Maha Music Festival, writing for this website two years ago. And then we ran down our favorite tracks. The bittersweet song “Mosquitoes” was our shared number one, followed by “The Metal” and “Mother Pray for Me”. And they really liked “Ark of the Covenant”. It was fantastic. I felt joy, relief, and a new appreciation for giving the gift of music. It was a unique experience going out on a limb to see if someone else appreciated a gift beyond just the act of receiving something. I wanted to connect with someone through a medium I love, an album I adore, and a band that I think needs more recognition. I read the thoughtful thank-you note they had left. It meant the world to me.
I learned a lot from this experiment. It pays to take a risk with gifts, sharing music is still fun, and if you put a little thought into it, you can make a connection through that sharing. We’re already in the commercialized season of gift-giving. The day after Halloween, I heard Christmas music in a restaurant, and my email is already being spammed with holiday deals. I urge you to pause and think about the people in your life that you’d love to share an album with. Think about someone who would appreciate a good discussion about the music. And then go get them a record you’re pretty sure they haven’t heard (The Beths are a great recommendation!) and share it. I can’t think of anything more in line with the purpose of holidays.
Straight Line Was A Lie is available for streaming and on vinyl at The Beths’ Bandcamp