New York, New York

Who are you?

An adventurer at heart, I used to itch to travel and meet the unknown far away from my native Germany. When I came to New York in my twenties, I fell in love with the city and the freedom of expression I felt there. 17 years later, I live and love in Brooklyn. I work at a museum that specializes in Tibetan Buddhist art and I'm using the pandemic lockdown to build a co-creative event space with my partner. My adventures have shifted more towards hopefully gaining a little wisdom, being a good citizen, and living in the moment as much as I can. 

What’s the name of your mixtape?

New York, New York

When did you get it?

It was the summer of 2003, right before I left for NYC. I received it as a farewell gift on one of those warm summer nights our group of friends would spend over drinks at a cafe in the old town of Erlangen, probably after seeing a show or a film. 

Who did you get it from?

I got the tape from Martin Rehbock, a friend and filmmaker, who was part of the marvelously creative and fun community of theater and film aficionados in Erlangen/Nürnberg at that time. 

What does it mean to you?

I remember being surprised because Martin and I hadn't been all that close and, you know, making a mix tape takes time and commitment. I was very touched that he made this for me. I've listened to it many times over the years is one of the very few tapes I kept through many moves. The tape feels like an anchor back to a very specific and beautiful time and community, which I left behind. 

Welcome to The Mixtape Project

Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

Remember mixtapes? I do. I loved them. Everything about them. The physicality. Those rattly plastic cassettes, the jewel cases, handwritten track lists and liner notes. I loved making them, receiving them, sharing them, finding them. I loved tightening up the tape with my finger before popping them in. I loved that satisfying clunk whir of pressing play. And I loved the discovery of listening. A track I’d never heard before making me run my finger over the track list to find it, “who the heck is this?” A track I knew taking on new significance based on what was right before it, right after it. Mixtapes were more than just a collection of songs—more than just a playlist. The order of the songs meant something. Mixtapes were dialogues, declarations, poems, conversations. We expressed ourselves through them—our longing, our love, our frustrations, our hopes, our fears. We bragged through mixtapes. We sent out secret messages in them. We searched. We hoped to be found out, discovered, heard, understood. But then, like so many things, mixtapes just faded away. The medium of the cassette tape was replaced by the unsatisfying plastic of a CD, and then an iPod, and then streaming. And now our music lives on Spotify and Apple Music, on Tidal and Amazon. It’s become like the air. And that’s OK, that’s the way it works. Nostalgia can be one of the most toxic impulses, especially when we try to hang on to what was and miss out on what is—but I can remember the mixtape and the place it held in our lives and hearts without resorting to those toxic impulses of the older generation.