You either made mix tapes as a kid or you didn't, and this book speaks to those of us who, though we may have moved on to iPods and ripped CDs, appreciate the emotive power and nostalgia-inducing ability of a customized cassette. [In many cases, we still have those cassettes though lack the means to play them.] Sheffield, a music writer since at least the early 90s (still with Rolling Stone), knows his stuff, and fills this autobiographical account of his love affair with wife Renee with as many pop references as the pages can handle. A beautiful story is woven about the geeky Massachusetts boy's instant and soulful connection with a loud and extroverted Southerner, originating with their shared interest in music and continuing in that melodic vein until Renee's timely 1997 death in Rob's arms (from a pulmonary embolism that hit her in their kitchen while Rob made French toast).
Sheffield is as deft writing about love as he is about music, which is saying an awful lot; he expertly captures the thrill and helplessness of falling in love, and his worship of Renee is heart-achingly poignant. Anyone who reads this and doesn't identify with Sheffield's powerful descriptions of fully giving his heart to another, and of loving someone to the point of fear (of losing oneself, of not being able to keep the other safe enough, of recognizing the other will be on hand to witness your inevitable worst), should leave his current relationship and immediately begin searching for the true "right one."
It's all about the music, though, descriptions of which are shored up by Sheffield's encyclopedic knowledge of songs and the artists who make them. Mix tapes are described in general (the Break Up tape, the Fall In Love tape, etc.), and the playlists that narrate Rob's life begin each chapter. On the one hand, the constant assault of artists, tunes, and especially lyrics can be overwhelming, to the point where there occasionally ceases to be prose (and song lines are instead grafted together to make a point). On the other, the songs are so artfully chosen, and the mix tapes do such a good job of capturing the Zeitgeist of when they were assembled, that you'd best keep a pen handy to catch all the obscure gems (and some ice, for writer's cramp).
There will come a point where each reader sees a favorite obscure song referenced in Love Is A Mixtape. It's kind of cool and personal, in a dorky way, recognizing someone who shares at least some of your tastes and knows some of your secrets. For me, it was reading that Big Star's "Thirteen" was a favorite of Rob and Renee, and that they in fact met while Big Star played on the jukebox at a local bar. Thirteen is just so sparse and beautiful, and somehow transcends even greater heights in covers by Elliott Smith and Evan Dando. Seeing it in print was a nice touch to an even nicer read.
