Supermix 7

Created fall 1991

Side 1:
Help! – The Beatles
Moonage Daydream – David Bowie
Battleship Chains – Hindu Love Gods
The Joker – The Steve Miller Band
Big Shot – Billy Joel
Brown Eyed Girl – Van Morrison*
Hard to Laugh – The Pursuit of Happiness
Women and Men – They Might Be Giants
Breakdown – Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
The Trees – Rush
Mr. Tambourine Man – The Byrds*
Moral Kiosk – R.E.M.
Hourglass – Squeeze
Do It Again – The Kinks
Skateaway – Dire Straits

Side 2:
We Have Heaven – Yes
Rich Girl – Hall and Oates
Summer of ‘69 – Bryan Adams
How to Be Dumb –Elvis Costello
Something About You – Boston
Innocent One – Michael Penn
I Walk Away – Crowded House*
Summer in the City – The Lovin’ Spoonful*
Pretty Vacant – The Sex Pistols
Yesterday Girl – The Smithereens
The Punk and the Godfather – The Who
Mother’s Little Helper – The Rolling Stones
New Year’s Day – U2
So Lonely – The Police

*Artist’s series debut

The summer of 1991 was great, albeit slightly disappointing. I had a good time back at Buck’s Rock—after that year in Montreal, I needed nothing more than to be in a place where I felt I belonged—but I failed to achieve what I consciously felt was my No. 1 goal for the summer: To find a girlfriend. By age 16, I’d had various extended periods of flirtation, and that lone youth-group dance-floor kiss a year and a half ago, but my romantic cup otherwise remained empty. And I felt it was overdue: I had always liked girls, and couldn’t relate to boys who found girls to be icky or off-putting. I’ve never not been interested in females, whether as friends, as lovers, as partners, as role models, or, yes, as sex objects. I’m sure there are women out there who would tell you I acted like a sexist pig in their presence, and some of them would probably be justified, but I’d contend those incidents were more me being a general pig than being a sexist. 

Anyway, I returned to Montreal for 11th grade, my confidence somewhat bolstered but still shaky, my love for music stronger than ever. (I’d spent the summer as a CIT at the camp radio station, basking in my rock-geek identity.) I naturally launched right into my next Supermix, Vol. 7, one that stands out as A-tier. Both sides start off strongly: Side 1 with a Beatles classic, followed by my new favorite David Bowie song (off Ziggy Stardust, an album I’d discovered that summer and which remains by far my favorite Bowie work). Side 2 has the novel but clever opening of a prog-rock curio by Yes (if you’re one of the many who think Fragile is pretentious dreck, get over yourself), leading into “Rich Girl,” the song that on its own justifies Hall and Oates’ reputation as pop-songcraft geniuses (well, Hall at least, wink wink).

This mix also displays my turn toward the poppier and less rockier side of music of the ‘60s—note the inclusion of the Byrds, Van Morrrison, and the Lovin’ Spoonful. Late in the previous schoolyear, I began complementing my classic-rock radio habit with a fair amount of time listening to the local oldies radio station. (I later learned they emanated from the same studio, only a ten minute walk from my apartment.) I still love all three of those artists—just yesterday I commented on a Subreddit that I think “Mr. Tambourine Man” is the greatest Dylan cover, and “Summer in the City” is a strong contender for any list of my all-time favorite songs—and I like to think my embrace of hits like this betrays some kind of emotional maturity for 16-year-old me. I also suppose it might show a bit of a sunnier disposition than I’d had the previous year, but then we have one particular song on Side 2, “How to Be Dumb” by Elvis Costello. This is an obscure track from his then-recent album, Mighty Like a Rose (the brief era when he wore a long rabbi’s beard), and it’s probably as biting as anything Declan MacManus has ever recorded, which is saying a lot. Supposedly a riposte to his once-and-future bass player Bruce Thomas, its cynicism spoke to me big time: “Scratch your own head, stupid/Count up to three/Roll over on your back/Repeat after me.” Moving to Montreal, wanting what I couldn’t seem to get romantically, still unsure where I fit in in terms of masculinity—I had developed an edge, and I suppose I’m fortunate that it never got sharp enough to take me down a truly self-destructive path.

A great mix from top to bottom, although I’m still hewing to mostly pretty mainstream music—I might be embracing Elvis Costello at his most acerbic, and yes, there’s another Sex Pistols song, but my punk/new-wave phase was still in the future. For now, it was enough to just make myself happy.