The Bitter Buffalo

"Lined Up" (1983, from the LP, Care)

One of the most incredibly visceral moments of my life was the first time I ever slipped foam earpads over my ears and listened to a record album (in my case, it was New Order's Power, Corruption & Lies) on a personal stereo cassette player. I, of course, did not have the luxury of owning brand-name personal electronics as a teenager. I did not have, for instance, a Sony Walkman. No, the most I could coax out of my parents was a Panasonic RX-HD10, which I dubbed the "Jogger." It was slightly heavier than a Sony Walkman, and much less sleekly-packaged, but it worked exactly the same way: insert cassette, press play, don headphones, be blown the fuck away.

Am I overstating the effect of hearing true personal stereo for the first time? I don't think so. I remember exactly where I was sitting, what I was wearing, and the way fold out cassette insert smelled like grapes and stained from the grease on my fingertips. I distinctly remember the chills I felt when I heard the guitars strumming on Tears for Fears' "Pale Shelter" inside my head (The Hurting was the second cassette I listened to on my "Jogger"). Keep in mind that up to that point in my life, the highest audio fidelity I had ever experienced was listening to Columbia House Record Club LPs on a Radio Shack direct-drive turntable (I saved up all summer for that thing, which still works fine, and which I still hook up to my stereo from time to time) piped through an Emerson all-in-one stereo console (with a built-in record changer that sounded like shit compared to that RS beauty) I had somehow appropriated from my parents. No, man. The "Jogger" rocked my world. I was a changed man from that point on. And, I guess, you can attribute all this music blogging nonsense, and my obsession with music minutia in general, to my "Jogger" as well.

Shriekback's Care was originally one of those LPs in my collection, but it was purchased from Wherehouse Records (in what is now a very different Tiffany Plaza in Denver), not from Columbia House. I know that with certainty because Care is still in my collection, opened -- as most records I bought were -- by sliding a thumbnail along the opening, leaving the shrinkwrap (and price sticker) intact. I paid $7.99 for it, in case you were wondering.

I liked listening to Care quite a bit on the Emerson, but it wasn't until I purchased a cassette version of it (at Wax Trax, of course) and started playing it over and over and over on my "Jogger" that the album -- one that could be released today and sound completely current -- really came to life. "Lined Up" summed Shriekback up best for me: a funky, almost evil bassline, catchy multiphonic vocals, and completely baffling lyrics.

So I took it upon myself to learn those lyrics, nearly wearing out the cassette tape with my constant rewinding / playing / rewinding. I even kept a notebook as I deciphered the lyrics, as proof of my endeavors. Proof both in the notebook and, of course, I could sing the whole damned song on cue.

But nobody ever asked me to. Sigh.

Owing (one assumes) to some complicated record label legal shit, Care has never enjoyed a proper CD release. Neither, unfortunately, has the equally amazing follow-up, Jam Science, which I only ever owned on a cassette that one day got mangled, and which I have never properly heard since. Instead, most of the Shriekback songs from that era can be found on one of several compilations -- which is where the "Disco Version" of "Lined Up" I've linked to here came from. It's closest to the version that appeared on the US release of Care, distinctive in the little "rap-perlude" about two and a half minutes in ("let it fall into place, we can tie it to a tree, we can point it at you, we can make it a habit," etc.) that doesn't appear on the UK version.

Of course, I can sing along to that, too, word for word.

OK, loser moment of my life here: I actually did the same thing once, even took the lyrics to school in my pocket. However, it was to PacMan Fever circa 1982.

God I hope nobody reads this comment.

Learning the lyrics to "Pac Man Fever" is infinitely geekier than learning the lyrics to "Lined Up." And, let's face it, a lot funnier. Alas, now everyone knows they just read the less amusing lyrics-memorization story. Thanks for that.

It's not really clear from the text of my post, but I was a junior in high school when I did the lyrics memorization thing, which would make it 1984. It was spring -- I remember sitting on the front porch on one of the first warm days of the year, rewinding - playing - rewinding. Believe it or not, I thought it would impress my girlfriend to be able to sing along with the song.

To this day, she remains utterly nonplussed.

I can only remember the opening line to Pac-Man fever, and of course the chorus.

From time to time, even to this day, (if I actually have a pocket full of quarters) I will belt out "I got a pocket full of quarters and I'm headed for the arrr-cade", which invariably is met with very strange looks.

I'm glad that I'm not the only one who geeked out by memorizing that song. I'm glad I'm also not the only one who thinks that store-bought cassette tapes smell like grapes. Except I think they smell more like grape KOOL-AID® brand soft drink.

I remember getting my first "jogger", which i think was also a Panasonic brand. It was about the size of a 400-page paperback book, but we were nonetheless amazed at how "impossibly small" it was. It seems like it had "play", "stop", and "fast forward" only. If you wanted to rewind, you had to eject the tape, flip it, fast forward, then eject and flip again.
It must have been Christmas 1981, and I simply wore out my copy of "Ghost in the Machine".

In the interest of fair disclosure, I should admit that the RX-HD10 pictured was, in fact, my second "Jogger." The RX-HD10 came out in 1985, and it had auto reverse, which meant cassettes could be played over and over, potentially forever (or until the batteries ran out). Another distinctive feature of the RX-HD10 is that I was able to find a picture of it online, which was not the case for my first "Jogger" -- from the description of it, in all likelihood the same model you had, David. I apologize to any of you who felt misled by my irresponsible abuse of narrative license.

I, too, played the shit out of Ghost In The Machine, but mine was a Columbia House LP copy, not a cassette. I was particularly proud to show my parents and whoever else would pay attention that the symbols on the cover were, in fact, segmented LED representations of the three guys in the band. In fact, "Invisible Sun" had been listed as a future My 80's topic, but now I'm afraid it's already been done.

Oh! Also, I wanted to note that David's description of store-bought prerecorded cassettes smelling like grape-flavored KOOL-AID® brand soft drink is, in fact, more accurate than my original description. The distinction is they smelled like grape flavor, which is an odor quite distict from that of actual grapes.

I don't think they always smelled that way, though. I think they started smelling that way when WEA introduced cassettes with clear plastic shells (Columbia's cassettes, which were packaged in opaque, cream-colored shells, did not have that distinctive grape-flavor KOOL-AID® brand soft drink odor -- I don't recall they smelled at all).

As many CDs as I own (an ungodly number of which I was once quite proud, but about which I am starting to feel sort of embarrassed), I don't recall a single one smelling like grape-flavor KOOL-AID® brand soft drink when I opened it. So the smell must have been in the cassette itself, and not in the inserts. Maybe it was the white ink the used to print song title info on the sides?