Adapted from Jocelyn’s newsletter, originally sent February 20, 2025.
Before playlists were served to you by some lifeless algorithm. . .
. . . before the skip button existed, before you could just shout at Alexa to play your favorite song, there was The Mixtape.
And it was an art form.
And let’s be real—it wasn’t just about the music.
Mixtapes were identity.
Mixtapes were confessions.
Mixtapes were weapons.
They were love letters you slipped into someone’s locker with a carefully curated track list that screamed, “I like you, but I’ll die before admitting it.”
They were breakup anthems you played on repeat while staring out a rainy car window, fully convinced you were the tragic main character in a lost John Hughes classic.
They were middle fingers wrapped in plastic, sent to ex-friends with a Side B that was nothing but You Oughta Know and We’re Not Gonna Take It.
And let’s not forget the holy ritual of actually making one:
Timing the radio just right so the DJ wouldn’t ruin the intro (spoiler: they always did).
Strategically arranging the flow—bangers up front, moody shit in the middle, and a closing track that either uplifted or emotionally annihilated.
Scratching out and rewriting the playlist on the cassette insert because damn it, that one song doesn’t fit anymore.
Meg Walker? Oh, you know she had a stash of these in her glove compartment, probably held together with melted plastic and a prayer.
And I’d bet good money she wore out her tapes rewinding “Rebel Yell” and “Welcome to the Jungle.”
The Time I Harassed a DJ for Led Zeppelin
Since we’re talking mixtape-level obsession, let’s discuss the summer my best friend and I harassed a radio station like deranged banshees trying to get them to play Immigrant Song.
One problem—we didn’t actually know the name of the song.
So we did what any totally normal, well-adjusted kids would do:
we called the DJ over and over and sang the first part.
Yup.
Just us, doing our best “Aaaahh-AH-AHHHHH” Viking battle cry into the phone, then yelling “HAMMER OF THE GODS!” like our lives depended on it.
DJ: Didn't you just call?
Me: No. That definitely wasn't us. But can you play the song? It has HAMMER OF THE GODS! Something something OVERLORDS!"
This went on for days until some poor, broken DJ finally figured it out and played the song.
And when I tell you we nearly broke our fingers hitting the record button when it finally came on?
TOTALLY. WORTH. IT.
Because back then, you earned your music.
No instant gratification. No skipping. No playlists curated by corporate overlords. Just patience, persistence, and borderline harassment of radio personalities.
Musical Easter Eggs in Reunion
If you’ve read Reunion, you already know: Meg Walker is a walking Gen X time capsule.
Here are some of the deep-cut Easter eggs you might’ve caught:
Meg’s Walkman Moment: When Meg heads into her storage unit, she pops in a real, actual cassette Walkman. No digital playlists, no Bluetooth—just a solid plastic chunk of nostalgia and the deeply satisfying ka-chunk of Side A flipping to Side B.
Allison & Debbie Gibson: Listen, Allison STILL loves Debbie Gibson. No shame, no regrets. If Lost in Your Eyes comes on? She will belt it out at full volume. And Meg has suffered through this many, many times.
These are just a few of the nostalgia bombs lurking in Reunion.
Your turn! What Was Your Go-To Mixtape Song?
What was your go-to mixtape song?
Meg's soundtrack is waiting on Spotify.
Jocelyn
Tell me what you’re thinking. I love hearing from readers.