I have been on the hunt on eBay and other auction sights for an old radio; a Panasonic RX 1230, just like the one given to me on Christmas day 1981 by my parents. One of my most favorite gifts ever, I don't know what happened to it after I went to college and left it in my Dad and step mom's bathroom for proper shower-time entertainment.
I wish I still had it. I wish that about a lot of my early 1980s treasures.
I found written tributes to the radio on antique radio pages, and postings for parts for sale here and there but I hadn't been able to find one in good working order, so, reluctantly I broke down and bought myself a new retro style cassette player this past week instead. Admittedly, my new Crosley is beautiful and has Bluetooth which seems like cheating somehow, but I am sure I will find that feature useful at some point.
Hubs and I went to CVS and bought some chubby D batteries - the expensive ones so they don't die after one long afternoon. Lucky for me they were buy one pack get one 50% off since this monster uses 6 of them at once. I loaded them in according to the instructions and slid my new prize into my oversized 24 year old LL Bean boat 'n' tote bag branded with my former monogram in heavy duty purple thread. Randomly grabbing a handful of cassettes from our basement understorage, where they've sat undisturbed in a huge bin since we moved into this house nearly 15 years ago, I tossed them into the tote and we, along with the min pin, set off on our Saturday afternoon adventure.
After hubs and I arrived at our lakeside destination for the day and set up our two low lying beach chairs, I grabbed the radio and the tapes, plunked down, and with the min pin on her leash between us, cranked cassette after cassette. Honestly, it was pure bliss. Between the bright sunshine, the beautiful breeze, and fortunate proximity to water on such a warm day, we were all feeling pleased. Plus, rediscovering the arbitrary assortment of songs was like throwing open a door to the past, having grasped its handle for 25 years.
Don't get me wrong. Having more than 15,000 songs on my iPod makes for some very interesting and eclectic tuneage at the ready/on demand, and I willingly exalt the inventor of my most favorite musical storehouse but listening to a single cassette, first one side and then the other; the act of flipping and pushing play...it's all delightfully deliberate, old school, and oh so satisfying.
It's like you can't rush a cassette. Really, you can't. Not wanting to waste batteries by rewinding or fast forwarding, and certainly not risking or compromising the structural integrity of these tapes, most of which were easily over 30 years old, we just popped them in and settled down beside the emanation of their gifts.
First, I queued Led Zeppelin IV. I was really happy to see it among my unplanned snag. I never tire of it. But this little one didn't have a case, and the plastic was covered in smudges of brown fingerprints. It looked more than a little rough. Dusty and dirty from having been naked in the basement, the sound quality surely would be crappy...but in it went. Three songs later on side one, Robert Plant began sounding more like he was involved in incantation than singing so before the tape got stuck, I swiftly snatched it out and we moved on to Loverboy's "Get Lucky".
This album was crisp, clean and fantastic. (If you've never Googled the story behind those red leather pants, and the crossed finger imagery, do yourself a favor and get on it. I, too, thought that was Mike Reno's tight Canadian bum until about a year ago when I heard Alan Hunter do a piece about the cover photo on Sirius XM radio.)
Listening to Loverboy brings me back to the days when I used to be a trim and fit runner; the kind of person who just leaves the house in pursuit of a quick three miles, you know... for fun. Leaning back in my sand chair hearing those songs made me want to lace up my old Nike Pegasus shoes and hit the trails. It's amazing what the brain and body remember when prompted by old queues. Transported to the time I went to Loverboy's concert on a Tuesday night in August 1983 under a canopy of pouring rain, I swear I can smell a combination of old shoes, sweat and dirty water when I hear the opening synthesized notes of "When It's Over". I can feel my bandana undeniably soaked, tight and dank across my forehead (we all wore them...it was a fashion statement) and the acrid tang of my pink can of hairspray burns my top lip.
When the Loverboy album was spent, I moved trancelike and purposefully. It was time for Black Sabbath "Paranoid". Raise the horns! You'd think a good Catholic girl who goes to mass every weekend might have a problem with Black Sabbath but they are, for keeps, woven into the fabric of my life. My cousin Dootz and I listened to this cassette ad nauseum for an entire summer at our campground back in the day. We carried it around in a two foot long boom box everywhere we went: to the beach where we scared the bejeezus out of anyone over the age of 55; the game room where we used it as unflappable background music for our 8-ball billiard games; and the nightly family-friendly campfire where we turned it up as loud as we could before my Moo Moo admonished us with a stern, "NOT THIS. Turn it DOWN."
Concentrating on the eerie, witchy lyrics being lifted over the haunting sounds of Tony Iommi's guitar, I pictured my cousin in his white leather high top Converse, unlaced and scuffing beneath his heels; his layered hair messy under his painter's hat with the "Grab a Hiney" Heineken logo a tad bit askew due to the shaky hands of an attractive but inexperienced clerk at the helm of the heat transfer machine in our mall's tshirt shop. I recall us running beneath a sky full of stars, tripping and laughing over uneven terrain in a desperate attempt to get back to our campers by curfew without running into any bears so that we could do it all again tomorrow. As we sprinted our tails off, Ozzy would bang against my leg bawling about death and destruction. We might not have had the best understanding of exactly what War Pigs was all about but conscience told us that killing people was unsavory and evil and knowing all the words, we thought we were the coolest 11 year olds ever...we may have been.
Hubs and I listened to Billy Squier, ZZ Top and the Cars before packing up to return home. We also raised the impressively tall antenna and found the best local radio station around, which was a shock since we couldn't even get consistent cell reception up yonder.
My new/old radio makes me feel young and gives me a bit of permission to slow down.
I look forward to rummaging through the basement container to see what other auditory gems await.
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