This article is part of Upstream, The Daily Wire’s new home for culture and lifestyle. Real human insight and human stories — from our featured writers to you.
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Back in the ’80s and ’90s, no one had ChatGPT to find the words to say how she really felt. Instead, everyone had access to the world’s most reliable form of communication: the cassette mixtape. Cool kids mastered the fine art of meticulously assembling other people’s songs with a flow that told a story, capturing the vibe in Sharpie, adding a makeshift “album cover” revealing each track so you could fast-forward to find it, and neatly folding everything into a clear plastic case. After all that work, gifting the epic masterpiece to its recipient felt as majestic as lighting the Olympic flame.
First-gen mixtapes were totally rad manna from heaven. Never had anyone heard these songs in this order in their lives.
Smash cut to now, NFL reporter Dianna Russini sure understood the power of a playlist when she reportedly made one on Spotify for then-Titans Head Coach Mike Vrabel back in 2022. The catch was that both of them were (and still are) married to other people. Oops. Supposedly designed to pump Coach up after a series of losses, it was one hour and nine minutes of pure, unadulterated proof of adultery. At least according to the court of public opinion, which is always in session.
Track 1: “Cuff It” by Beyoncé starts out like, “I feel like falling in love, I’m in the mood to f*ck something up.” Say less, Dianna. The sunny R&B beat doesn’t make the line “Can I sit on top of you?” any more okay when it ain’t ya husband.
It wasn’t a great look considering the Spotify debacle happened two years into what we know about the timeline of their alleged affair, but Track 2 (“Big Energy” by Latto) revealed Dianna’s real feelings for Big Mike through song. “I could be your fantasy, I can tell you got big d*ck energy.” Maybe she didn’t have time to dash off a burner text or book a “work trip” to a casino in Mississippi, but she knew Mike could get away from his wife, Jen, to listen to “Pump It Louder” by Tiësto and the Black Eyed Peas, thinking warmly of how much his colleague Dianna cared about his football career. His big, wandering football career.
Someone tell this reporter we can search public Spotify playlists. And that sharing your “TURNIN THE PAGE” compilation with someone named “Mike” made it too easy. There’s no way she didn’t want to get caught and criminally charged with bad taste in music. Tracks by Styx, Van Halen, Guns N’ Roses, and KISS seemed less “workout playlist” and more like Vrabel’s reported favorite way to pump up the volume.
Dianna allegedly named her firstborn son Mike after her NFL side piece. It’s not like she’s suffering from excessive creativity.
The other day outside my apartment building, I noticed a boom box with none of the usual bells and whistles of modern “ghetto blasters.” This matte gray OG featured only a single cassette tape slot and a power cord. It was obviously a trap set by 1980s aliens.
I wondered aloud to my dog about who’s going for a bulky cassette setup over streamlined Apple Music. Analog audio like this requires excruciating commitment to preserve it: avoiding humidity, dust, and sun. The magnetic film degrades with every play (and rewind!) and can spontaneously spew its guts at any moment.
It’s also sturdy and portable. And decades after it went mainstream, the mixtape is still the greatest medium for sound ever invented.
Cassettes shaped the future of the music industry. Originally invented in 1963, mixtapes took off as a broke-friendly strategy for aspiring hip-hop artists to get their tracks into the hands of fans. Once the WalkMan came along in ’79, listening to music via two-by-four-inch plastic became everyone’s favorite way of tuning in.
Mixtapes also served as mini hubs of self-expression, where anyone could be an artist through song and the creative use of Xerox machines and colored pencils. With personalized liner notes dedicated to none other than the recipient, “Crystal’s Mix” felt like an on-air radio dedication from the Billboard Hot 100 chart to regular, totally awesome Crystal.
It’s a little more complicated now that most of us don’t stuff tape players into our back pockets before heading out, but there’s a growing fanbase for mixtapes on cassette. Satisfying the need to go back in time without leaving the sofa, enthusiasts on forums such as r/cassetteculture share everything from lo-fi concert recordings to art inspo, titling tips, and mixes for every moment.
Major artists answer Gen Z’s call for old-school by wooing the cassette set. Chappell Roan, Sabrina Carpenter, and Taylor Swift are all available on plastic for more than anyone should pay for something that melts in your car.
I’m cool with a digital playlist. But I’m not over here clasping my hands under my chin, staring out the window, dreaming about Spotify. Maybe it’s just me, but random ads about inflammation from Jardiance diabetes meds don’t exactly set the mood.
I got an unsolicited mixtape from a classmate once. Schmave Schmith (his name has been changed) in junior high. I’m pretty sure Schmave hoped the sonic tapestry would wrap me up in the crush he was feeling. But the first emotional beats of U2’s “With or Without You” landed between my ears like a wet blanket. I wasn’t ready for the adult feels of “I caaan’t liiiiiiiive … with or without you.” I was a definite “without you” as I listened to the first track of “For Lauren” in my bedroom at a volume my parents couldn’t hear, even if they were glued to the other side of my door. I pressed eject, unspooled the tape myself, and chucked it in the trash.
I found the same song now, on YouTube, remastered and streamed more than 217 million times. It still gives me the heebie-jeebies, but only because mixtapes meant something. They said something real and pure, with an underground ritual required for their creation that just can’t be replicated with links. Ella Langley and Alex Warren might make people fall in love or become best friends, but their perfectly tuned tracks have nothing on the timeless warbled melodies of “SUMMER ROADTRIP ’99!”
Maybe we’ll never be able to revisit the glory days of mixtapes. But we have Spotify bangers like Dianna Russini’s Track 3 “Break My Soul” by Beyoncé to help us express the words we can’t, or really should never, say.
