Buy the book.
Don’t even read the rest of this review. Just go buy it immediately. While you’re at it, buy all of Rob Sheffield’s books, too. Just
give him your money and let him write beautiful words and tell your friends
about them. You won’t regret it.
This is the second of Sheffield’s books that I’ve read (here's the first one) and
as soon as this plane lands, I’m buying the other one. I have to; I literally
started this book when my plane took off from Spokane. By the time I landed in
Denver, I had skipped out on a planned nap and burned through 180 pages. Less
than an hour into this leg of my flight, it’s done and sitting beside me like a
baby bird* that I want to protect and cherish (*that’s not a good analogy for
me. I don’t like birds. Maybe a baby lamb. Mmm… lamb…)
Sheffield is a music guy. He writes for Rolling Stone and
you can feel through his words that music seeps out of every pore. The first
book I read broke my heart over and over again. Love is a Mixed Tape tells the
story of Rob and his wife. They married young and lived a young couple’s dream,
punctuated by music and mixed tapes (youngsters: I’m sorry you missed out on
mixed tapes. Mixed tapes are not spotify playlists. Mixed tapes aren’t even
mixed cd’s. Mixed tapes are EVERYTHING.) Their love story comes to a
gut-wrenching halt when she dies – at 31- from a pulmonary embolism. Their love
– and, their music – remain. But, everything sounds different now.
This book picks up years later, as Sheffield himself is
coming back to life. It’s about meeting the next great love of his life and
finding the happiness he thought he’d never again achieve. The book is also
about his other true love: karaoke. And, how karaoke got him out of his
spotless apartment and back into the world.
Now, we’re getting somewhere.
You can scoff at karaoke and pass it off as corny. But,
guess what? That’s the freaking point! Of course karaoke is corny and often
terrible and also the most fun you’ll ever have in your life. And, love it or
hate it (you love it, you know it), this book will have you seeing the whole
thing differently. You’ll appreciate so much more the value of putting away
every inhibition and, even for just a few minutes, being a damn rock star.
I’m a bit of a karaoke early adopter. A ham since birth who
happens to really enjoy the sound of my own voice, I had a karaoke machine in
my room in middle school. Two tape players, so I could get the next song cued
up. And, I would freaking JAM. No cheesy hairbrush lip-sycning for this girl. I
would pick up that real (plastic) microphone and BELT THAT SHIT OUT. In high
school, we’d sing karaoke on Jessica Willis’s laser disc karaoke machine. We
would all sing along until, about an hour in, all my friends would be sitting
on the couch staring blankly as I proudly declared “I’m gonna do one more!”
Even now at 39, I’ll turn up some serious Pat Benatar at
Karaoke. Really feeling it? Grab a Kleenex, y’all, because End of the Road is
about be all up in your face. Just a few months ago, a group of highly-skilled,
highly-respected broadcast professionals and I found ourselves in the basement
of a dingy bar in DC’s Adams Morgan neighborhood, cranking out hit after hit in
a private karaoke room. Music – preferably a bit off-key – is the great
equalizer.
And, that’s what so much of this book is all about. How
karaoke can turn off all those inhibitions and make us stars. About how we find
ourselves rooting for tone-deaf strangers and providing the background vocals
for old men. He also subtly drops his love of the often-ignored TLC slow jam
“Red Light Special.” He had me at T-Boz.
Sheffield is the music geek in all of us who happens to have
a gift for eloquent writing. Is it a love story about his new wife and how
singing karaoke has helped define their relationship? Or a love story about how
it feels to sing Neil Diamond? It’s never just one thing. And, that’s why I
love it.
I learned about music here, as I did with Sheffield’s other
book. I learned about family. I learned about finding love. And, I learned that
you can’t call karaoke a guilty pleasure if you don’t feel guilty about it to
begin with.
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