First off: this is a ridiculous premise. There's no such thing as a "music problem." 

And yet...I have one. My iTunes music library currently stands at 18483 items - if I listened to one song at a time without sleeping, I'd be entertained for almost 48 days straight before I heard any repeats. I'd also probably be dead, but that's another story. 

               Not that you want proof for something like this, but here it is
               anyway. Note my careful choosing of visible cool band/album
               in my totally "random screenshot." No novice, I.

But my song collection isn't my problem. Even though it's become a cliché to say it (or tiresome, at the very least), my tastes really have always been all over the place. I'm not one of those knew-'em-before-they-were-cool hipsters - while I understand the painful joy of watching the world discover your favorite "secret" indie musician, most of the indies I love remain stubbornly undiscovered. But while I'm not much for genre, my iTunes and iPod (until they invent a phone that can hold 200 gigs o' music, I'm sticking with the Pod - and fuck Spotify in its nasty little o) is loaded with hefty amounts of R&B, country, hip-hop, mellow gold, jazz, folk, and, of course, rock and its many subgenres (metal, punk, oldie, indie, corporatie, progressivie, singer-songwriterie, super-abrasive avant-garde screamo jazz, Tom Waits, and pop). 

So far, so what, right? We're all collectors, and it's only natural for a musician to gather up all the music he/she can get his/her ears on. And it's just as natural to want to organize your spoils a bit, and sometimes organization goes a bit beyond the Apple-offered categories. 

Thus, the Playlist. 

The Playlist is a bit of a bugaboo for all of us who used to practice the Art of the Mixtape, back when a mixtape was a cassette. A Maxell XLII-S 90 was mandatory - pricey, but you don't serve 19-year-old Glenfiddich Bourbon Cask in a Solo Cup. Speaking of art - mixtapes took time, man. They took planning (which usually began in history class). They had themes, they were living, breathing entities. Making a mixtape a commitment, and the execution was pure zen - all encompassing, from concept to actual recording (better get those levels and gaps right - you'll want a couple seconds after "Until the Night"), and ultimately life-affirming and cathartic. And listening to one, whether it was a gift or self-made, was a proud, active experience.

         Come to me, Max. I wish to demonstrate how perfectly "The Card
         Cheat" leads into "Dancing Barefoot" into "All Good Times are Past
         and Gone" into "Swan Song H" into "Black Night White Light" into...

I'll be writing about mixtapes in another entry, probably with the assistance of Jill "xtingu" Knapp, a Mighty Mixtape Maker herself. But I'm really here to talk about playlists. The thing is, they take very little effort - you just slide the song into the folder, and if you change your mind, you x it out. You can take great pains to put the songs in proper order, of course - I certainly do - but I'm not sure why, as even I often give in to that tempting "Shuffle" button. Sure, few gifts give me a bigger smile than a nice, thoughtful Mix CD, but the effort of the creation was always a major part of the charm (of course, we've all received not-really-welcome mixtape gift from admirers, and knowing they put in several hours can ramp up the discomfort exponentially). There's a lot to be said about the digital age of music - while I hate how easy it is to steal music, I love how easy it is to buy, how easy it is to distribute, how it will always sound great - but we lost something when drawers full of cassettes, milk crates full of records, and shelves and shelves full of CDs are replaced by laptops, phones, and spreadsheets.

But still...I fucking love playlists.

And I am fucking addicted to them.

Remember when I bragged about the diversity of my collection? Well, it appears some insane synapse deep in my psyche wants to organize it. So while some of my playlists are practical or straightforward - 80's music¹, Metal, and Instrumentals are all WYSIWYG, as are the ones containing every Billy Joel and Tom Waits song in chronological order - and some  leave more space for personal interpretation (Garage, Acoustic Chill, and Funk n' Motown) - some are...well...let's call them "esoteric." And they almost always start with a single thought about a single song.

Example: my Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall playlists. They began a year ago when I listened to "Man on the Moon," and it occurred to me that acoustic-driven, earthy alt-rock feels like a warm flannel jacket against a crisp autumn breeze and the smell of burning leaves (doesn't it?), and you know what, so does Richard Julian's "Don't Wait Up," and "The Thing About Boats," and I wonder how many other songs in iTunes feel like fall?

So I create the playlist, sort the spreadsheet by "Artist," and start scrolling through, looking for other autumnal tunes. Remember - I've got over 18,000 songs. Even with focus, it takes some time to get from Aaron Nathans & Michael G. Rondstadt to 5th Dimension (sorry, ZZ Top, but iTunes put numbers at the bottom). But I have the attention span of a flea hanging out at a meth lab, which means detours are inevitable. Oh, there's Bill Finley's "Faust," from Phantom of the Paradise - that's fall-like, sure, but it's also piano-based acoustic rock. Do I have a playlist for that? No? Well, let's just make one of those! Okay, back to the top, just in case I missed anyone.

Oh, while I'm doing that, you know what? It's not fair to just have a Fall playlist. Sure, it's my favorite season, but you don't turn down a Snickers just because it's not a Reese's PBC. So let's add Winter, Spring, and Summer, and...yeah, I better start at the top again. But this is tricky: "Thunder Road" is definitely summer, but "Darkness on the Edge of Town?" Is that winter? Does it even have a season? I don't know. But you know what "Darkness" is? Big. It's a big song. Sometimes I wanna hear big songs, you know? So...

You guessed it. Another playlist. Another several hours. Another several detours.

Guys, I can't stop. I've got a problem. I mentioned Acoustic Chill, but there's also Zone and Mellow Gold and Psychedelic Chill, and while there are some overlaps, I need them both. There's E-Dance, which is electronica, and Dance, Sucka, which is loaded with R&B and funk, and Funk n' Motown, which - but no, it's not the same as Dance, Sucka, you see? There's a difference in tone, in attitude. Just as Oldies, loaded with 50s & early 60s rock n' roll, is not to be confused with Nostalgia, fulla songs that marked personal milestones for me. But then why not just put those songs in Matt's Favorites, a 1600-and-counting list for when I want a nice, safe shuffle? Because they aren't the same, that's why. Just like Big and Dinosaurs aren't the same, even though Dinosaurs are big songs too, and...

So yes, It's a problem. A music problem. I do listen to these playlists - I often fall asleep as they play, generally on shuffle, on my trusty little under-the-pillow speaker - but the creation is the monkey on my back.

What bothers me, honestly, is the solipsism of it all. I'm not creating anything new, or deploying my brain to conjure any useful insights that might prepare me for future challenges. I'm just rearranging my spoils. Playing in my own mud.

My own beautiful, beautiful, musical mud.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got pointing, clicking, and dragging to do...

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