An Interview With My Mom About the 8-Track Cassettes in Her Car When I Was a Kid (But Also About More)

“I don’t ever want to have one day of my life where I’m not high as hell. Never a single day.”

A red 1966 Ford Mustang moves through Levittown, Pennsylvania. It’s 1980. A mother drives, her son is the passenger. He’s 5, she’s 22. 8-track tapes are scattered on the floor at the son’s feet. Right now, the one that’s filling the Mustang with sound is 1969: The Velvet Underground Live. “Heroin,” specifically. The mother and son sing along.

Levittown sucks is the consensus among anyone with a brain who lives there. The son knows this even at 5. The mother knows it very well. A working-class suburb of Philadelphia, it’s a company town for the nearby U.S. Steel mill—especially the part where the mother and son live: Fairless Hills. What a name, and it’s shared with the mill, Fairless Works. “We gotta get out of this place,” the mother sings one time when that Animals song comes on the radio, and she tells the son the song is about them.

There’s a father. He’s not around. But he is the reason there’s a VU eight-track in the car. He’s also the reason there’s a Gil Scott-Heron tape down there in the pile. Small Talk at 125th and Lenox. Black revolutionary poetry accompanied only by percussion.

Now let’s switch the music. Another favorite 8-track in the little cosmos that is the Mustang. (Pronounced 'Lĕh-'nérd 'Skin-'nérd) by Lynyrd Skynyrd. “Gimme Three Steps” is the son’s favorite. He sings: “Hey there fella with the hair colored yella / whatcha tryin’ to prove?”

This is most of what I remember. I’m the son, and I recently talked with my mother about those times and those 8-tracks. I wanted to know how reliable my memories are. I wanted to recall more. I wanted to know what she recalled.

Jesse: Do you remember your 8-tracks?

Lisa: I remember all my old 8-tracks. I remember the feel of them and the sound of them. First, I got an 8-track player for my room. My mom got me one before you were born, when I was 15 years old. And then the first car that I bought myself, I got it the week we came back from Ohio in 1976, when we tried to live with your father in Columbus and it only lasted three months. So, we were back in Levittown and I was starting college in Philly. I got a blue 1970 Maverick, and I remember it was like $850. My friend John Greigas, he installed my 8-track player in the car. And I had that car until… do you remember what happened to that car?

No.

I got it in September 1976, and on New Year's Eve, turning 1978, Dirtbag crashed into it in front of the house. Do you remember Dirtbag?

Oh, yeah. Uncle John’s friend. He also ran over my friend Keith in front of the same house. I saw that happen.

That’s him. My sister Amy had a 1948 Dodge truck parked in front of the house as well. And Dirtbag came down the street, hit my car, hit her car, and kept going. He's dead now, of course. He died not long after that. But anyway, that was when I bought the red ‘66 Mustang. You must remember that one.

I remember the Mustang, definitely.

As soon as I got it, the first thing I did was have my boyfriend, Steve, put the 8-track player in it. Same one from the Maverick.

So, between the Maverick and the Mustang, we're talking about 1976 to 1981, right?

Correct.

Did you keep accumulating 8-tracks all that time, or did you have a collection that you didn't really add to?

I didn't really add to it after ‘78.

8-tracks were a pain in the ass because you had to press buttons to go between the different tracks, but you couldn't get to the start of a song. You’d get dropped into the middle of a song.

I never found that to be a problem. When they came out, the technology was so new, and I was just amazed by it. Remember the first VCR camera that your uncle Jeff had in like 1982? He came to Christmas at Grandma’s with a giant suitcase. The thing was huge and bulky. But we didn't think of it as a pain in the ass. We just thought it was amazing. So, I was never bothered. And you developed a sense for your tapes. You knew at what point to switch over between different songs. I got used to the pattern of when to hit another track. I don't think there were any of them that I loved listening to all the way through. Maybe the Linda Ronstadt one.

I remember the Linda Ronstadt. I can remember looking at it. It had a picture of her inside a circle on the cover, right?

Yes. It was dark maroon, almost brown, with a thin white circle. I was going to say it was Heart Like a Wheel, but that was earlier. I think it was her greatest hits.

And it had some old Motown covers on it, right?

Yeah, and… oh, you know what I've gotten recently? In the past year, I've gotten heavily into Buddy Holly and The Crickets. I'm digging them.

They’re great. Ronstadt covered “It's So Easy” by Buddy Holly. It was on that 8-track.

She did. And now I'm reflecting on how horribly she covered Buddy Holly.

It was white bread. The song by her that I really remember hearing in the car is “You’re No Good.” That’s a great one. That was a Dee Dee Warwick song first.

I'll tell you what that 8-track didn't have on it that I really like is “Silver Threads and Gold Needles.” That was one of my favorite Linda Ronstadt songs.

That was on her debut album, I think. The self-titled one. That’s a very country-influenced song. You liked a lot of country rock back then.

That was the time. But it was also the thick of disco then, which I did not listen to at all.

Did you disdain it?

I was ambivalent. I didn't care enough to disdain it. But I really liked what was then called southern rock or country rock.

You saw Skynyrd live back then, didn’t you?

I saw them in June of ’77, and the plane crash happened in October ‘77.

Wow. Cutting it close.

Yeah, and they opened for Peter Frampton when I saw them.

Which is weird.

It was at the outdoor JFK stadium in Philly. I went with John Greigas and Karen, your godmother, and I think it was just the three of us. It was funny because, Philly being Philly, people were throwing shit on stage when Skynyrd first came out. And Skynyrd went, “Fuck you, Philly. We're going.” But then they were coaxed to stay.

I love Philadelphia.

And in retrospect, Skynyrd were such fucking assholes. All that redneck misogyny and racist shit. I can't fucking stand it. But that's what I enjoyed at the time.

“Gimme Three Steps” is one that I remember specifically, because I remember you explaining the story of the song to me.

I probably did that with everything. Probably sometimes inappropriately.

You pretty much explained everything to me. Not a lot of censorship.

There was no reason not to explain things to you, you know?

What were some other southern rock 8-tracks you had?

The Adventures of Panama Red by New Riders of the Purple Sage, Bustin’ Out by Pure Prairie League…

Were you aware of the New Riders being kind of a Grateful Dead offshoot?

Oh, yeah. From the first time I was aware of them. I remember it was Christmas, 1973, and your father was very excited waiting for Panama Red to drop. He knew a lot about music, and he connected all the dots about the Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia and all that jazz.

So when you were listening to Panama Red in the car with me, it wasn't a new record.

Oh, no. That was a few years after it came out. And then there was Pure Prairie League.

But Pure Prairie League was kind of soft. Like, I think of New Riders as more authentic.

I loved my Pure Prairie League tape. But a couple years later, they were pure pop, purely commercial, awful. Couldn’t listen to it.

I look back at that southern-rock moment, and it looks kind of like a drag show. Were these guys really as redneck and cowboy as they all acted?

Fuck no. Of course not. It was just the latest thing. Their image was very constructed. “We're rebels.” Bullshit. But my taste in music, Jesse, was pretty eclectic.

So what else was there on 8-track?

I have to say that hanging out with your father was part of this, like turning me on to the Velvet Underground and Lou Reed. The live one with “Heroin” and “Lisa Says” on it. My friend John always sang that to me since my name is Lisa.

Do you remember the cover art?

It was an ass, like a chick’s sexy ass. But I remember my friend always said that was actually Lou Reed's ass.

Yeah, that’s definitely not Lou Reed's ass.

I remember it had a ten-minute version of “Heroin” on it.

I vividly remember listening to that in the car. I even remember having a little bit of an understanding of what heroin meant. I knew it was an illicit thing.

Oh, yeah. It's clear from the lyrics and from the tone of the music. “When I put a spike into my vein.” It’s very explicit.

Was I aware at that point that my father was an addict? Or was I too young to be conscious of that?

You weren't conscious of it. We didn't really discuss it yet. But I think you got it soon after that.

What about Lou Reed and the VU turned you on? That they were kind of dark?

It was a time when I was struggling with a lot, and it kind of resonated.

What were you struggling with?

Just life, drugs, identity. My whole identity up to my adolescence was being this fiercely intelligent girl that was also a leader. I was a leader in every class, and I had goals. I wanted to be a lawyer. I wanted to be all that. And then when I hit adolescence, there was Watergate. There was Timothy Leary. There was all this information coming at me and I wanted to explore other things. And then I quickly went down another path. I was a big risk taker.

How would you describe that path you went down?

Fucking dark? I remember thinking, “I don't ever want to have one day of my life where I'm not high as hell. Never a single day.”

Relatable.

But in the scheme of things, it was relatively brief. I'm an atheist, but goddamn if there wasn’t some kind of divine intervention. I kind of shook it overnight, like “I can't do this anymore.”

Did that have something to do with me being born?

It had to do with me being pregnant. I had to decide. I could have done this path or that path, but they couldn't blend. I couldn't do both. Although I did keep a foot in both for a little bit. But ultimately, I chose another path. I was very successful in college, very successful at work. So, yeah, it was all good.

When did you graduate from high school?

1976.

What do you remember being the popular music with the cannon fodder of your high school? The general population, what were they into?

I didn't spend a lot of time in high school. I really didn't go to school in 10th and 11th grade. And then in 12th grade, because you were born between 11th and 12th grade, I didn't have to stay all day. I’d leave at lunchtime. But, yeah, in 11th grade, I would go to school just to sell drugs on the field, and then I'd go home.

What drugs did you sell?

At that point? I was selling PCP and powdered THC. You snorted it.

I wonder if people ever shot it up. But anyway, in 12th grade, since you had a kid, they let you have a special course of study so you could finish high school?

I told them I had to go home early. I was nursing a baby. And this is a whole other thing, Jesse. I had to advocate for myself. I didn't have one fucking adult advocating for me. I took the bull by the horns, and I advocated for myself to get everything I wanted, and I got it. I would go in and I would go to all my classes, and I would go home by 12.

So you weren't exactly in touch with what the bulk of the student body cared about.

I really wasn't. I never was, though. I mean, from the time I was 13, I never had a boyfriend that was less than five years older than me. I never had a boyfriend who was in my school.

What about just friends your age?

My female friends outside of school were older too.

Do you remember which albums or songs I was really responsive to as a little kid?

Well, in 1978 I bought you the Grease soundtrack. Do you remember that?

Hell yes.

You loved Grease. You also loved the New Riders song “Panama Red.”

So, ‘76 to ‘81 in Levittown. What was it like then?

Oh, God. It was redneck. Racist and misogynist. It was very working class, and it was starting to deteriorate after ‘80. It went fast because the steel mill was closing. And that was the foundation of the town. Most people, you got out of high school, and you went to work at the steel mill if you were a man. If you were a woman, you got out of high school and you got married to a man—a kid, really—who was working at the steel mill. But the town was degenerating, and I could smell it in the air. I don't know if anyone else did. I knew what was coming. I'm just going to say, being female in that kind of milieu, you had to be really tough if you didn't sign up for that ride of steel mill and marriage. People never questioned the culture where I was born, never questioned the fucking culture. I remember when I was five years old, seeing John F. Kennedy, before he was shot, and I said, “I want to be president.” And people saying, “You can't. You're a girl.” So, I said, “Well, then I'm going to be a lawyer like him.” “You can't. You're a girl.” What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't buy it. It never registered.

How old were you when you realized you didn't want to stay in Levittown?

That was probably always. I mean, I felt comfortable there and I always had affection for the people. But I also knew that I wanted something different.

Do you think all the music you listened to was about escaping or thinking about the world as a larger place than just Levittown?

It took me away at the moment, when I’d be listening. I guess that's the definition of escape, right? Even when it's a dark song, there's something uplifting about music for me. There's something hopeful, even when things are shit.

This interview originally appeared under the title “8-Track Memories” in Sound Collector Audio Review #6. Thanks to editor and friend—brother, really—Laris Kreslins.