Let this musical mix of Iberian variety serve as a soundtrack to your Easter holiday. Remember the good times with friends drinking kalimotxo and munching on Catalan cheese in the mountains. Remain focussed on the many more good times to come once this virus dust settles. ¡Hasta luego tio y salud!

Another bright sunshine, positive mood tape. Unselfconscious corniness as you drive around and eat hot dogs and ice cream. Your shorts are real short, and it is all hanging out.

East Coast transplant in the post-Grunge Pacific Northwest. Sipping lattes, smoking the luscious reefer, you’re acclimating to the nu-culture just fine. While working at Kinko’s to subsidize your education, you start to realize that there is a whole world out there waiting for you to discover it. As you cautiously venture outside of your musical comfort zone, the baby steps you take pay off big. In a moment of stoned inspiration you throw it all on a tape and ship the good news to your Comrades back East.

Last month’s meatloaf leftovers, wrapped in foil and placed into the microwave (on high) for 60 seconds. Fungus dies as sparks fly, but the heat purifies your blessed feast. Soak it in ketchup to help soften the encrusted ball of flesh. Your bowels will thank you for the inevitable tarry purge that will follow this meal. With friends like these, who needs enemas?

Sink deep into the heart of manic seasonal depression. In this global warming biosphere, there is no beginning and there is no end. Just burrow downwards, one track at a time until you reach the core. Be sure to wear a mask. Be sure to wash your hands. Sanitize your genitals and crawl into the Earth’s melting womb.

In celebration of bad vibes during the worst of times, this Bud’s for you.

Fever dream vibes. Like being hopelessly entangled in sweaty sheets, sinking into a claustrophobic panic. You're listening to what people are saying but it doesn't make any sense, and it’s all just feels like a bunch of unsettling non-sequiturs.

Hefty heap of rare metals from the top of the digger elite, Mr. Cooch. Endless deep-cut tracks to help you to bang that head that doesn’t bang. Thrash about your quarantine cell and keep reminding yourself that nihilistic ideas such as these are the spice of life.

Remember that scene in Repo Man where Otto and his friends are all hanging out in a parking lot, drinking BEER and thrashing about themselves while blasting the Circle Jerks’ “Coup D'Etat” on a boombox? Well, very few people know this, but after that song finishes this fucker was the next tape on deck for the evening. Boneheaded to the bone with a dash of Dad’s ‘NamRock for sophistication.

A weird party that moves from drinking in the graveyard to smoking random shit in a dark basement with people who you don’t know too well, but you want to impress because they're extremely cool and give off Bowie-in-The-Hunger vibes.

Is acceptance the same as giving up? Is it merely a human response to the overwhelmingly averse situations we face? Is it truly “surrender” when we bow to the seemingly inevitable? Or is it somehow an ass-backwards opportunity for self-empowerment? A cosmic challenge to defy the odds.

You’ve almost made it through another week in this topsy turvy world and I am certain this one will help keep you pushing through to the end.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to share with you the greatest mix tape you’ve never heard.

The title says it all. The Hills-have-yeux gallic farmer soaks up Anglo music with a rag and then throws the whole mess into his barnyard still, gets tanked on the results, and inter-dimensional outsider art is born. This is like what dog people probably imagine cat people think like.

You are trapped in a mountain cabin with your European lover. It’s snowing outside and all roads are closed. It’s their birthday, but you’ve no access to fancy dining or any sort of luxury to elevate the evening. All you have is 2 bottles of French Malbec, a bag of potato chips and this tape to guide you through the many mood swings that will inevitably materialize before the night is over. Your musical puberty has begun. Keep drinking and keep on rocking until you pass out from exhaustion. In the morning you shall awake as a fully-blossomed adult ready for another year. Never forget where you came from.

Hold your cards close to your chest. Reveal just enough to casually flex your taste with a sly wink of the eye to ensure the game is all in good fun. There are no losers, only missed opportunities in the time that passes agonizingly slow. The hardest part is just about over, or so you think. Brace yourself for the descent down one of the many crests you will have to overcome in this life. Remain eternally grateful knowing you won’t go it alone.

It's the best day of your fucking life - it's sunny, and you're with your very best friends doing fun shit all day long. You've got serotonin and dopamine pouring out of your butthole.

The soundtrack to being a midnight janitor lost in time. It's always dark out, and you're totally alone with a vacuum cleaner on the 67th floor of a deserted high rise office building.

A dark, spooky take on enjoying yourself. Goth-positive. The world pretty much fucking sucks, but you'll be damned if you take it lying down.

The grimy soundtrack to your denimclad gang's adventures through the underbelly of a crumbling rust-belt city. Maybe you recently had to throw your murdered girlfriend's corpse into a trash compactor, maybe your newborn came out of the womb a twisted mass of flesh due to your agent orange exposure in 'nam, you're ready to waste a motherfucker in any case. You've got nowhere to run and nothing to lose.

Can you imagine walking into an isolated convenience store at an obscure hour? The person behind the counter is a secret taste genius and is playing the best music you've never heard (or maybe you feel like you must have heard it, but can't remember what it is). You're trying to play it cool but have literally never had more of a thrill pretending to shop for smoked peanuts or sno-balls or whatever and you're lingering way longer than is normal. You're a creep. Who cares about gender or orientation, you're in love with this person.

You're trying to keep busy around the house, but you're mostly missing someone real bad. There's flashes of anger about the situation, cause it feels fucking unfair, but you just want to be with them, and you're daydreaming about the sound of their voice and the way their eyes look. Probably gotta burn some incense or smoke a jay if you have weed.

This tape is about that feeling of enjoying being sad. Like, maybe you're thinking about the past and romanticizing it, or imagining how other people are probably doing really fun shit and you're by yourself. But you're enjoying the feeling also, so you're not really sad, It's kinda more like wistful and you feel a little superior because enjoying darker moods seems like some shit only smart cool motherfuckers can do.