The Soundtrack of Your Life in a Walkman

Did a man make a wholly unimpressive device just to listen to his tunes on a plane? Did the lack of features worry engineers? Were Sony executives concerned about social isolation? Did the world change and did we all want one? In the matter of the Walkman, yes.

Sony cofounder Masaru Ibuka preferred listening to his personal music while on business travel. He did not like bringing bulky gear with him on the plane to do so. Masaru wanted something smaller with lighter headphones. He thought others would want this too. He pitched the idea to Sony and got the green light to make a compact personal playback only cassette player.

Other Sony engineers did not see the point. There were already cassette players. Headphones existed. This small device that could only play back and not even record had no innovation.

His vision of individual listening and tuning out the world had some concerns to Sony from a social standpoint. So the early Walkman had 2 features no one used. 2 headphone jacks so people could have a shared experience and a “hot line” button. When you pressed this button it muted the speakers so you could have conversations.

In July of 1979 they released it in Japan assuming they would sell 5,000 units a month at best. It sold over 30,000 units in the first two months.

Two months was also the waiting list to get one at Bloomingdales in New York City when it became available in the United States.

For the first time portable stereo sound was in your life. You were released from the anchor of a stereo system and hi fi was wherever you were. The noise of parents fighting, the city, and so much more was replaced with whatever you wanted the soundtrack of your life to be.

For women it was a portable ‘do not disturb’ sign allowing them to walk about the city and drown out cat calls and have a few less strangers try to strike unwelcome conversations while they went about their day.

The bus, the train, the plane, jogging, skating, or just walking about and you had your music or favorite audiobook with you.

Andy Warhol once said of the Walkman, “It’s nice to hear Pavarotti instead of car horns.” And it was true. You could add your own flavor to your surroundings. Your mood changed with this personal element. It was your life and your soundtrack. It also helped alleviate stress in the dentist chair or other everyday events in which we just needed something else to soothe the nerves.

Not everyone was pleased with this new invention. You were criticized for listening to motivational cassettes on your way to work or school trying to improve yourself. If you were just chilling under a tree at a park you were a shiftless Gen X slacker. You could not win with the critics. This is the curse of youth.

Philosopher Allan Bloom, in The Closing of the American Mind, gave us an image of a child doing homework while daring to wear a Walkman. “A pubescent child whose body throbs with orgasmic rhythm. A generation of kids cut off from great literature. As long as they have the Walkman on, they cannot hear what the great tradition has to say.”

The philosophers, critics, and even Sony did not realize that something social was going on.

For the first time it was not “nerdy” to be seen with the latest tech. Innovation and technology was interesting and not just niche. Without that we may not have leaned into portable computers and cell phones as a culture.

Audiobooks and other intellectually enriching content was now accessible anywhere to anyone in a format that mattered. This was important to not only the visually impaired, but others who for various reasons were not able to enjoy books in the same manner neurotypical people could. Bloom never accounted for a future where generations could embrace great literature on portable devices.

Then there was the mixtape. Our most popular article on Gen X Watch is “The Subversive Art of Mixtapes!” We created an entire culture with mixtapes. Yes we shared music with friends and lovers, but we did so much more. We were involved in a creative process taking the music we loved and presenting it in an order that helped our moods, expressed affection, and let friends know they mattered so much we made something for them.

As we wrote about in the mixtape article, it also changed the course of the Cold War and enabled hip hop and rap to thrive and move the masses!

The record industry claimed that the home tape was killing music. But the home tape on Walkman’s all over the world was advancing music and literature.

In the Summer of 1983 I moved in with my grandparents. I was a shell of a human who just left over 3 years of unspeakable molestation and abuse at the hands of a cruel man my mother married. My grandparents had seen a lot, but even they were ill equipped for the level of trauma I experienced. But my grandfather had good instincts.

One day he took me out to run errands with him. He pulled into the local Radio Shack parking lot and looked at me and asked, “Want one of those Walkmans?” I looked at him and nodded yes. We went inside and he talked to the clerk. After a few minutes he chose a Realistic model with a 3 band graphic equalizer and Dolby noise reduction. He got one for himself as well. As we got into the car with our spoils he said, “Don’t tell grandmama.”

On the way home we went to K Mart and he let me get 2 cassettes. I got Toto IV and a new release with a striking woman on the cover. Madonna.

When we got home I went to my room and loaded the batteries in. I was about to take Toto out of it’s shrink wrap and there was a knock at my door. My grandpa entered with a small catalogue. It was the Columbia Record Club. He told me I could pick out the first 11 cassettes, but the monthly membership was for him and my grandmother.

I had one shot at getting 11 great picks. I excitedly selected them, went to the kitchen where he was reading, and handed him my selections. After that I returned to my room to change my life.

I turned off the lights in my room and listened to Toto start with Rosanna and end with Africa. The sound with headphones on was unlike anything I had ever heard and I remember how beautiful and rich Africa sounded.

And that same night, the discovery of Madonna was beyond explanation. A world opened up to me and I had my first coping skill in one of the most critical points in my life. The world had a soundtrack that grounded me.

Sophomore year of high school I became the photographer of the school paper and I joined the theater group as a stage crew member. At sports events and other assignments I had my Walkman on while I took photos. I had the music and my camera and they were in synch and I found my artistic groove that Mr Agulair loved in my work.

Stage crew was more social and that was terrifying and so very hard. I was starting to let my guard down. Then, one Saturday shortly before the show, we had an all hands on deck set construction day. Crew and cast were there setting up. I placed my Walkman and jacket on a table in front of the stage and went to work.

When we were done I went to where my Walkman and jacket were, but there was no Walkman. Someone stole it. Their free toy was my lifeline. I needed it. It was my main coping skill. It got me through the day and the nights. My Walkman replaced the racing thoughts with something beautiful. When I had nothing else there was my music wherever I was. That was taken from me. So was my trust and safety.

The space for all the kids who had no other space was not safe for me. I was just someone you could steal from. I didn’t matter.

I held it all in until my grandpa picked me up from school. When I got in the car and the burning tears flowed. I was hyperventilating.

He asked me what was wrong and I told him between heaving sobs. I also kept telling him I was sorry for losing it. Even though I was more than a year away from abuse, losing something or breaking something meant being called horrible things and being beaten severely and losing privileges.

“Goddamn son of a bitch. You got nothing to be sorry about, Pat. I’m sorry someone did that.” He put the car in drive and we left the school. A few minutes later we pulled into the K-Mart parking lot. He told me he had to pick up some things and asked if I wanted to go in or stay in the car. I said I wanted to stay in the car.

I was lost. I had no idea how I was going to focus or sleep. I needed it to do my homework and to sleep. I needed it on the bus when kids named Jeff and Erik would try to bully me. The intrusive thoughts of ending it all were in full play.

A few minutes later he came out and loaded two bags into the back of the green station wagon. He then handed me a Walkman.

“This ain’t as nice as the other one, but next pay I’ll get you some better headphones. Okay?”

I was still trying to catch my breath and I quietly asked, “What if they take this one?”

“Then we get another one.”

When we got home I went into my room, grabbed my Best of Blondie cassette, huddled in the fetal position at the foot of my bed and rocked back and forth terrified to go to school and play practice on Monday. I felt less safe that day. But I also knew home was safe and that was new. As the cassette ended I knew it would be all right as I grabbed Madonna’s Like a Virgin. Things still sucked, but the music was working and I was loved.

Music was the drug that saved my life and my Walkman was the syringe that injected the pure relief into my veins.

What did the Walkman and music do for you?

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