Mix Tape

Who else spent countless teenage hours crafting the perfect mix tape? For me, it was an artform — part playlist, part diary, part showing off. There were rules: C90s only. No repeated artists. Every fade-in and outro meticulously timed. Each tape had to include one track nobody else knew — music snobbery in its raw, adolescent form. Mix tapes bring back amazing memories — but not all of them were golden. One still stings. My sister Tracie once took my Football Manager game for the ZX Spectrum, cellotaped over the tab, and recorded Adam and the Ants over it. I was not happy.

The recording gear was basic. Source material often borrowed from Felixstowe Library (LPs and cassettes), sometimes even taped off the radio (see Adam and the Ants). It was a labour of love. These tapes became the soundtrack to everything that mattered. That whole ritual has all but vanished now — first replaced by CD burning, now reduced to dragging and dropping Spotify links. I genuinely feel for today’s kids. They’ll never know the magic of side A and side B.

So, when I stumbled across Jane Sanderson’s novel Mix Tape in a TUI book exchange during a holiday to Cyprus in June 2024, I didn’t even hesitate. The blurb grabbed me instantly — because I made mix tapes. The difference? I only ever made them for myself. I was a shy kid. The idea of giving one to a girl? Not a chance.

I devoured the book in one sitting. It hit hard in all the right places. A quick Google later and I discovered it was being adapted into a TV miniseries due to air in 2025. Fast forward, and the show has just aired in Australia. I managed to get hold of the episodes (no way I was waiting for the BBC iPlayer drop) and binged the lot back to back.

So — how does it hold up?

It’s a powerful, poignant story about Alison and Daniel, teenage sweethearts from Sheffield in the late 1980s, now living separate lives on opposite sides of the globe. A shared online article unexpectedly reconnects them — and with that, the past floods back. Not just the romance, but the trauma, the choices, the roads not taken.

The show does a decent job of bringing the book to life. It’s a stripped-down, four-part drama that leans into its musical backbone — packed with alternative ‘80s tracks that feel spot-on. The two leads are well-cast and the emotional beats land.

But — and it’s a familiar refrain — the book is better. There’s detail trimmed away: side characters lost, some context skipped, internal reflections absent. If you’ve read the novel, you’ll spot the gaps. If you haven’t, you won’t miss them.

It’s still a well-made, quietly confident piece of television. A drama about reconnection, regret, and the long echoes of youth. You’ll likely find yourself rooting for Alison and Daniel, and probably digging out your old Cure LPs before the credits roll.

Verdict:
A solid 6.5/10. Would have been a 7.5 if I hadn’t read the book first.

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