She left me with nothin’ but my 8-track tapes

When I was 17, in 1972, my best friend had an 8-track tape player installed in his Ford Maverick.  Like me, he was a music lover and album buyer, but when he was driving around, he had grown mighty tired of having to listen to commercial radio in the car, especially the incessant commercials and DJ banter found on AM radio.

As the guy riding shotgun, I enjoyed this too.  Being able to choose your own music seemed like a dream come true. But it didn’t take long for me to see several significant, annoying drawbacks of the 8-track format which prevented me from ever considering investing in it.  

To this day, for reasons I’ll explain, I contend the 8-track tape was an ill-conceived and poorly executed idea.

Perhaps you shared my distaste for 8-tracks and didn’t succumb to the temptations of portability and convenience.  Or maybe you joined the millions of other Americans who embraced 8-tracks in the 1970s, only to rue the day several years later when the entire format went the way of the dodo bird (and rightly so).

Here are the six most obvious defective characteristics of the 8-track tape that, in my view, doomed the format to an early obsolescence:

No rewind or fast-forward options.   At home, when you listened to albums, you could change songs easily.  Simply pick up the needle on your turntable and move effortlessly to another specific song, or put on another album.

Once the decision was made to embrace some sort of tape player, if you chose a reel-to-reel tape deck or a cassette tape deck, you could hit “FF” or “REW” in order to back up or move ahead to the desired place on the tape. With 8-track tapes, you didn’t have that flexibility. Eight-track tapes were configured as four “programs” sharing four parallel portions of the tape bandwidth. If you were listening to a song and decided you wanted to skip to the next song, or maybe go back and listen to the same song again, you were out of luck. All you could do was jump to one of the next programs and listen to whatever song was playing on that program. To listen to the song you really wanted to hear, you had to listen to other songs first before the one you wanted came back around on the program. Man, was this irritating!

Messing with the way the artist sequenced the music.  

Because 8-track tapes are set up as four programs lasting about 10 or 11 minutes each, the order of songs often had to be changed in order to maximize efficient use of the available tape.  For example, if an album’s first three songs lasted more than 10 minutes, one song might be replaced on Program 1 by a different, shorter song from later on the album just so the music would fit the 8-track’s limited format.  This might happen on all four programs, completely altering the flow of the music as intended by the artist.  A particularly egregious example was “Abbey Road” (see tracking below).

Even worse, sometimes there was no mathematical way to make the various album tracks fit in four 10-minute sets, so one or more tracks would actually have to be interrupted midway through.  The tape would then fade out, and several seconds (even as much as a minute or more) would pass before it would automatically switch to the next program, and the song would then fade back in at the point of interruption and proceed to its conclusion. Needless to say, this was an abominable way to listen to a song, and certainly not the artist’s intent.

Physical limitations of the tape.

The movement of the head at the point where it switched between programs could sometimes pull the tape up or down, causing the tape to fold over and start playing the back side of the tape. The tape would continue to play, buy very muffled and barely audible. Continued playing would flip the entire tape over, so the tape would be wound on the reel inside with the backside showing. The program switch point is often the place where the tapes would sometimes be ingested into the player (“eaten”), most often when the tape head moved from program 4 to program 1, its furthest track change movement. At that point, the tape was ruined, and the player could no longer play that tape, or any tape.

Head alignment:  Misalignment resulted in reduced high frequencies and allowed sounds from adjacent tracks to bleed over, an effect sometimes known as “double-tracking.”  Among audio service technicians, there used to be a joke that “the 8-track is the only audio device which knocks itself out of alignment four times every time you listen to it all the way through.”

The sensing foil that allows the tape to switch programs would sometimes dry up, fall off, and the tape would separate, and disappear inside the sealed cartridge. This was especially prevalent on bootleg tapes that typically used cheaper sensing foils.  In general, the 8-track market was flooded with cheaper bootleg tapes, found at truck stops and service stations. Had the tape been reinforced on both sides at this point, the tapes would have been much more reliable.

Capstan wear and buildup was also a chronic problem with 8-tracks.  As tape residue, dirt and lubricant accumulated on the capstan, the tape speed would increase and, since the buildup was uneven, the tape speed would become correspondingly uneven.  Similarly, some units were subject to the capstan wear, causing a decrease in tape speed. Any alteration to tape speed is clearly an unwanted defect that made listening to 8-tracks unpleasant and frustrating.

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I had a couple of other friends at that time who invested in reel-to-reel tape decks as an additional component in their home stereo systems.  These devices, introduced in the 1950s and generally purchased only by serious audiophiles, offered high-quality sound but were relatively expensive and a little tricky to operate for most casual music fans. They became more popular by the 1970s as prices came down and more casual listeners became interested in home recording and assembling customized mixed tapes that collected choice tracks from their album collections.

I loved this concept.  It was like being your own DJ, but without the commercials and talk.  You could put together mixes for every occasion — holiday parties, pool bashes, dances, romantic encounters and more.

But reel-to-reel tapes were not portable.  You could take them to a friend’s house only if he/she also had the necessary reel-to-reel player.  Most important, you couldn’t play them in a car.  So I chose not to invest in this format either.

Enter the cassette tape.  When first introduced in the early ’60s, their sound quality was pathetic, marred by a prominent hiss and muffled sound.  Their use was adequate for use in voice dictation and playback of children’s nursery rhymes and such.  So music lovers shunned the format…until the Dolby Noise Reduction technology arrived in the early ’70s to substantially improve cassette tape sound quality.  This development, combined with newer chromium-dioxide tapes, made cassettes a significantly more attractive format. Decent sound quality, portability, and fast forward-rewind capabilities made them the clear winner as the best music delivery system for your car.

In late 1974, I made the investment in both a home cassette deck for play back and recording, and an auto cassette deck to play tapes on the road. I immediately began compiling mixed tapes (“Hack Tapes,” I called them) and they became very popular among my circle of friends, many of whom requested them at parties and asked to borrow them for road trips. I even took to making custom mixed tapes as birthday or Christmas presents for friends and family.

As more people saw the advantages of cassettes over 8-tracks beginning around 1975-76, the 8-track began its inevitable slide toward extinction.

So what was the thinking behind the 8-track, anyway?

The “Stereo 8 track” cartridge was designed by Richard Kraus while working under Bill Lear for his Lear Jet Corporation in 1963. The major change from the reel-to-reel tape players then available was to incorporate a neoprene rubber and nylon pinch roller into the cartridge itself, rather than to make the pinch roller a part of the tape player, reducing mechanical complexity.

In September 1965, Ford Motor Company introduced factory-installed and dealer-installed 8-track tape players as an option on three of its models, and RCA introduced hundreds of Stereo-8 cartridges from its labels of recording artists’ catalogs.  This push from major corporations helped spark the interest in this new product, despite its drawbacks which would become obvious later.

Hundreds of thousands of car and truck owners took the bait. Those in rural and small-town environments seemed to embrace it the most, as evidenced by the number of country songs that mentioned 8-tracks. Here’s Conway Twitty’s “Red Neckin’ Love Makin’ Night”: “Get ready to go, we’re gonna roll about sundown, I got some boogie-woogie music on the old 8-track, /I got the top laid back and we’ll cruisin’ and foolin’ around, /Here I am baby, ready to play, slide it on in and we’ll slip away…” Or Alan Jackson’s song “1976”: “Eight track tapes were still in style and Elvis was still alive, Wonder Woman sure looked fine, Bionic Man was still Prime Time…”

Some consumers bought 8-track players for their home stereos, but curiously, the manufacturers didn’t offer 8-track recorders, so buyers couldn’t assemble their own mixed tapes like they could with cassettes. I believe that oversight helped contribute to the decline of the 8-track’s popularity, and by 1982, the record labels stopped selling new music in the 8-track format.

Some folks loved the format and defended it to its dying day.  In an article in Stereo Review magazine that collected opinions from music consumers, here’s one viewpoint from a guy who felt the 8-track was superior to the cassette: “Cassettes sound like crap.  They only play at 1-7/8 IPS (inches per second), so even with all the metal tape formulations, and Dolby, etc., the sound quality is limited compared to an 8-track.  If 8-track manufacturers had invested in the metal and chrome tape the cassette had, it would have blown away the cassette, because 8-track plays at 3.75 IPS, twice the speed of a cassette, and with analog tape, it’s all about tape speed.”

Here’s another: “Those who say that not being able to rewind an 8-track is a drawback are crazy.  You could just let it keep playing.  Want to start over again? Just switch from track 2, to 3-4 and back to 1.  There you are, rewound, with just a few button clicks.”

Other observers were merciless in their assessment of 8-tracks: “The primary reason the 8-track became extinct was because it was an unreliable piece of shit.  They simply weren’t built to last and, subsequently, they earned a reputation as ticking time bombs.  Truth be told, brand new eight-tracks often sounded good, and the tapes themselves were virtually indestructible. They rarely melted in the sun or cracked.  It was the internal components that started to fall to pieces over time.  If the manufacturers hadn’t opted for cheap construction, things might have turned out differently.”

“If the heads became misaligned even slightly (a VERY common occurrence), one track would bleed through into another track.  Worst case scenario:  two songs at equal pitch would play at the same time.  Best case:  a faint background of an altogether different track.  Either way, it was a thoroughly miserable listening experience.”

So there you have it.  The 8-track format, while perhaps not all that bad a concept, was shoddily merchandised and manufactured, and nothing was done to combat the onslaught of pirate/bootleg tapes on the market, which helped kill its credibility.

Cassettes, on the other hand, lasted for decades, staying viable as a music delivery option even as vinyl records were outperformed by CDs in the ’80s and especially in the ’90s and 2000s. (Eventually, though, cassettes and CDs both gave way to mp3 files and online downloading.)

Vinyl has since made a remarkable comeback in the past 10-15 years, and CDs too, to a lesser extent. Cassettes? Still hanging on by a thread in some circles, but 8-tracks are ancient artifacts from a bygone era.

If you want to get a chuckle out of anyone who lived through the ’70s, pull out an 8-track tape and ask them to slip it into their player!

Stoking the starmaker machinery behind the popular song

For more than a decade, I have been writing about the classic rock music of the 1955-1990 era and the musicians who made it.

I’ve never cared all that much about the soap-opera side stories of who sold their back catalog for a zillion dollars, who married/divorced/slept with whom, who got shafted by unscrupulous managers and record companies, or who self-destructed from overdoses or frightfully bad behavior.

For me, it’s all about THE MUSIC. The artistry, the instrumental and vocal performances, the lyrics, the recorded works.

So when just about every media outlet out there published extensive obituaries and tributes recently following the death of record industry honcho Clive Davis on June 22 at age 94, I sighed and thought, Well, just about everyone I’ve ever written about in depth has been a musician, but I guess I’ll have to write something about him for the blog. He was simply too big a figure to ignore.

Along with Ahmet Ertegun at Atlantic and Mo Ostin at Warner Brothers, Davis was considered one of the three major players in the music business (in terms of artist development and representation) throughout the ’60s/’70s/’80s heyday and beyond. These three men, for better or worse, influenced the careers of the vast majority of popular music artists of the rock era.

I’m not naive. I know it takes money, and a lot of it, for an artist’s work to be made, promoted and presented to the public. I’ve just never been interested in the business side of the music industry. It’s the necessary evil, and there is a boatload of evidence to show that far too many of those who handle financial matters in the music business — managers, agents, record company execs — have been notoriously greedy, cutthroat, even cruel in their dealings with the people responsible for making the art.

Davis was not necessarily any of those things. Perhaps he was none of them. But he was first and foremost a businessman, not a musician. He has never written songs nor played an instrument. In his autobiography, he confessed that music meant little to him in his childhood and young adulthood. “I knew nothing about music,” he said in “Clive Davis: The Soundtrack of Our Lives,” the 2017 documentary about his career.

What he did know was how to recognize and sign promising musicians to recording contracts with whatever label he was working for at the time, and promote their work with an eye laser-focused on commercial success.

Some industry observers would say he seemed just as interested in self-promotion and the role he played in the success of the artists he came in contact with. But I must say, it was a revelation to see how many of them came forward to state publicly how much they appreciated him. I’ve read a lot of gushing praise of Davis from legends like Bruce Springsteen, Alan Parsons, Barbra Streisand, Barry Manilow and Carlos Santana, all of whom had effusively complimentary things to say about the man who played a pivotal role at some point in their careers.

Manilow and Davis in the late 1970s

“For fifty years,” said Manilow, “we worked together, created together, argued together, and celebrated together. Yes, some would say it was business. But to Clive, I think it was more than that. It was family. And I was honored to be a part of his. Thank you, Clive. I wish we could do it all again.”

“Over here on E Street,” wrote Springsteen, “we mourn the death of the great record man and close friend Clive Davis. He changed my life in 1972 when he signed me to Columbia Records. He treated me with the same respect and kindness as a 22-year-old nobody as he did after all my success. He was a great man.”

Kenny G, the jazz saxophonist who broke through in 1986 with his “Songbird” hit single on Arista, credits Davis with his mainstream success. “He had an instinct about talent and could see things that others couldn’t,” he said. “And he knew how to connect all the parts — the songs, the artists, the writers, the producers, the performances, the sound — and then he knew what to do with it to have it make an impact on millions of people. Clive Davis changed my life, as he did for so many others.”

Said Streisand last week, “Back in 1970, Clive encouraged me to meet with producer Richard Perry to record an album of songs by contemporary writers like Joni Mitchell, Randy Newman, Laura Nyro and Gordon Lightfoot. The album ‘Stoney End’ opened new doors for me and became one of my most successful. I’m forever grateful for Clive’s vision and support.”

Davis with Streisand in the 1990s

But he has always had his detractors, particularly those artists who felt he meddled in their artistry. Even Springsteen conceded that when Davis first heard the tapes of his debut LP “Greetings From Asbury Park,” his response was “I don’t hear a single.” For Davis, getting a hit on the radio was his all-encompassing goal, and he had little patience for musicians who were adamant about following their muse if he felt it lacked commercial Top 40 appeal.

Melissa Manchester, who worked with Davis at Arista, remembered both good and bad times with him. “I struggled with Clive’s vision for my career sometimes.  He struggled to understand me sometimes.  I’d had great success and withering disappointments with him but, in the end, I was grateful that he believed in my talent in an unwavering way for so long.”

Davis claimed credit for resurrecting the career of Rod Stewart in the 2000s by encouraging him to sing the American Songbook, but Stewart had mixed feelings about the way Davis handled that period. “Clive was involved to the extent of being too involved,” Stewart said. “He would take these songs and change keys and not even bother about whether I could sing in that key or not.” 

Paul Simon recalled numerous disagreements with Davis about which songs should be the singles. In 1973, Simon wanted “American Tune” as the lead single from his “There Goes Rhymin’ Simon” album, while Davis argued for “Kodachrome.” Simon’s choice is the far better song, but Davis felt “Kodachrome” would have wider Top 40 acceptance, and he turned out to be right, which Simon eventually grudgingly admitted. Three years earlier, Davis had told Simon in no uncertain terms that his decision to break up with Art Garfunkel and pursue a solo career was wrongheaded. “He called it ‘career suicide,’ which really stung,” Simon said. “I felt, ‘How does he know what I’ll do on my own? Maybe my best work is still ahead of me.'” (I’d say Simon’s extraordinary solo catalog speaks for itself.)

A man cradles a phone receiver against his shoulder with his legs crossed while he reviews documents on his lap.

Davis entered the music business in the early ’60s as a lawyer, working at a New York firm where Columbia Records (and CBS, its parent company) were clients. At that time Columbia focused on Broadway and film soundtrack albums, but when Davis was named head of A&R there, he saw the nascent commercial path of rock music and began pursuing artists who were among the more adventurous purveyors of it. Based on his early track record, he was pretty good, maybe very good, at identifying creative types who showed potential.

Perhaps most famously, Davis heard Janis Joplin perform with Big Brother and the Holding Company at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967. “Joplin was mesmerizing, like a white tornado,” Davis said. “I felt my spine tingle and my arms vibrate. I realized this was going to be the future. I could feel it in my bones.” He persuaded her to join Columbia, and other acts like Blood, Sweat & Tears, Santana and Chicago soon followed. Eventually, he brought Laura Nyro, Johnny Winter, Earth, Wind & Fire, Billy Joel and Neil Diamond into the fold as well.

Davis with Joplin, 1968

To tell Davis’s full story, I would have to delve into the industry ugliness that, as I said before, has nothing to do with the music. Suffice it to say, in 1973, Columbia fired Davis for some allegedly shady stuff for which he was later exonerated, but Davis bounced back a year later by taking over the foundering Bell Records label and renaming it Arista Records.

One of the acts he chose to retain from Bell was Barry Manilow, and he helped steer the singer to his first #1 hit, “Mandy,” also the first chart-topper for Arista. “It was Barry that enabled and opened up the horizon to then sign a Dionne Warwick, to sign the queen of soul, Aretha Franklin, and eventually led to signing Whitney Houston,” Davis said.

His success with Manilow indeed got the ball rolling for the new label, attracting legacy talent and new acts alike. Davis successfully signed an eclectic stew of artists, including mainstream folks like Melissa Manchester, Air Supply, Eric Carmen and Alan Parsons Project, harder rock acts like The Kinks, Lou Reed, Patti Smith and The Grateful Dead, and R&B stars like Franklin and Warwick.

“I can think of no other record man that seemed to have that magical ability to know a hit when he heard a song,” said Warwick. “The entire music industry I’m sure will mourn his passing. He was one of a kind.”

Clearly, Davis was remarkably resilient, a character trait he seemingly developed at a relatively early age when he lost both parents within months of each other when he was just 18. Professional setbacks that he endured which might have devastated other men merely served to further his resolve. “Clive was never willing to give up,” said music industry investor Charles Goldstuck. “No matter how tough or intractable a problem was, he always believed that there was a solution, and he would fight relentlessly to find it and make it happen.”

In the late ’80s and into the ’90s, Davis was instrumental in Arista entering joint ventures with several hip-hop labels like LaFace Records and Puff Daddy’s Bad Boy Records, and he became a big promoter of acts like Usher, TLC, Outkast and Toni Braxton. Then in 2000, he founded J Records, launching Alicia Keys’s career, among others. In the mid-2000s, Davis scored hits with Keys, Eddie Vedder, and Usher, and he partnered with “American Idol” to release albums from its winners, including Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson.

Davis with Houston in 2005

When asked what his crowning achievement was, Davis mentioned two. First was the signing, molding and championing of diva Whitney “The Voice” Houston, one of the most honored artists of all time, who sold more than 200 million records in her 30-year career before her tragic death in 2012 at age 48. Said Davis about her: “She had a voice, an innocence, a power and a beauty that was so stunning. In my view, she was the greatest contemporary singer of all time.”

The second was the role he played in the rejuvenation of Carlos Santana’s career with 1999’s “Supernatural” LP, a multiplatinum seller with multiple collaborators (notably Rob Thomas from Matchbox 20 on “Smooth,” a superb single that sat at #1 for nearly three months that year). The album won nine Grammys, displacing Michel Jackson’s “Thriller” as the most honored album ever.

Said the guitarist last week, “Clive was a visionary. He could hear the intangible before anyone else could see it. He believed in Santana from the beginning, and years later he believed in us again. He understood that music is more than entertainment; it’s a healing force, and he dedicated his life to championing artists and helping them share their gifts with the world. Because of his vision, countless musicians were able to reach hearts across the planet. I’m forever grateful.”

Santana and Davis with their “Supernatural” Grammy haul in 2000

The most visible sign of Davis’s prominence in the industry all these years — in addition to the fact that he was usually referred to by his first name alone — was the annual gala event he hosted every year on the eve of the Grammy Awards. It was classic Davis glitz and glamour all the way, with a virtual Who’s Who of major music people on both the artistic and business sides, plus movie celebrities and national politicians. His friends say it was Davis’s way of paying back an industry that had been (mostly) extremely good to him. His enemies would counter that it was an annual opportunity to remind the world that Clive Davis was “and still is” the most important man in the business. Indeed, the 2026 party in February was yet another in a decades-long tradition, even though Davis’s age limited his usual place in the limelight as MC.

Rest in peace, Clive. You lived about as full a life as anyone ever has in the music business.

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