This is 99% invisible. I'm Roman Mars.

There is one word us radio producers can never seem to let go of.

Tape. Our job used to be all about tape. My first Morance recorder captured sound on

cassette tapes. If you're a little bit older than me you even produced your

stories on tape. You'd sit in front of a reel to reel and cut apart someone's voice with a

razor blade and then splice the magnetic tape back together with clear adhesive tape.

These days we use digital recorders and computers, but we still use the word tape.

If Sam or Katie or Avery goes out and does an interview,

the first question I'll ask is, did you get good tape?

The raw material that we work with is tape, it just is. There is no alternative.

The story we're presenting today is about one artist who is also inextricably linked to tape,

cassette tapes in this case. Had it not been for obsessive fans collecting and

copying and passing along his songs in the era of tapes, we might never have come to

know his music. Then again, had he lived in a different era perhaps he would have gotten the

recognition he deserved within his own lifetime. From radio producer Charles

Mainz this is three records from sundown. You know one of the things that I've said a lot but I'm not sure how much people

understand it really. I don't like singer-songwriters generally. It's not what I choose to listen to. It's not my first option.

You know, I grew up listening to Roots Music or to Jazz or to you know music by I don't want to exaggerate this but you know music by real people by people from the

earth people who are not middle class you you know.

And I don't, I know, I don't think in history you look back, I don't think there's that many examples

of the middle class inventing anything, you know, culturally.

Um, so when I put on a tape and I hear, you know, well-educated white person strumming a guitar you know I'm looking at

...