The mixtape is a criminally underappreciated art form. You have probably seen them used as novelty items — goodie bags at Sweet Sixteens and Bar Mitzvahs — that will never be played again. Such a waste of potential.

A mixtape can be so much more than just a playlist of songs. As a narrative medium, it is just as legitimate as the short story or the painting. By making a mixtape, you act as a curator, compiling an anthology that extends well beyond the reach of any time period or genre. You can draw on everything from Top 40 to proto-punk to chillwave to construct a unique narrative that connects its constituent parts in a manner that transcends their superficial stylistic differences.

You can weave a plot with the prodigious guitar playing of Michael Hedges and the visceral voice of Björk. Or you can construct a scene with the overly emotive Bright Eyes coupled with the soft, detached piano playing of Nils Frahm. Either way, there is intentionality to your work that is not often acknowledged in a mixtape.

But there is more to a mixtape than just intentionality. By creating this anthology of music, you are distilling the most intimate parts of yourself, just like any other art form. From your music library, you search for the songs that not only sound most appropriate, but also those that you have attributed significance to through repeated listening. By placing them in your mixtape, you again change their significance. Just as a writer conveys his or her own unique voice through words, you convey your own unique voice through the selection and arrangement of songs.

This mixtape that you create could only ever be made by you. You may not like writing or be able to draw a straight line, but you can listen. When all is said and done, you will have a piece of art that is yours and yours alone. All you have to do is listen.

Hailing from the vast expanses of South Dakota, Rachel Ries can bring grown men to tears.

Songwriting is an inextricable part of existence for Ries, who is constantly crafting songs. She has released myriad recordings, two highlights of which are On Laurel Lake EP and Without a Bird.

Besides overflowing with massive doses of honesty, On Laurel Lake EP reveals skilled production and recording techniques. In this album, Ries’ trembling harmonies punctuate her sophisticated melodies. Her craftsmanship is apparent on this exquisite folk album. From the slightest wavering of vocals to the gentlest of brushes on the guitar pickups, Ries captures it all on the recording.

Ries tackled the album by herself on a personal retreat in Tennessee and dug deep to patch the songs together. While not as seemingly hip as Bon Iver’s Blood Bank, her recordings on the EP have a poignant delicacy that allows it to exist free from hype. In a different vein from the folk-oriented pastorals of On Laurel Lake EP Ries’ 2007 release, Without A Bird explores her relationship with the city of Chicago.

Across albums, Ries’ music constantly grapples with the tumultuous dichotomy between life in the city and life in the country. In her own words: “This life I’ve chosen felt suddenly precarious, muddled, and far too far from the source. What do we really need? Out here in the ‘real’ world I ask for so much more than family, faith, food, and shelter. So much vapor.”

While Ries’ songs are heartbreaking, they are not love songs. They speak to life — its joys and its anguish. Memories, dreams, and illusions sit beside anguished lonesomeness in Ries’ songs to create a heart-wrenchingly powerful combination.

When simplified to the most basic interpretation, people dance for two reasons: For a love of movement and for a love of sex. These two motivations dominate any dance floor and are in a constant state of conflict. Unfortunately, it appears that far too many individuals simply see dancing as an opportunity to attract one another.

Imagine yourself at a dance party. Do you know what the DJ is playing? The thumping sounds emitting from the speakers aren’t playing Rihanna and Calvin Harris’ “We Found Love” or even the latest Skrillex jam. Despite this, some people are dancing the night away without a care in world. At the same time, a girl in stiletto heels who is wearing far too much makeup walks up to the DJ and asks for something people can dance to.

Why is only half of the crowd dancing? Perhaps only half of the crowd is dancing for the right reason. Those who dance out of a love of movement do not care about the artist being played, but rather they care about the experience and the atmosphere the DJ is creating. As long as the DJ can create fluid transitions and keep a sense of tension, this crowd could care less what genre of music they are listening to.

On the other hand, those who dance to attract others tend to only dance to music they have heard before. The ability to recognize the song is essential, as this dictates the “appropriate” style of dance. These types of dancers are not truly interested in experiencing the music, but care more about who is looking at them. This over-sexualized form of dancing is ruining the concept of the infinite beat. When a love of movement is removed from the equation, the idea of dancing until sunrise or dancing in the middle of the day seems absurd.

Next time you find yourself listening to music you are unfamiliar with, don’t become distraught. Instead, think about how this music can compel your body to move. If you follow these steps, I promise you’ll have a better time. You might even attract something better than a one-night stand.