The Mixed Archive

A Library of the Lovely and the Lost

  • Thirty-One Years Later

    The Day It Ended — Or So We Thought

    November 28, 1994. A man was murdered in prison. It has been thirty-one years since his death, and society cannot stop talking about him as if he is some crazed celebrity that everyone loves and adores. This, however, is not the reason we can’t stop talking about him. Let’s go back to Monday, July 22, 1991 — the day the infamous serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer was arrested.

    Even now, his story lingers in the corners of our culture — whispered about, dramatized, analyzed, and consumed. His name appears across streaming platforms, YouTube thumbnails, podcasts, and social media clips. Each promises “a new perspective,” yet tells the same story we’ve heard for decades.
    And still, I click. I watch. I listen.
    And I keep asking myself: why?

    The Need to Understand

    Maybe it’s the mystery — the human need to understand the unimaginable.
    How does someone become capable of such horror?
    We look for patterns, for trauma, for psychological clues that might make sense of the senseless. Because if we can define evil, we can contain it. We can convince ourselves that it’s something distant — something that couldn’t possibly live next door, or within us.

    But there’s something disturbingly ordinary about him. The quiet apartment. The polite smile. The small talk with neighbors.
    That ordinariness terrifies me.

    Evil isn’t always monstrous in appearance; sometimes it’s calm, polite, and invisible. Maybe that’s why I can’t look away — because part of me needs to believe there’s a reason, a rule, or a sign that could stop it before it starts.

    When Horror Becomes Habit

    When I first started watching documentaries about him, I told myself it was for understanding — a study of human psychology and societal failure. And maybe that’s partly true.
    But there’s also a darker side to this fascination.

    Society dresses tragedy up as entertainment. Cameras linger on the killer’s face. Actors mimic his mannerisms. People make edits, jokes, fan theories.
    We turn real horror into aesthetic — something to binge over dinner.

    I think about the victims often, though they’re rarely centered in these retellings. Their names fade behind his. That imbalance feels wrong, yet it’s also what keeps me watching.
    I want to remember them. I want to see past the sensationalism. But even as I try, I realize how easily empathy and voyeurism blur together.

    The Mirror We Avoid

    There’s a moment, every time, when I have to stop and remind myself: this isn’t fiction.
    These were real lives. Real families. Real screams.
    And that realization leaves a heaviness in my chest long after the screen goes dark.

    So why do we keep returning to this story thirty-one years later?
    Maybe because it’s safer to confront evil once it’s been caught. It gives us the illusion of control — of distance.
    We can explore darkness from the comfort of our couches and tell ourselves we’re different. That we’d see the signs.
    But fascination has a cost. Every retelling risks turning monsters into myths, and pain into spectacle.

    Thirty-One Years Later

    For me, the fascination isn’t admiration — it’s confrontation.
    I look at his story and see a reflection of everything I wish weren’t true about humanity: apathy, cruelty, the fragility of empathy.
    We keep talking about him not because we want to celebrate him, but because we’re still trying to understand how something like that could exist — and how we keep letting it happen again and again.

    Thirty-one years later, his story remains — not because of who he was,
    but because of what he revealed about us.

  • The Swing Era: When America Danced to Jazz

    The Rise of Swing

    The Swing Era of Jazz, spanning the 1930s and 40s, marked a golden age in American music. Swing rose from the roots of early jazz and blues, but it quickly developed a sound all its own—rhythmic, energetic, and irresistibly danceable. It wasn’t just a genre; it was a movement that swept across radio waves, concert halls, and dance floors, shaping the cultural heartbeat of the time.

    The Sound of Swing

    Swing’s defining feature was its rhythm—steady, strong, and built for dancing. Big bands drove that energy with large, lush arrangements that emphasized call-and-response patterns between the brass and reed sections. Though structured, swing still left room for improvisation, allowing musicians to showcase their individuality within a cohesive ensemble sound.

    Big Bands Take the Stage

    The typical swing band was big—really big. With anywhere from twelve to twenty-five musicians, these ensembles were divided into brass, woodwind, and rhythm sections. This structure created a powerful sound that filled America’s grand ballrooms. Arrangers crafted intricate harmonies and textures, balancing the group’s collective drive with solos that gave each player a chance to shine.

    The Icons of the Era

    Several legendary bandleaders defined swing’s sound and spirit.

    • Duke Ellington elevated jazz to high art with his sophisticated orchestrations.
    • Count Basie brought a groove-centered style that made every note swing.
    • Benny Goodman, crowned the “King of Swing,” helped integrate jazz into mainstream culture.
    • Glenn Miller captured the era’s romantic side with polished, danceable hits that kept America moving.

    When the Music Moved the People

    Swing was made to move—and so were the people who loved it. The Lindy Hop, Jitterbug, and other dance styles became sensations, transforming ballrooms into social hubs for young Americans. Swing was more than something you listened to; it was something you felt through motion. Dancers and musicians fed off each other’s energy, creating a living, breathing art form.

    Breaking Barriers

    Beyond its infectious rhythm, swing made history as a force for social change. Bandleader Benny Goodman challenged segregation by hiring Black musicians like pianist Teddy Wilson and vibraphonist Lionel Hampton, setting a precedent for racial integration in mainstream entertainment. Swing’s innovations in rhythm, harmony, and form reflected the creative power of African American musical traditions shaping American identity.

    The Instruments of Swing

    A swing band’s sound came from its balance of voices: saxophones, trumpets, and trombones formed the melodic and harmonic core, while the rhythm section—piano, bass, drums, and guitar—kept the beat alive. Occasionally, instruments like the clarinet or vibraphone added extra color. The beauty of swing lay in the interplay between tight ensemble sections and expressive solo moments.

    A Cultural Phenomenon

    Swing wasn’t just music—it was everywhere. From radio shows to Hollywood films and even animated cartoons, its joyful rhythms permeated American life. Fashion, slang, and nightlife revolved around the swing scene, creating a youth culture defined by energy, optimism, and style during a time when the world desperately needed all three.

    The Changing Tune

    By the late 1940s, the big band era began to wane. Rising costs made touring difficult, and listeners were drawn to new, more intricate jazz styles like bebop. These smaller ensembles emphasized listening over dancing, signaling a shift in how jazz was experienced. Still, swing never truly vanished—it evolved.

    The Lasting Legacy

    Today, swing remains a cornerstone of jazz history. Revival movements in the late 20th century reignited public interest, and swing dancing continues to thrive in communities worldwide. Its influence echoes through countless genres—from pop to rock to modern jazz. Swing’s enduring legacy lies in its vitality, its innovation, and its ability to bring people together in rhythm and joy.