Whatever coded messages about love and nostalgia lay hidden in the track list were lost on me. Everything I heard was new territory, and it was spellbinding. I enjoyed my first encounters with Elliott Smith and PJ Harvey, a lo-fi gem by the acoustic shredder Mary Lou Lord, curveballs like the Canadian pop-punk outfit Treble Charger and hard evidence that Blur had music beyond “Song 2.” In retrospect, 2000 was probably the last year I listened to commercial radio or watched MTV with any regularity. It was the year I turned 16, the year my household finally got an Internet connection and, due in part to those milestones, the year I developed something resembling taste and began to seek out culture rather than waiting for it to come to me. The tape was a treasure in that sense, shining a light on wonders unknown. But lurking among them was something for which I was not prepared. Something menacing.
— Daoud Tyler-Ameen on his first time hearing Le Tigre on a mixtape meant for someone else