Pulled some old songs out at practice last night. Dug them right out of the air, surprisingly enough. Haven't play them in years, but they came out just fine. Better than "just fine", really. They were great.
"Great." The way only aged things can be great; worn smooth by time and made new by being forgotten. Forgot they were even there, or that they existed at all, but there they were. Waiting.
Since they weren't written down, only the prominent features remained intact. The chords were played the same, if more naturally. The melodies rose and fell like before, though akin to blurred facsimiles of their former selves. The lyrics seemed fresh, and somehow wise, and free of fear; the fear of trying too hard to make a point. The songs simply went the way they were played. Robert and Adrienne played along.
That must be the heart and soul of what musicians hope to do; the inspiration and truth of being in the moment. That is what makes a song stick, and burn, and work its lazy magic. The joy of validating old ideas through a new shared experience.
How long have these things been left buried and forgotten? Long enough, apparently.