It’s been raining cats and dogs all day and I haven’t accomplished much other than taking Mary Alice to school and playing a few tunes on the guitar. I miss the days when I used to play all the time, recording every little thing that came to my mind. Every impulse felt important, like I was duty-bound to preserve every riff, every harmony idea, so that one day — when I had a year-and-a-half of uninterrupted free time — I could carry it all to fruition. I have carried a few ideas forward, most of which are featured on this site. But seriously, I would actually need at least a year-and-a-half to honor every song idea in those stacks of cassette tapes.
The truth of the matter, however, is that I like most of the recordings as they stand, just the way they are in their nascent form. Sometimes it feels like sacrilege to tamper with something that came to me so freely, like it can when someone snaps a picture of a pure and private moment. Some songs are too special to record, some experiences too precious to be captured.
I’m not sure why I like this one so much, but not too long ago I recorded the following extemporaneous bit as I was testing my microphone’s sound level: Old Strings.mp3. I played it again today to warm up my voice. It made me feel at home in my bones.
