Folklore for Circulate Life

I began my first solo album at the start of Reiwa, and already Reiwa 2 is giving way to Reiwa 3. Time flies. COVID-19 has made this a terrible year, and it still isn't over. But it will end someday, and I want to capture what I've felt before it does. So I'll make a second album. Some things can only be expressed in the moment.

As Heisei fades into the past, singing my song "Heisei" feels stranger. In ten years I probably won't care. Things that are only slightly outdated seem the most embarrassing, so the next few years may be the worst. But fashions come and go, and none of that matters. I still sing Klagenicole's "Konya wa Nemui." Perhaps in ten years I'll still sing Tanakajiken's "Heisei." I don't know if I'll still be Tanakajiken, but if I sing it, some part of me will return to how I felt then.

Songs hold memories. The longer I play music, the more I believe that, both as a musician and a listener. Listening to a transparent girl or ruruxu/sinn brings back particular scenes. Ten years from now, Lemon, Taro Kijiuma, and SHIROST may do the same.

Nostalgia serves no constructive purpose. But these memories matter to me, and I can give them meaning if I choose. It's self-contained, a tiny world, and that's fine. Call it insular or self-indulgent; it's none of your business. I'll judge its worth myself.

Time brings experience. Above all, only by doing something for years can you know what it's like to have done it for years. Everything you love or hate, every book and song, your work, friends, upbringing, and troubles accumulate into a combination of experiences no one else has. That's true of everyone. I hate the phrase "Everyone is different, and everyone is wonderful." Everyone is different, yes, but certainly not everyone is wonderful. We're different for better or worse, and so is what we create. It might be bad. Still, there are things only I can make. So I want to ma