Lyric

March 23, 2025 - Just after turning 40
by Tanakajiken

This album was recorded entirely on a Cordoba Mini O-CE. Until the day of recording, I had planned to use a standard acoustic guitar, but I brought both to Kar's house, and the moment I stepped out of the car, I decided to go with this one.

The guitar was a gift for My Daughter, dear little Magma Bear, when she was about 2 months old - intended as her very first guitar. At the time, it was taller than she was. Now, I suppose they're about the same size.

I bought it on Mercari and haven't changed the strings once. I imagine I'll get around to it eventually, but for now, I wanted to capture the sound of those original strings - the same ones she heard when she was born, the first ones she ever touched. That idea just felt... quietly beautiful.

As I write this, the recording still isn't done. There's one song left without fixed chords or melody. Honestly, it's been a busy time. I used to think I had to do everything I set out to do - but not anymore. I can't do everything now.

I play live less often these days. But even without performing, I can still write songs, I can still write poems. Back when the band was my everything, I never imagined things would turn out this way.

In January, my grandfather passed away. In February, Nakamitsu did too. In between those losses, "My Daughter turned 2 and started to speak more. Lately, she's begun to say "no," ,not," "different" - words of refusal.

Maybe it's a phase every child goes through, but for me - and for her - it's new.

We no longer call her "Dear Baby" so often. She has a name now, one that fits her more and more. She answers when we call it. Sometimes, she even says it herself.

We all come from somewhere, and someday we all go somewhere else. But the time in between stretches across years, decades, maybe even more than 100 years. And when someone finally "goes," they become a trace - a symbol. That symbol fades over time, dissolving into the background like raindrops dispersing into the sea. Eventually, we become nearly nothing - particles without form.

But something remains. The trace that lingers in someone's heart may grow stronger each time it's spoken, each time it's written. Or perhaps it changes in the process. Still, I believe that's not a bad thing.

This is delicate territory. I would never impose this way of thinking on anyone else. No one is required to feel moved by someone else's requiem. Our responses to death differ in intensity, in direction, in meaning.

Some might say, "I don't need sentimental tributes like this." I understand that feeling. I've felt it myself. And yet, I continue to believe in this: that the existence of a person, once alive, living on as an idea in others - that's something beautiful.

This belief is part of my own philosophy of self and other. Developing a concept of the self - of "I"- is a high-level function in human cognitive development.

And the very first step toward it is this: learning "yes" and "no."

This year, I offer her 2 kinds of minor scales - natural minor and melodic minor - along with a few small songs. Last year was the major scale. This year, it's minor. Yes and no. Affirmation and negation.

I'm not sure I can truly call this a collection of children's songs. But maybe that doesn'tmatter.

To "My Dear Little Magma Bear"- with love.