Aging & Wisdom Quote by Leo Kottke

Kottke’s charm here is how casually he admits to a problem most musicians pretend they’ve transcended: the past won’t stop asking for an encore. “Yeah I do and I don’t mind” is the sound of an artist refusing the usual rock-critic script where maturity means disowning your early work. He’s not bragging about longevity; he’s relieved by it. The “encouraging thing” isn’t fame or relevance, it’s the rare feeling that the work still holds up inside his own body - under the fingers, in the timing, in the muscle memory that can turn nostalgia into autopilot.

There’s subtext in the phrase “old tunes.” He doesn’t call them classics, standards, or fan favorites. He keeps the language plain, almost domestic, like songs are tools he still trusts. That matters in a career built on instrumental music, where the “message” is touch and tone rather than lyrics. If he still likes them, it implies they still surprise him - or at least they still feel honest when played aloud, not just remembered.

The context is the long-haul musician’s negotiation with audience desire. Fans come to see the version of you that first found them. Kottke’s refusal to resent that is quietly radical: instead of treating early material as a cage, he frames it as proof of continuity. Thirty years becomes a quality test, not a burden. He’s saying craft can age without curdling, and that personal taste - the hardest crowd - can stay on your side.