I do think about it sometimes. Back in the day people made music from what they had around them – a reed here, a bone flute there, a drum beaten on a hollow log. Those simple tools were enough to stir feelings and bring people together. As time went on, folks learned to shape wood into more resonant lutes, to stretch skins over boxes for drums that could carry farther, and to tune strings in ways that made melodies richer. By the Renaissance, we had harpsichords and violins, and those instruments carried a certain gravity that modern pop sounds rarely touch. Today we can synthesize any tone with a click, but the connection to the raw, tactile creation of music seems a little farther away. It's as if the music of yesterday had a soul that we sometimes lose in the noise of the present.

I’d pick the bone flute. It’s so fragile, yet it sings with a quiet honesty that feels like the earth itself speaking. I think it still belongs in a modern jam, but not as the star—more as a subtle thread that reminds everyone where the music began. If you weave that ancient breath into a contemporary groove, you get something that feels both rooted and fresh. It’s a quiet reminder that the best sounds often come from the simplest places.

I can see a few that would work. Maybe take the airy synth line from “Strobe” by deadmau5 and overlay a bone‑flute riff right after the drop—keeps the energy but adds that earth tone. Or think of “Take Five” by Dave Brubeck; the flute could come in on the second phrase, giving it a whisper of the past. For something heavier, “Animals” by Martin Garrix could use a quiet flute bridge before the next drop, turning the bass into a heartbeat that feels alive. It’s all about placing the flute where it can soften the roar, like a breath in a storm.