I often find myself wondering whether these posts are truly read, or whether they simply drift quietly into the ether. If you've found something meaningful in them, feel free to leave a comment. I'd be grateful to know.
This week and next, I've returned to the studio to complete the final, minimal guitar passages for the debut Eremition album. My hope is to have Echoes of Eremition finished by Solstice weekend, allowing my attention to fully turn toward opening the store and preparing the releases that remain for the year ahead. Among them is a particularly meaningful project, an album I have been invited to produce, while also contributing compositional work. More will be revealed when the moment feels right.
Recently, I shared a private demo of the Eremition album with a handful of people in the hope of seeing its eventual release find a home beyond the confines of GTR. The responses have been sparse. Some deeply encouraging and heartfelt, others absent altogether. Such is the nature of these things. Time will determine their course. Above all, I hope to see this collection realized on vinyl, where I feel it truly belongs.
Today, I wanted to unveil the album cover.
The photograph is of my mother, taken in 1979, standing in a place I have long imagined spending my own twilight years. It felt only natural that she be among the first to hear the work, given the profound personal connection woven throughout its creation. I included her in the private listening link so she could experience that thread for herself.
What she shared in response moved me deeply.
I leave her words with you.
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