Glen the Eddy
This one started with a bass riff. Kurt and Matteo jammed on it multiple times, trying to nail down the chord progression and the voicings. There was clearly something in the riff, but finding a bridge—and, really, the full form—proved much more difficult.
The chart was named for Kurt's brother, Glen. When they were little, Kurt would use Glen's middle name to tease him. But instead of calling him Edward, Kurt would call him “Eddy.” Glen's inevitable response was: “My name is not Eddy!”
Glen passed unexpectedly in 2019, and the grief that followed was equally unexpected. The title Glen the Eddy eventually came to mean more than a childhood joke. Grief can feel like walking through a glen beside a mountain stream—murmuring, eddying, and bubbling. On some days it is peaceful, distant, almost contemplative. Then, without warning, the stream can overrun the glen. Between those extremes are countless states of balance and tension.
Glen the Eddy centers on the idea that we build a life in the face of grief, but we do not simply overcome it. To paraphrase Emerson, grief can feel less like something we control and more like something that saddles us and rides us.
Lost Cairns
This was a piece we simply enjoyed playing. It already has a dedicated page: Visit the Lost Cairns page ↗
Once again, the piece began with a bass riff—this time built around harmonics. The chord progression opened the door to some modal exploration, and the tune gradually wandered away from its original center.
Maybe there is a semantic layer in that movement: leaving the cairn of the bass riff and venturing toward something else—hopefully something better. Maybe there is an analogue in there too.
Rick seemed to like the melody, even if the notation was, umm... interesting. Fortunately, it sat smack-dab in his range, and he sounded great playing the chart.
Maine Street
This chart was originally called Topsham. It grew out of Kurt's experience walking down Maine Street in Brunswick, Maine—while being quite sure he was in Topsham.
As it turns out, that was also the final day of his 25-year marriage. He thought he was in one place, but clearly he was in another. Good grief.
This one did not get played as much as the other two. It arrived last, and the missing-but-not- forgotten chart Frost Heaves was simply more fun to play. As Nate put it, Frost Heaves is a piece that is self-indulgent—but just below the “you have gone too far” line.
Still, Maine Street has its own sense of dislocation: the odd realization that the place you believe you occupy and the place you actually occupy may not be the same at all.
Thanks for the Sessions
Thanks to everyone who showed up, played, listened, experimented, laughed, and helped these charts become something more interesting than notes on a page.
Special credit to Lundy for introducing the B & B concept. He was absolutely right about the pub.
The summer combo was, at its best, exactly what a good session should be: enough structure to give us somewhere to start, enough trust to let the music wander, and enough good company to make the wandering worthwhile.