Welcome to the Latest from
Diane Jones & Pet Dragon Music
“Everything in the universe has rhythm, everything dances.”
-Maya Angelou
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A Helluva Ride
Let’s step back a few months.
I made a promise to myself at the end of last year, to allow more time to care for myself and to be creative. “To immerse myself in music and joy” is the exact phrase I used. And I’ve been doing that. The help that arrived at the radio station has given me the chance to clear a lot of the mental clutter that was weighing me down. That newfound – or perhaps, “re-found” – headspace has let me share the experience of music in a variety of ways.
Early in the year, I handed down my piano to a relative with small children. Theirs is a household already filled with music, and their oldest child is the same age I was when I started lessons, so I knew the timing was right. It just fills my heart to overflowing so see the amazing amount of joy they’re all getting from this instrument that has been passed from my mother, to me, and now on to the next two generations.
I got my own instrumental treat, too. I picked up a new glissando headjoint for my flute, which has opened up a whole new soundworld both in performance and in compositional ideas. I’ve completely overhauled my music studio, which is giving me a great space to create, and I’ve been a part of several exciting performances. Some dear friends passed on two wonderful recorders to me as well. And I took a class for Ableton, which has added another dimension to my compositional arsenal. My music studio is absolutely packed with opportunities for creativity!
It’s been more than just a musical adventure as well. I treated myself to a week at King Arthur Baking School to hone my breadmaking skills – while staying at a sheepfarm. That was an incredibly energizing experience.
And then…
…I found out I had breast cancer. That was an unexpected birthday surprise this spring. That has led to an array of tests, doctor visits, and 3 weeks ago, surgery. And while there’s still a ways to go, things look extremely promising at the moment. I’m very fortunate that this was a common, very treatable type of cancer, and it was caught early.
Recovery from surgery means, of course, enforced downtime. Which has actually been very good for me. Dealing with the cancer diagnosis and treatment itself has not been overwhelming. Family history, past experience, and good insurance has kept this surprisingly manageable. Life-changing? Yes. Tiring? Definitely. But not overwhelming.
In fact, this has given me time to work on several endeavors. We finally got into the studio to record a new work for cello and string orchestra, to be included on a new CD from Parma. (Many thanks to cellist Ovidiu Marinescu, conductor Miran Vaupotic, and the London Symphony Orchestra for that incredible session.)
I’m also working on two commissions for this coming year, which is very exciting. I’m setting a poem by Auden for a friend of mine, Dominick Corbaccio. And I’ve also agreed to write a large work for the Syracuse City Ballet. I’m thrilled and ecstatic to have these in hand, and I’m hard at work on both of them. (Keep your eyes and ears open – there’s more to come on each of these!)
Finally, on the non-musical front, once I’m given the thumbs up from my medical team, I’ll be embarking on a series of bike rides across the country to raise funds and awareness for cancer research and support. Mine is the fifth cancer diagnosis in my immediate family since 1980, so this is personally important to me. I hope you’ll follow my cycling journeys as well as my musical journeys in the months and years to come.
So yes, this year has been a rollercoaster ride so far. But there are two ways you can take that ride. Either scream, close your eyes, and hope it all ends soon, or throw your hands up, laugh, and enjoy the thrill. I am ready for a thrill-ride. How about you?
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Preparing to Thrive (Redux)
Well, here we are. New Year’s Eve once again. And once again, I see how badly I’ve neglected my blog. But I suspect a lot of us have neglected a lot of things in the past year. Or longer, to be honest.
I just read over the post I did at the start of 2021. I was struck by how little has actually changed for me since then. I think I could probably just re-post it, and it would be as accurate and relevant now as it was last year. Some things are different, of course. My responsibilities at the station became overwhelming, through a series of unforeseen and unavoidable events. But help is at hand, and my stress level is much more manageable now.
There have been some positive events as well. In the last couple of weeks, I had a chance – five chances, actually – to perform in live concerts. Everything from baroque recorder to classical to contemporary ambient music. I had no idea how much I missed performing. It also reminded me that I haven’t been creating much music this year, and how much I’ve missed that.
So tomorrow, I’m going to take an old superstition of my mother’s to heart. She always said that whatever you do on New Year’s Day, you’ll be doing for the rest of the year, so you’d better make sure it’s not a chore. Well, for New Year’s Day 2022, I plan to immerse myself in music and joy.
And with that in mind, I’ll take my leave for now. I wish you music and joy and good health in 2022.
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Preparing to Thrive
Wow. It’s been over a year since my last blog post, and for those of you who get these by way of social media, you’ll know it’s been a while since I posted there as well. Because, well…in case you hadn’t noticed…
It’s been a helluva year.
I know. That’s not news. You don’t need me to tell you that 2020 has been unique. And stressful. And bizarre. It’s certainly been the wildest ride of my life.
But I’m not going to sit here and tell you how tough it’s been for me. It’s been tough for most of us, and there are many, many more people who have had it far worse than I have. In many ways, I’ve been very lucky. I’ve actually taken on new responsibilities at the radio station (as the Program Manager), and it’s kept me incredibly busy – and allowed me to get out of the house. I was fortunate to have a couple of performances before everything shut down as well, and we even got in a recording session in this past fall. Though that was a bit strange, with masked musicians and the producer and I dialing in remotely.
Like so many, though, all of this uproar has taken a toll. Composing is more of a struggle for me now than it has been in the past, and it takes more mental and emotional effort to get through each day than it used to. And while I’m happy to put 2020 behind me and look forward to new possibilities in 2021, I’m not naive – I know there is no magic bullet that gets rid of all the strife at midnight on December 31st, leaving a nice, clean slate for the new year. We still have plenty of struggles ahead.
If you know me well, you also recall that I never make “New Year’s Resolutions.” What I am doing, however, is taking to heart a phrase that came up during an interview I did last month. I was chatting with Sean O’Loughlin, the Principal Pops conductor of Symphoria, who said that, rather than marking time and waiting for things to return to “normal” (whatever that may be), he is “preparing to thrive.” Laying groundwork for the opportunities yet to come.
So I’ve chosen to take that on as my mantra. I am preparing to thrive. Today, right now, I don’t quite have a handle on what that means. I have an ever-growing mental list of what I want to accomplish, and it is daunting. I need to get that list in order, to pare it down to what is realistic and achievable in the coming months. And then take it step by step, celebrating the good things, and moving through the challenges.
As Slartibartfast said, “the best laid plans of mice, you know…” But then again…who knows what the new year may bring?
Please, be well, stay safe, and I hope you, too, are preparing to thrive.
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A Shared Experience
Part of my job at the radio station is interviewing artists and organizers about upcoming concerts and festivals. One topic that comes up time and time again is the importance of experiencing a live event.
Now, I don’t want to disparage the value of a good recording (especially since I have a few of them out there myself!) And I would argue that listening to a live-hosted radio broadcast can be a shared experience. My family and I spend Christmas morning “together” even though we are spread across the country, listening from our individual homes as I host a morning of holiday music.
But there is an energy, an excitement, that comes from being part of a live audience. It’s as though you are experiencing not only the sound of the music, but the physical act of of creating it. Large or small, an ensemble works together, moving in tandem, often even breathing together, and sitting in the audience, shoulder to shoulder, I find myself breathing with the performers as well.
I think, too, that going to a live performance allows you to fully immerse yourself in that experience. When you listen to a recording, perhaps you’re doing other things – cooking, knitting, driving. But there, in the concert hall, there is only the art. I have heard recordings of wonderful performances, but it is only in the concert hall that I have been truly, deeply moved. I have found myself enraptured, smiling so that my cheeks ached, or weeping without knowing when the first tear fell.
But only in the concert hall. Only in that fleeting time, that shared experience.
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Endings and Beginnings – The Story
If you’ve ever read the program notes I include with my pieces, you’ll notice they are very sparse. That’s intentional. I believe firmly that the listener brings their own experiences and sensibility to the music, and regardless of what inspired a piece for me, it may evoke something different for you. So I don’t give a lot of information.
But I’ve had some people ask for more of the stories behind different pieces, with genuine interest. So I thought I’d share a bit more about some of my pieces, for those who are interested. If you are, read on. And if not, if you just want to listen to the music and hear what you hear, then fair enough. I’ll catch you next time.
Ultimately, “Endings and Beginnings” is an exploration of mortality, and legacy, and so much of the imagery in the piece comes from my time spent in the hospital as my parents passed away. I held my father’s hand as he passed, just the two of us in the hospital room. And 14 years later, did the same for my mother. And thought. Mortality. Legacy.
The imagery here is very much my own life. I have a picture, taken by a good friend when I was very young, of me sitting on my father’s lap. We both look genuinely joyful, and I remember leaning against his chest, warm and comforting. Those moments were as close to perfect as I could have wanted as a child.
That was my start – that warmth, that comfort – and I wanted to explore how we work toward those moments throughout our lives. That comfort, with a new excitement, comes in the budding of a romance. The warmth of a touch, the shared stories, though with a decidedly different intimacy, hearkens back to the child.
Though I don’t have children of my own, I do have a plethora of nieces and nephews. It is amazing to see how the values and stories of my own upbringing (and of my husband, and of all our respective siblings) are being passed on to the next generation. I wanted to capture the myriad of conflicting emotions that come with welcoming a newborn to the world in that third verse – the joy, the doubt, and the desire to pass on those things that are important.
The last two verses draw from the last days of each of my parents. I spent a great deal of time in my father’s hospital room watching him breathe, reading to him, talking to him, even though he was largely unresponsive. Until he wasn’t breathing any more.
But the trip to the maternity ward is a very specific geography for me, from the hospital where my mother (and I) spent a fair amount of time in her final year. I would go from her room to the cafeteria, and look out the window at the adjoining maternity center. Death was approaching from my right, and new life from my left. That’s what the character in this work does, literally walking from his father’s hospital room to that maternity room.
And that concept was also inspired by my youngest brother, who welcomed his second daughter very shortly after my father passed away. It is, to me at least, the epitome of understanding that, though one life ends, the influence of that life continues.
My understanding of life and death came at a fairly young age – a litany of illnesses and injuries of family members over the course of a single year drove home to me the possibility of death. Quite a lesson at 17 years old. And I spent five years as a veterinary technician, which meant I helped as animals transitioned through to death. The idea of such a cyclical existence had become very much a part of my understanding when my father passed away.
But I didn’t have the musical vocabulary to communicate it until the time when my mother passed. So that’s when “Endings and Beginnings” was written. I was also fortunate to have an opportunity to give the work to a talented young tenor, Dominick Corbacio, as part of a Rising Stars concert. Dominick gave a performance that had a remarkable maturity, even at just 20 years old. And he really embraced the piece, so much so that he sang it again several years later. Those years gave him a new level of maturity and experience that brought even greater depth to the performance. I am tremendously grateful for his performance.
About Me
Diane Jones is a composer, performer, radio host, and all-around renaissance woman.
ComposerJones 