Chris Jones and I became friends pretty much right away. Shortly after we met, Chris lost his dad, and a little while after that I lost my grandfather. A lot of our early bonding was over coffee or beers and talking about these guys that left too soon. A while later, Chris asked me to write a drum solo for his DMA recital at Eastman. I wanted it to groove and be fun to play, but I also wanted it to be calm, allow the space for meditation, and pay homage to these guys we love. Which led me to focus on the breath. Which led me to life, and then death when that same breath eventually runs out but maybe also continues in other ways, which led me to several contemplative walks, which led me to this poem by Adelaide Crapsey that literally showed up beneath my feet on a really creative slab of sidewalk in Rochester, NY:
Listen.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees,
And fall.
Chris, thanks for your friendship, for believing in my music enough to commission this piece, and for performing Rust so beautifully.
Listen.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts
The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees,
And fall.
Chris, thanks for your friendship, for believing in my music enough to commission this piece, and for performing Rust so beautifully.
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