"There are no two points so distant from one another that they cannot be connected by a single straight line -- and an infinite number of curves."
Composer Lawrence Dillon has produced an extensive body of work, from brief solo pieces to a full-length opera. Partially deaf from birth, Dillon grew up in a bustling household with seven older siblings. He began composing as soon as he started piano lessons at the age of seven. In 1985, he became the youngest composer to earn a doctorate at The Juilliard School, and was shortly thereafter appointed to the Juilliard faculty. Dillon is now Composer in Residence at the North Carolina School of the Arts, where he has served as Music Director of the Contemporary Ensemble, Assistant Dean of Performance and Dean of the School of Music.
Dillon's music, in the words of American Record Guide, is "lovely...austere...vivid and impressive." His works are recorded by Albany Records, Channel Crossings and CRS, and published by American Composers Editions. He is represented by Jeffrey James Arts Consulting.
Here’s my second annual rant about children’s music, a topic I find constantly confounding. Last year I was befuddled by “Bingo.” This year, “Do a Deer” has my head unhinged.
Forget for a moment the unlikelihood of a family learning solfege in 1930s Austria. Maybe Sister Maria had an Italian or French music teacher, for all I know.
Forget about Si replaced with Ti as the leading tone – maybe she had a British nanny.
What I want to know is why Hammerstein couldn’t come up with a rhyme for “Sol, the Bottom of My Shoe,” or “Sol, a Slice of Fish Filet.” Instead, what do we get? “Sol, a Needle Pulling Thread.” That’s just lousy diction.
But wait a minute: maybe Hammerstein was making fun of amateur music-teachers. Or singers who can’t produce clear consonants, for whom there is no functional difference between sol and sew.
