"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.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the orchestral competition I’m judging this summer. When I first got the list of ten finalists (no composers’ names) one of the titles immediately stuck out to me – in a bad way. “I sure hope this isn’t the best piece,” I thought, “because I can’t stand the title.” The title was one that composition students always fix on as sounding distinct and exciting – it’s like the tam-tam crash you can expect to hear in every student’s first orchestra piece. Almost all young composers seem to have a need to get that first tam-tam crash out of their systems, and a significant number seem to need to use this particular title as a moniker for their tam-tam explosions.
Well, I’ve spent a month with these ten pieces, and you’ll never guess which one I like the best.
I wonder if it would be kosher to write to the composer (if I ever find out who it is) and suggest another title.