There are many things I am thankful for, both personally and musically. I have spent a lot of waking hours so far this year, thinking about who I am thankful for, musically, and today, on Thanksgiving 2013, I want to tell you about a really awesome person in my life, who unfortunately, is never going to know the impact he has had on me.
I started college in the fall of 1999 at Montclair State University. I was a music therapy major at the time (something that lasted only about a year). Our freshman class was split into two sections for Theory I and Aural Skills I. I just so happened to get the class with Dean Drummond, who was also new to Montclair State University that semester. If me-from-now told me-from-then that this guy would become the most influential person in my college career, I probably would have laughed at you. At the time, I think I wasn’t even sure if he was going to give me a passing grade in those two classes.
On a whim, I decided to try out the ensemble he ran, on the instruments invented by himself and by Harry Partch (another story, for another time). The students in the music department mostly referred to them as the Dr. Seuss instruments. Of course I was interested.
Over time, the instruments, and Dean, became the true constant of my college career. Through deaths in my family, through a personal health scare, through FOUR changes of major (one of which Dean personally helped to make possible), there was always Partch ensemble. It wasn’t just an ensemble for me (and for many of the students who participated over the years), it was my main form of socialization (Partch kids became some of my closest friends), it was a place for me to hang out, it was a place for, sometimes, hiding from the world. Through the Partch ensemble, I got to premiere a few awesome works of music, and I got to perform off-campus (which was, and is, still a big deal for any ensemble). I got to learn about a teeny, yet infinitely awesome niche in American music history. The kind of thing where some people say, “You play the Cloud Chamber what?” and other people say, “OHMIGOSHYOUPLAYTHECLOUDCHAMBERBOWLS!?”
Dean wasn’t just a musician who also happened to be a teacher, he was the kind of person from whom you could learn something every time he opened his mouth or just did.. anything. I have been thinking a lot this year about him. From my dedication to practicing, to the way I run rehearsals with my students, I have learned a lot, musically, from Dean.
I’ve learned a lot of life lessons from Dean, too. I’ve learned it’s never too late to learn something new. I’ve learned that you just don’t have to iron your shirts if you don’t want to. I’ve learned that if you truly love what you’re doing, you will never dread going to work a day in your life. I’ve learned to keep a great sense of humor about everything and all things. How did I learn these things?
Because one afternoon, Dean asked me to show him how to do a pirouette (also, he was just getting into karate). Because Dean Drummond plays a kithara, and in his mind that means he doesn’t have to iron his shirts if he doesn’t feel like it, and I play kithara so I’m not ironing my shirts, either. I witnessed the fact that Dean Drummond had dedicated his life to pursuing new music, and exploring all the possibilities of sounds to create, and I saw how that took him all over the world, and to my little corner of it, and how, no matter what the university threw at him (and anyone from MSU can tell you that Montclair can throw it’s fair share of curve balls and put up road blocks), he was living a life to be proud of, to be satisfied with, to be happy with. I’ve also witnessed Dean leap like a frog across the room, attempt to walk through walls. I’ve seen him wear ridiculous hats and make silly faces, all in the name of music.
I’ve been thinking about Dean a lot because Dean had been sick, and Dean finally succumbed to his illness in April of this year. I, like many students, was actually pretty devastated. I think I still am. With the tears welling up in my eyes as I type this right now, I think I was under the impression that Dean was going to live forever. I mean, hey, he could walk through walls, so it was absolutely possible. Until, of course, it wasn’t.
But I am thankful that my life’s path crossed with that of Dean Drummond. I won’t get too existential about it, but the only reason I came to Montclair was for a major I completely lost interest in, and in many ways, if it weren’t for Dean, I may not even have eventually become a musician. If he hadn’t ended up at Montclair, I don’t know where I would have ended up. So for that, and for so much more, Mean Dean the Theory Machine, I say thank you so very much, wherever you are.