Melody in Silence

It was April 2006, and Andrew Paul Jackson, 21 years old at the time and finishing college, had just received another in a series of rejection letters from graduate schools. With an undergraduate degree in music from Drury University on the way, Jackson thought he would be on his way to a bright future. How could this be happening? At his lowest point, alone and huddled in a bathtub, glass of wine in hand and career at a crossroads, Andrew Paul Jackson did the only thing he could: he wrote.

He had come too far for this, Jackson thought. He began playing the cello at 11, relegated there by his teacher, who told him at the time he was too short to play upright bass like he wanted. He joined local rock band Hindrance his freshman year of high school-as its singer, music teachers be damned. When Jackson broke his arm playing soccer, he kept his music jones up by learning how to compose; by the time he got his high school diploma, Jackson had written three pseudo-symphonies. Now, with one school after another turning its back on him, Jackson started another composition.

The result was "A Tout le Monde un Émigré" a piece encapsulating the pain and fear Jackson felt at the time. Jackson says he hated it at first, not for poor work but for the dark moment in his life it represented. In November the Drury Symphony performed it during one of its concerts. Jackson says he and his former music professor, Carlyle Sharp, both cried as they listened to it during rehearsals for the show. Jackson also added the piece to his portfolio, which he says is once again drawing attention from graduate programs.

New Movements

Jackson's life is music. It's what he teaches in schools as a substitute teacher in elementary, middle and high schools around Springfield. He says he often brings examples of his own compositions with him to talk about. Jackson says his goal is to teach kids that classical music is accessible, in the classroom and in the real world. "Lots of kids see rock shows and pick up a guitar," Jackson says. "The same thing should happen with classical music."

Music is also what Jackson writes about. About two years ago, he learned of a job opportunity through Drury's music department. The woman who wrote the liner notes for concerts at Springfield Symphony was retiring. Symphony director Ron Spigelman wanted to turn it into a job for students, thinking the work would rotate among a group of people. Jackson so excelled at it the symphony made the position exclusively his. Jackson says he especially enjoyed writing about 20th-century Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich, his favorite. He's paid for his work in symphony concert tickets, which, of course, he uses regularly. He even conducts once in a while, such as the Vandivort Center Theatre's production of Sweeney Todd in October.

Then there's The Current Group, an improvisational orchestra band made up of anywhere from six to 12 musicians depending on who can show up to practice and play. Jackson says he's one of the few musicians who plays with the group every time, among them founder Joe Kramer. The Current Group plays once a week at South Avenue recording spot The Studio and occasionally ventures out for a concert such as its Outland Ballroom show in November or its performance on South Avenue during September's Art Walk. It's not really meant for live shows, though, Jackson says; it's about musicians playing for each other, for the sake of making music.

No matter what Jackson is doing, it seems, music is somehow involved. It's the guiding force behind almost everything he does and the reason he sat in a bathtub in one of the darkest moments in his life and wrote. "If it's going to be a kind of music where people listen to it in almost complete silence, it had better be good," Jackson says. Sometimes, good music can be written in silence, too.