Poster by Maria Darron
Chris Dingman is a vibraphonist and composer known for his distinctive approach: sonically rich and conceptually expansive, bringing listeners on a journey to a beautiful, transcendent place. Hailed by the New York Times as a “dazzling” soloist and composer with a “fondness for airtight logic and burnished lyricism,” his music has earned him praise as “an extremely gifted young composer, bandleader, and recording artist.” (Jon Weber, NPR).
VIRTUAL TIPS
If you wish to tip the musicians before, during, or after the show:
PayPal: paypal.me/dingmanvibes
HOW TO WATCH
Tune in on Friday, September 4, 8:00 PM EDT at:
bopshop.com/live
MORE ON THE ARTIST:
“A miracle has happened through this music. It has transformed me over and over again. It has made me stronger, made me want to live life again.”
That’s what my father, Joe Dingman, said while he was in home hospice care in July 2018. He died nine days later at the age of 72, of complications due to cardiac amyloidosis.
I’ve often thought about what it means to want to live life knowing that you are about to die. What value does that have? And how can music help?
The Origin of Peace
When my father was sent to the ICU, my family was unprepared for how quickly his health declined, and my father himself did not realize how bad it had become. In the hospital, he was in a lot of pain, and often confused and agitated. We scrambled to find ways to soothe him. Unprepared for the visit, I had a limited amount of music at my disposal, and even online playlists meant to soothe and relax seemed to fall short. I found myself wishing I had more.
After recovering slightly, my father was sent home under hospice care, where he lived for another two months. During this time, he struggled with his very difficult circumstances. Battling symptoms of insomnia and difficulty breathing, he grappled with anxiety, depression, anger, and even panic.
I brought my vibraphone to play for him during visits, with the intention of helping him calm down and rest. I tried my best to fill the music with love, so he could feel that and feel better. Improvising, I recorded the music as I played it. In a few weeks, there was five hours’ worth. I made CDs and my father would play them in the CD player himself, especially during his long sleepless nights. At one point during a brief stay at the inpatient hospice center, the hospice doctor put the music into his treatment plan.
At first, the music seemed on the surface to be mainly a sleep aid. But after some time, my father began telling me that he felt the music was “designed to open up patterns of thought and being.” This was not a typical turn of phrase for him.
He came up with names for the tracks, including titles such as “Life Without Pain,” “Healing Light,” and “Special Day.” During one track, which he entitled “Sky,” he related the childhood memory of a game he used to play while gazing up at the sky, naming what the clouds looked like. It was then I realized he was processing his life experiences through the music. It meant a great deal to him.
Together, we named the collection Peace.
Click here to read more about the “Peace” project