But Then There is Hope
Listen to Pandora
Pandora
Listening to an older composition while driving, I began to hear within it the ancient story of Pandora — not the cartoon version of sudden catastrophe, but the slower unfolding of ordinary human burdens. In the myth, sorrow, illness, and struggle drift into the world one by one. Only at the very end does hope appear.
The music follows a similar arc. It begins in the calm familiarity of C major, wanders through brighter and more uncertain tonal regions, and finally returns home. The opening chord reappears, but it now carries the memory of the journey — altered, deepened, and quietly steadied.
Like many introverts, I do my best thinking in solitude, and some of that reflective mood inevitably finds its way into my compositions. Minor passages suggest disappointment or uncertainty rather than despair; brighter shifts offer glimpses of possibility. Meaningful music, like meaningful life, rarely stays in one emotional place.
Pandora’s story is often told as a cautionary tale about suffering. But it only makes sense when told to the end. After disaster, rebuilding begins. After failure, unexpected turns toward good sometimes appear. The final chord of this piece is not triumphant. It is something gentler and, perhaps, more durable.
Hope does not erase what came before.
It simply allows the music to continue.
