Published
Part 1
Name: Jessica Pavone
Nationality: American
Occupation: Composer, songwriter, violist
Current release: Jessica Pavone's new album …Is In the Air, featuring Fred Frith and Joe Lally, is out October 16th 2026 via Relative Pitch & Weird Cry.
Hometown Recommendations: Astoria Pool! Wow—what a treat. There is a free, public, Olympic-size pool in Astoria Park, housed in a beautiful Art Deco structure. The park sits up on a hill overlooking the East River, and I’ve watched some of the most beautiful sunsets there.
I can just walk there and take a dip whenever I want. I usually wade in the slow lane with the older folks and listen to the sound of the splashing water and the different languages being spoken. It’s usually Greek or Spanish, but the other day I was completely absorbed by the sound of an Italian family debating about … well, I don’t know what, but that language cuts like knives.
My paternal grandmother was a teenager living in Astoria when the pool, a WPA project, opened during the Great Depression. She used to tell me about watching elite Olympic athletes practice in the diving pool, which is now gone—cemented over and replaced with lounge chairs.
My mother also grew up in the neighborhood and would go to the pool with her older sister in the summertime. As she tells it, as soon as they arrived, her sister would abandon her babysitting duties, go off with her friends, and leave my mother there to fend for herself.
It’s one of those places that feels completely ordinary because it’s part of my daily life, but is actually pretty extraordinary. And it’s been part of my family’s life for generations.
Things that I am passionate about but rarely get to talk about: There is a band: JOBS.Active primarily between 2008/9 and 2023. JOBS released a bunch of albums, toured them extensively, and were very active in the mostly now-defunct DIY Bushwick scene of the early 2010s. I could probably give you a very long and completely unsolicited interview about JOBS.
[Read our JOBS interview]
If you enjoyed this Jessica Pavone interview and would like to know more about her music and projects, visit her official homepage. She is also on Instagram, bandcamp, and Facebook.
For a deeper dive, read our earlier Jessica Pavone interview.
The borders between producers, sound artists, and even songwriters are becoming increasingly blurry. What does being a composer mean today, would you say?
I’m sure being a composer means something slightly different to everyone. I formally studied music and use notation, but I also invent new forms of notation to communicate ideas that cannot be expressed through conventional notation.
To me, a composer is someone who has musical ideas and finds a way to communicate them to others for interpretation.
I wouldn’t say that studying formal techniques like counterpoint has directly determined the way I write, although I’ve studied plenty of them. I’m very much of the camp of learning as many techniques as possible and then deciding for yourself whether you want to use them. I’m sure those things leak into my writing—crossed voices, for example—and sometimes I’m aware of them and choose to do them anyway.
And I’m certainly not saying that someone has to have studied these things in order to be a composer. Not at all. Some people communicate their ideas entirely through graphic notation, or through other systems, and I’m not the authority on what is or isn’t legitimate.
One of the main reasons I became a “composer” was so that no one could tell me that what I was doing was wrong. If I invent it, it’s mine—it can’t be wrong. That came after years of music school and being told I was always doing something wrong. That said, I appreciate that all of the different techniques I’ve studied over the years are embedded in my psyche, whether I’m consciously using them or not.
I’m sure there are people who wouldn’t even consider me a “composer” without a terminal degree or an academic affiliation. There’s still this idea of the capital-C “Composer,” where legitimacy is tied to institutions and credentials. Sometimes it feels like an Ivy League sport.
Many people perceive classical music and contemporary composition as having high barriers of entrance, both for listeners and musicians. What have your own experiences been in this regard?
I came up in the formal tradition very early on because, when you’re a kid who wants to take violin lessons, that’s what is presented to you. For better or worse, I abandoned it fairly quickly—I simply couldn’t progress within that system.
But I actually appreciate that experience now. I never really fit in. I tried very hard to, but I didn’t. And ultimately, I think that became an important part of who I am and how I approach music.
I don’t think any notion of a “high barrier to entry” should ever stop anyone from making the music they want to make, or from finding their own way into music. If someone’s intention is genuine, I think that comes through in the work. And if it isn’t, well … that usually comes through too.
As of today, what kind of materials, ideas, and technologies are particularly stimulating for you?
I’m not a huge fan of technology, honestly. I love music notation software, though, and I love being able to ask the internet completely random questions as they pop into my head—“Is Zack de la Rocha’s ankle OK?” I also love my car.
As far as music technology goes, I’m into certain recording software, amps, preamps, and microphones. I’m more interested in tools that help me make or hear music than in technology for its own sake. Honestly, simply taking a walk has probably done more for my creative process than any technology ever has.
The most important materials for me are my viola, my piano, and my body.
Where do most of your inspirations to create come from – rather from internal impulses or external ones? Which current social / political / ecological or other developments make you feel like you need to respond as an artist?
My inspirations usually come from internal impulses, although they can certainly be sparked by things happening in the world around me.
I don’t get overtly social or political in my music very often, but when I do, it tends to center on women’s rights, empowerment, and celebrating women’s resilience. Each movement of my 2022 piece Clamor, for string sextet and soloists, honors an invention by women throughout history that helped circumvent obstructions to their freedom.
The project I’m currently working on for my string trio, Stalling Tumble, broadens this inquiry, shifting the focus from individual innovation to the networks of care, collaboration, and shared knowledge that have enabled communities to persist, adapt, and flourish beyond official structures. These are not primarily stories of victimization, nor simply stories of individual heroism. They are stories of women building networks of care, education, political communication, healthcare, economic exchange, and public memory—networks that sustained communities under systems of exclusion.
That idea of cooperation also shapes how I compose for string ensembles. I’m interested in creating structures that give the performers both a framework and a degree of agency, so that they have to listen and respond to one another. I like the idea that everyone has an individual voice, but that the music only really comes together through cooperation.
Tell me a bit about the sounds & creative directions, artists & communities, as well as the colleagues & creative hotspots of your current hometown, please. How do they influence your music?
I live in New York City, and I’m also from this area. I currently live about 14 miles from the house I grew up in, so my relationship to this city goes much deeper than the “music scene.”
What I love about New York is how vast it is. There are always interesting people moving here, and there are also people I’ve had decades of creative history with. I’m never at a loss for people I want to play with or things I want to explore. There’s a constant exchange of ideas and people, and that definitely feeds my music.
I also love that if you want to dip out, you can very easily get lost without anyone noticing. There’s a kind of freedom in that. Also, the pace of this city suits me very well. My temperament isn’t exactly … patient.
That’s not to say I’m not often bothered by the noise pollution. I feel like the constant noise in New York can cause people here to play aggressively. I think it has almost the opposite effect on me—I find myself wanting to create space and listen more carefully.
Another chronic problem here is that people are incredibly busy, so it can be hard to pin people down. But in a strange way, that also reveals the people who are willing to make the time for me. This place is no bullshit.
How much potential for something “new” is there still in composition? What could this “new” look like?
Compositions are as unique as fingerprints. For me, composition is a genuine expression of how I perceive the medium, and that is going to be different for every person. The way I approach composition also changes and grows as I change and grow, as it should.
I don’t really think about trying to make something “new” for its own sake. People who are looking for something new simply to claim that they’ve invented something seem as ridiculous to me as theorists who come up with a new concept of music theory just so they can have something named after them in a textbook.
For me, the interesting thing is to make something that is genuinely my own. If it’s new as a result, great. But that shouldn’t be the goal.
What role do electronic tools and instruments play for your creative process? What does your creative space / studio look like and what tools does it contain?
I sometimes work at home, and I sometimes work at FLUX Factory, an arts space near my home with artist studios and a shared music studio.
I live in a very small apartment—basically a bedroom and one other room. That second room has my kitchen, a kitchen table that doubles as my desk, a couch, a TV, and a piano. I have a very large monitor on the desk, so I eat on the couch or the floor to keep the table available as a working space. I also teach piano lessons there.
I’ve noticed that in recent months, as I’ve been teaching less, I’ve been working in my “room” more. There was a time when I was teaching tons of piano lessons, and I couldn’t be creative in this space at all. It really messed me up, so I’d escape to FLUX Factory to work. FLUX Factory is still probably the best place for me to simply practice my instrument. There are no distractions. But I generally prefer to do my creative work at home, and having fewer piano lessons has really helped with that.
As for electronic tools, I use them mostly as practical tools rather than as the focus of my creative process—notation software, recording software, and the various equipment I use to record and listen. The piano, my instruments, and the physical act of playing are still at the center of how I work.
Every once in a while, I do break out the effects pedals. They always make an appearance on my solo albums. When I do, they’re just splayed out in front of the couch I eat on, in the way of the TV. It’s pretty cozy.
