Ever get the feeling that your afternoon snack is looking at you funny?

“The miracle is this: the more we share, the more we have.” —Leonard Nimoy

Dmitri Matheny's THE SNOWCAT is inspired by the ancient Asian parable of The Oxherder,
in which a herdboy's quest to find his missing ox is likened to an individual's journey through life. 

With origins in India, the parable became popular in medieval Japan and was 
depicted on 13th century handscrolls as the 'Ten Bulls' or 'Ten Oxherding Pictures.'

The scrolls traditionally divide the hero's journey into ten stages,
each accompanied by a circularly framed image and a simple verse.

Rendered in the graphic style of Japanese narrative illustration,
the story is as accessible and visually compelling
as a modern comic book.

As in the ancient parable, the hero of THE SNOWCAT
finds her companion and returns home to appreciate the beauty of nature,
play music and have fun with friends.

She maintains hope, optimism and determination in the face of adversity,
discovers the gentle power of sitting quietly, and embodies the spirit of sharing
and gratitude that makes the holidays such a magical time.

Join us for the Arizona premiere of 
Dmitri Matheny's THE SNOWCAT
A cool cat tale for the whole family

December 6 @ ASU Kerr Cultural Center Scottsdale
December 13 @ Chandler Center for the Arts

Holly Pyle vocals
Dmitri Matheny flugelhorn/storyteller
Andrew Gross saxophones
Nick Manson keyboard
T-Bone Sistrunk bass
Dom Moio drums  

“In this spellbinding performance, jazz flugelhornist and composer Dmitri Matheny and his band 
weave a magical, musical tale of a little girl searching for her missing white cat on a chilly afternoon. 
Based on a medieval Japanese parable, The SnowCat reveals the spirit of sharing and gratitude 
that makes the holiday season such a wonderful time of year.”
—Town & Country

The good news is more young people are coming to our concerts.
The bad news is most of them rarely look up from their phones and hand-held devices.

It saddens me to look out at them from the bandstand, to see them there in the audience, sitting in the darkness,
looking not to the stage but downward, their expressionless faces illuminated by cold blue light.

I want so badly for them to experience—truly and without distraction—the gift of a soulfully crafted melody.

I want to share with them the thing I love most: the pure emotional power of instrumental music,
without the need for lyrics, explication or visual spectacle.

Am I naive? In today's world, is it even possible?