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Juri Panda Jones
By Sarah Murphy
Berklee.edu Correspondent
October 2003
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Photo by Liz Linder |
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| Juri's Audio |
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You Gotta Hold Me Tight (J. Jones)
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| Juri's Video |
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WBZ-TV 4 News Story
Aired November 28, 2002
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In her days as a Berklee student, Juri Panda Jones (née Juri Shigeta) probably was best known for her flamboyant stage attire: fuschia wigs, glittery angel wings, feather boas, and star-shaped sunglasses like Bootsy Collins wears. But compared to the details of Juri's life—and the career path she has forged since graduation—these funky costumes seem pedestrian, even downright square.
Since graduating from Berklee in December 2001, Juri has taught music sequencing to juvenile delinquents, launched her own nonprofit organization, won an alumni grant from Berklee, got married, and toured the U.S. with Graham Parker, Kate Pierson of the B-52's, and Bill Janovitz of Buffalo Tom, performing music from the 2003 album, The Lost Songs of Lennon and McCartney.
A humid morning in the summer of 2003 finds Juri at the METRO Youth Detention facility in Dorchester, Massachusetts. The crazy clothes that are her trademark as a performer are nowhere in sight. Look closely at her shirt, though, and you can see it is printed with tiny green panda bears. Juri adores the creatures and recently changed her middle name to Panda. She also changed her last name from Shigeta to Jones after marrying her Berklee classmate, Ryan Jones, in December 2002. The two were wed in a brief civil ceremony squeezed in between classes.
Juri has returned to the METRO for the first time since completing the Lennon-McCartney tour, and she has brought photos from her life on the road. In three weeks, she and the group played 16 venues, hitting New York, Nashville, Chicago, L.A., and other places along the way.
The young inmates who have joined Juri for today's lesson — Mike, David, and Ramon* — politely look over the photographs. Defying stereotype, they are shy and quiet. Maybe they are impressed by Juri's travels, and too cool to show it. Or maybe such freedom is hard for them to comprehend. The three are among approximately 170 youths between 11 and 21 years old temporarily detained at the METRO for crimes ranging from shoplifting to armed robbery to assault. Some are awaiting the outcome of their trial. Others have been sentenced to a few weeks as punishment for violating parole. Approximately 85 percent are involved in gangs. Rival gang members often are housed in the same unit, which leads to fighting. In order to attend Juri's music classes, the inmates must earn points for good behavior. Mike and Ramon earned the privilege to attend this week's lesson. David did not; in fact, he recently was put on restriction for misbehaving. But Jeanine Pennucci, the METRO's education director, felt that David needed something to boost his spirits.
In fact David takes to the class right away. He sits quietly with Juri at a computer screen that looks like a large mixing console. They are using Reason, a music sequencing software application that Juri obtained for the program through a donation from the manufacturer, M-Audio. David has had very little experience with computers, perhaps even less with playing music. But he's a big fan of hip-hop, and the prospect of making his own beats has focused his attention.
Though he shows little emotion, he asks many questions. He wants to know how you fade out at the end of a song. How do you burn a song onto a CD? Can you buy the software and use it at home? How much does it cost?
"I'm onto this program," he says to Juri. "If I keep doing it, I'll probably get better at it."
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| Photo by Liz Linder |
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| Juri's Top Five Albums: |
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Head Hunters – Herbie Hancock |
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Live – Donny Hathaway |
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In the Court of Crimson King – King Crimson |
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Fifa – Angélique Kidjo |
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Playground – Michel Petrucciani |
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Meanwhile, Mike, headphones clamped to his head, has been quietly plugging away, working on a song he began during last week's lesson. Juri asks to listen. Mike seems proud to share his creation, a pretty mix of minor-key vocal and string harmonies, overlaid with a hip-hop drum beat.
Ramon is excited that the track he's making sounds a bit like an Outkast song. "Miss," he asks Juri, "when are we going to have this class again?"
Such eagerness for learning is hard to come by at the METRO, Pennucci says. "You can try to teach them anything, but unless they have hands-on activity that they're personally invested in, it doesn't really work."
At the end of class, David, Mike, and Ramon shake Juri's hand, thank her, and promise to return next week. Perhaps they will, perhaps not. They might be released from the facility before then. Or, if they get into trouble during the week, they might not earn the privilege to come back.
Juri wonders what will happen to her students after they leave the METRO, but she tries not to dwell on it. She doesn't expect them all to become professional musicians some day. But she does hope their experiences making music will give them enough hope and motivation to get through tough times.
"They're young. They shouldn't give up," she says. "If you make a change in one teen's life, that person can go back to their community and make a positive change for someone else."
She recalls that one of her students was moved to tears during a class with her. "He'd been locked up for a very long time. And he said, 'This is so beautiful. You motivated me to do something different with my life.'"
Since September 2001, Juri has made positive changes for scores of Boston youths. That fall, she was searching for an idea for her final project as a professional music major. The events of September 11 convinced her to do something that truly helped other people. She had read a story in the newspaper about a man in California who helped incarcerated teenagers become scenario writers for Hollywood films. It occurred to her that she could teach music and sequencing to kids in prison, using just a computer and a keyboard.
Juri befriended a probation officer named William Stewart and told him about her idea. Stewart was intrigued, but recommended she start off working with at-risk youths, before trying her hand at teaching juvenile delinquents. So Juri created a music education program at the Colonel Daniel Marr Boys and Girls Club in Dorchester. With assistance from Berklee faculty, administration, and student volunteers, the program quickly grew to accommodate 120 children, providing private lessons in keyboards, voice, guitar, sequencing, and drumming.
After proving herself at the Boys and Girls Club, Juri moved on to the METRO in the summer of 2002. She created her own nonprofit organization, Genuine Voices, to further her mission. Later that fall, she won an alumni grant from Berklee's Office of Institutional Advancement to help fund the fledgling organization.
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Her goal is to take the initiative nationwide, but doing so will require a great deal more funding. Applying for grants is a full-time job in itself, and one for which she does not get paid. In fact, there is no room in the Genuine Voices budget for Juri to earn a livable salary. So, she works part-time at a coffee shop and as a Berklee Voice Department accompanist to pay her own bills — which, on top of the touring and the teaching, makes one wonder where she finds the energy and the motivation to work so hard.
Judging by her interaction with the youths at the METRO, it seems Juri is moved by empathy, kindness, and a deep desire to connect with other people, especially those very different from herself.
Her own experience growing up was largely nothing like that of the troubled kids she works with, but it was far from typical. Juri's mother fell in love with American hippie culture after seeing the film Woodstock in a theater in Japan in the early '70s. Sly and the Family Stone, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin, with their extravagant clothes and electrifying stage presence, were like gods to her. She immediately started her own band and opened a rock and roll club in her hometown of Yamanashi in rural Japan.
Juri was invited to join her mother's band as a keyboardist at age 4 and was deeply affected by her philosophy of performance.
"My mother would tell me, 'You have to be special on stage. You have to transform your energy. You have to be sacred. The stage is a special moment, because you can help people with music.'"
Juri studied classical piano throughout her childhood. By the time she was 17, though, she'd lost interest in music. A year later, she was kicked out of her parents' house, because "they wanted me to be independent," she says. Forced to take care of herself financially, she lacked the time and desire to play.
Living on her own proved difficult, and Juri worked hard to keep herself afloat. After a year or so, her health deteriorated and she became dangerously ill — an experience she says helped put her life in perspective.
"I asked myself, if I die tomorrow, what would I regret?" After contemplating the question, Juri realized she wanted to refocus her life on music.
Juri set a goal for herself: she would continue to study and play piano, apply to Berklee, and start saving enough money to get to there. She finally made it in the fall of 1998. At first she found her new environment intimidating, both musically and socially, but that didn't last long. She made friends quickly and earned spots performing in high-profile student concerts like commencement and Singers' Showcase.
Coming to Berklee opened Juri's life to new directions and enabled her to connect with people in ways she never imagined. "I felt like I could communicate with everyone. I could share my fears with other people who felt the same way." Her classmates, she says, "understood the deep side of me."
Part rock star, part teacher, part philanthropist.There are many sides to Juri Panda Jones. None of them are ordinary.
*The names of the three METRO students mentioned in this story have been changed to protect their privacy.
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