A dish brush scrubbing a frying pan. Air blown into a Nintendo 64 cartridge. A cushion thumped against a couch. All sounds Swedish musician and former YouTuber Seth Everman sampled to recreate鈥攚ith the help of a keyboard鈥擝illie Eilish鈥檚 鈥淏ad Guy.鈥�

students in MCT 101: Introduction to Music Technology, open to undergraduates at the and the River Campus, take up a similar challenge. Early in the semester, 鈥�05E (DMA), an associate professor of music and technology, tasks them with creating a minute-long composition using field recordings obtained on a 鈥渟oundwalk.鈥� It鈥檚 one of the first of many assignments designed to instill the fundamentals of sound recording and manipulation.

MCT 101 is built for aspiring music producers, engineers craving creative expression, and trained musicians looking to bolster their skills. Across four units鈥擟apturing Sound, MIDI, Creating and Shaping Sound, and Beyond Sound鈥攖he course provides basic, hands-on exploration of contemporary music technology, including digital audio workstations, synthesis, sampling, recording, and signal flow.

Another early assignment asks students to create a 鈥渂ad recording,鈥� something downright antithetical to Eastman standards. DeSantis uses it as part of an exercise in learning how to diagnose accidental degradation and appreciate deliberate noise and distortion used as musical texture.

鈥淢y hope is that students take away a better understanding of how to make music using technology and manipulate sound in creative ways,鈥� he says. 鈥淎t a higher level, I want them to leave feeling empowered to experiment with music technology and, more generally, music.鈥�

Students have access to a small keyboard controller and do most of their work using Ableton Live, a digital audio workstation that DeSantis helped develop in his previous role as head of music learning at music software company Ableton. Because the field and tools are constantly evolving, students are encouraged to be open and willing to experiment.

Some of that experimentation could serve as an on-ramp to the kind of research happening at SoundSpace, a 天美传媒 transdisciplinary research center focused on exploring the interplay among music, sound, and technological innovation.

鈥淭he relationship between technology and artistry can vary widely from person to person,鈥� DeSantis says. Some musicians use technology to extend an instrumental or vocal practice. For others, technology becomes the instrument. Between those poles lie many more ways to make music.

For 鈥�85E, a career in music has never followed a straight line. From jazz trumpeter to Emmy-winning composer, from the concert hall to the soundstages of Hollywood, his four-plus decades as an artist have been defined by curiosity, collaboration, and, above all, a willingness to keep growing.

That spirit has been especially evident in 2026. Beal released two very different recordings: , a collection of solo piano works shaped in part by his experience living with multiple sclerosis, and , a violin concerto written for fellow alumnus Kelly Hall-Tompkins 鈥�93E. He also earned two Primetime Emmy nominations for his work on the Peacock series All Her Fault, bringing his career total to 21 nominations and five wins.

The accolades are impressive. But when Beal reflects on his career, he鈥檚 more interested in what the journey has taught him: the value of being prepared, the freedom that comes from crossing artistic boundaries, and the simple necessity of continuing to do the work.

In many ways, those lessons began at Eastman. When Beal arrived in the early 1980s, the trumpet was his primary instrument, but he also played piano. 鈥淚 wanted to go to a great music school where jazz and classical were taught,鈥� he recalls. 鈥淏ack then, that was a much shorter list than it is now. Eastman very quickly rose to the top.鈥�

The clincher, however, was a photograph of composer and educator 鈥�43E in an Eastman catalog, alongside a mention of Wright鈥檚 work in film music. 鈥淎 little light bulb went off,鈥� Beal says. 鈥淚 thought, 鈥榃ow, now that鈥檚 interesting.鈥欌��

Beal also met his future wife, vocalist 鈥�84E, at Eastman, and, after graduation, the two moved to San Francisco when she accepted a position with the San Francisco Opera. The move west opened new doors for Beal, who began writing music for television and film as well as for corporate clients including Apple and Pixar. In 1991, the couple relocated to Los Angeles.

鈥淭o me, the creative part of it isn鈥檛 a juggling act; it鈥檚 cross-fertilizing. I might learn something in a film score that I want to bring into a concert piece and vice versa.鈥�

Beal鈥檚 breakthrough came when he was hired to score Pollock, the 2000 film directed by Ed Harris. Beal was the third composer Harris had tried, and time was short. For Beal, it was an opportunity to bring together the many musical skills he had developed at Eastman鈥攁nd one that would change the course of his career.

Pollock went on to be nominated for two Academy Awards, winning one. 鈥淭he film got seen by everybody, and that really put me on the map,鈥� Beal says.

Yet Beal has never viewed film music as a destination so much as another avenue for artistic exploration. He relishes its collaborative nature and the challenge of solving what he calls the 鈥減uzzle鈥� of every film. 鈥淎 score,鈥� he says, 鈥渟hould ultimately become a character of its own.鈥�

Beal doesn鈥檛 believe in strict 鈥渟ilos鈥� separating film music, concert music, jazz, and performance. Instead, he sees them as mutually enriching. 鈥淭o me, the creative part of it isn鈥檛 a juggling act; it鈥檚 cross-fertilizing,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 might learn something in a film score that I want to bring into a concert piece and vice versa.鈥�

This approach is evident in his latest work. Body in Motion grew from Beal鈥檚 connection with Hall-Tompkins, whom he met during Eastman鈥檚 centennial celebrations in 2022. He immediately recognized in her what he calls the 鈥淓astman spark鈥濃�攈ard work coupled with passion and joy. Hall-Tompkins performed Beal鈥檚 violin concerto with the Eastman Philharmonia, led by guest conductor Leonard Slatkin, at its in 2025.

Beal has also learned to give creativity room to unfold. He writes early in the morning and has embraced meditation as part of his routine. 鈥淚鈥檝e become very comfortable with just sitting and staring and trying to let my unconscious mind do the leading as opposed to my conscious mind,鈥� he says.

At the same time, Beal remains an active performer and conductor. After the pandemic, that work took on new meaning. 鈥淚 realized just how special it is,鈥� he explains, 鈥渢o be in a room with people and perform.鈥�

It鈥檚 a lesson that seems to bring his long career full circle. The student who arrived at Eastman eager to explore multiple musical worlds has become an artist who refuses to choose among them. And while awards may mark milestones along the way, Beal says the moments that matter most are subtle and more enduring.

鈥淗aving a moment of shared connection artistically, those are the kinds of things that stay with you forever.鈥�

This story appears in the fall 2026 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the 天美传媒.

Erika Ramsdale 鈥�21 (MS) is an associate professor of medicine in the Division of Hematology and Oncology at the 听. This content is excerpted from an article of the same title, written by Ramsdale and published in the (vol. 44, no. 28, October 2026).

One day, I met a patient who was never born and who could not die. Her name was Maya. She had metastatic stomach cancer. Her face was a featureless landscape, with none of the quirks of individual embodiment (the mole by your right earlobe, the cloud across your pupil). Maya was a virtual human. She was created to train physicians to have serious illness conversations. I had volunteered to interact with her.

I opened the visit like I normally do in my oncology clinic. 鈥淗ow are you feeling today?鈥�

鈥淕reat!鈥� she chirped. 鈥淗ow are you doing? What is new with you?鈥�

I smiled. 鈥淚 am doing OK. I鈥檓 glad to hear you are feeling well. Let鈥檚 talk about how your last chemotherapy went.鈥�

She frowned a little, or I think she did. Her voice was gregarious and crisp, with infomercial inflection. 鈥淏ut I really want to know what is going on with you! Let鈥檚 talk about your life.鈥�

I glanced at the student who was walking me through the software demonstration. He mumbled something about 鈥渞etraining the model鈥� and 鈥渦nexpected behavior.鈥�

I swiveled my focus back to the two-dimensional, uncannily still face and upper torso sitting in the exact middle of a nondescript rectangle. I could not tell if she was wringing her hands or sitting on the edge of her seat. Were her fingernails painted or chewed and ragged? Perhaps she wore a plain wedding band on her left hand or a set of brass knuckles. I had no way to read what she might need from this interaction and from me. No way, that is, except for ignoring unexpected answers and repeating myself, recombining words until I received clear information back.

Systematically tweaking a request to get the desired output is known as prompt engineering when working with AI language models, and it is an essential skill in working with these machines. When working with patients, ignoring their answers (no matter how unexpected) and repeating questions at them is bad bedside manner. Eliciting information from people requires delicate work, not an engineering approach. 鈥�

鈥淭o learn how to care for people, we should start and end where we always have: with the person in front of us.鈥�

Another fundamental belief has emerged from my work with patients: Our voice and our care are embodied. It is not just the words that matter or the mechanics of them, but the bodies inhabiting the space, the semiotic extravaganza of them. The beads of sweat on the bridge of a nose. The pause, the looking up and to the left, the hitch in the throat. It is bodies that act, and act on us, creating and reinforcing human connection. I walk into the clinic room, I squeeze your hand, I鈥痵mell the scent of the detergent you use, and I remember that your grandson鈥檚 high school graduation is coming up soon. 鈥淲hat do you hope for?鈥� I asked when you were diagnosed with stomach cancer. You did not hesitate. 鈥淚 want to see my grandson graduate high school. I鈥檒l do whatever it takes.鈥� 鈥�

After I closed Maya鈥檚 rectangle, the software created a report grading me on various aspects of the interaction. It also graded me on my empathy, giving me very low marks. It suggested how to improve, by saying things such as, 鈥淭hat sounds very difficult鈥� or 鈥淚 am sorry you are experiencing this.鈥� Within this framework, empathy itself is flattened to call-and-response, a set of platitudes, an algorithm. It is true that these small scripts can help patients feel heard and understood. AI models are often rated higher in empathy than human clinicians. They can consistently deploy rote phrases and mirroring that sound empathic, and they have no bodies or internal states to interfere with this. They do not experience hunger, irritation, the time pressure of a full waiting room, or any of the thousands of frictions that complicate real communication. 鈥� Machines do not teach humans to be more human, and when given the choice, patients prioritize human connection over empathic phrasing. The art may start with a script, but it does not end there. 鈥�

To learn how to care for people, we should start and end where we always have: with the person in front of us. At your next appointment, I ask you about your grandson鈥檚 graduation. Your face breaks open, smiling, and you say, 鈥淚t was a perfect day. I felt well, and I could enjoy it. I wasn鈥檛 even too tired.鈥� You add, wryly, 鈥淵ou can just chuck me in the ravine now!鈥� I wonder what Maya would want me to say to this. It must be hard for you, thinking about being flung into a ravine. Instead, I laugh. We both do. I respond, 鈥淲ell, I took an oath not to throw people in ravines. So here we are. What鈥檚 next?鈥� And you tell me.

This story appears in the fall 2026 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the .听

My office is in , which hosts an odd assortment of student services. In addition to Title IX, it鈥檚 home to the Office of Disability Resources and a machine shop. I鈥檝e also heard it鈥檚 the only single-story building left on campus. Do you know if that鈥檚 the case? What鈥檚 the story behind this little outlier of a building?听
鈥擬ace McDonald, sexual misconduct prevention education specialist, Title IX Office

Opened in 1935 as the Services Building, this 144-by-81-foot structure centralized the staff and equipment of the facilities department, then led by General Superintendent Clarence Livingston.

According to an article in the Campus student newspaper, 鈥淎 staff of 183 鈥� do almost every type of work imaginable鈥攆rom welding to bird-catching.鈥� Across four campuses鈥攖he River Campus, Eastman School, Medical Center, and Prince Street鈥攖hose duties covered more than one million square feet: four miles of corridors, 6,000 doors, 8,000 windows, 9,000 lightbulbs, 45.5 acres of floors, and upwards of 100 acres of grounds. Livingston鈥檚 鈥淎nalysis of Functions for the Buildings and Grounds Department鈥� binder, which sat on his desk and listed each staff member鈥檚 duties, is preserved in the .

When the colleges for men and women were unified on the River Campus in 1955, offices and divisions on the Prince Street Campus also moved. This included the University School of Liberal and Applied Studies, which served nontraditional students seeking degrees or additional training in general studies, business administration, education, and nursing.

The facilities department moved across Elmwood to what is now the Health Sciences Campus, and, in 1956, the University School took up residence. The building was named for Earl Burt Taylor (Class of 1912 and 1913 (MA)), 鈥渢he man who largely founded that division of the University as a development of the former Division of University Extension,鈥� according to a 1955 . The University School gained a roommate in March, when the new Computing Center joined it.

With the 1958 launch of the graduate schools of education, business, and engineering, the University School stopped managing evening programs for those students. Its offices moved to Wallis Hall, and in 1961 the College of Education, now the , took its place at Taylor. Meanwhile, the Computing Center expanded and became the primary resident until 2014.

The area that originally served as the facilities machine shop returned to that purpose in 2005. The Taylor Hall Shop is one of 20 design studios, fabrication labs, machine shops, and collaborative spaces available to arts, sciences, and engineering students.

Taylor Hall鈥攏icknamed 鈥渢he Skyscraper鈥� by University School students鈥攊s not the only one-story building on campus: The nearby is similarly compact.

Although Taylor Hall outlasted the University School, its occupants still enter past the bronze plaque honoring Taylor鈥檚 鈥渃andor, courage, and humor鈥� and crediting him with 鈥淸winning] by wisdom and good will the high regard of the community, the confidence of 鈥� colleagues, and the devotion of close associates.鈥�

Now in her senior year, Riley Laygo 鈥�27 is poised to finish her collegiate career as the best varsity softball player in history.

If our printing that sounds like too much pressure on her, don鈥檛 worry. Pressure fuels Laygo. It gives her purpose. 鈥淏ases loaded, two outs, your team鈥檚 down, and you come through with a big hit,鈥� Laygo says. 鈥淚 live for those moments.鈥�

There have been plenty. In 2026, Laygo became the first 天美传媒 softball player to be named the National Fastpitch Coaches Association Division III Player of the Year and the first to earn multiple All-America honors. She set nine 天美传媒 single-season records, including batting average (.535) and home runs (17), and led the Yellowjackets to the Liberty League championship. Her fielding at first base was nearly flawless.

Laygo has earned a reputation for leaving everything she has on the field. Her coach, Abby Hurley-Martin, has called her 鈥渁 generational talent.鈥� But there is more to Laygo than softball. 鈥淎nyone reading my softball bio would think I鈥檓 super serious about softball all the time,鈥� Laygo says. 鈥淗onestly, it鈥檚 a big part of my identity. But I have another side of me, too.鈥�

The 21-year-old major spent the summer at home in Hacienda Heights, California, much of it immersed in the Persona video game series, in which players balance everyday life with exploring supernatural realms, fighting inner demons, and using magical manifestations of their psyches called鈥�減ersonas.鈥�

Laygo has a few personas of her own. She cooks but favors no cuisine. She鈥檚 been experimenting with Korean but enjoys a good New York strip steak, too. She recently joined a running club. She鈥檚 not partial to long-distance jogs but joined to meet people outside her softball orbit.

Laygo has also been teaching herself Python with an eye toward programming video games one day. Horror is her favorite genre. Not surprisingly, she thrives on characters who are constantly under pressure.

鈥淚鈥檝e always been very competitive, so I take that competitiveness wherever I go,鈥� Laygo says. 鈥淏ut I鈥檓 also just trying to get to know me as more than a softball player.鈥�

鈥淎nyone reading my softball bio would think I鈥檓 super serious about softball all the time. But I have another side of me, too.鈥�

What the novelist W.P. Kinsella once wrote of baseball holds true for softball: There is no rule stating that the foul lines diverging from home plate end at the outfield wall. They run on forever, eventually covering all the world in fair territory.

鈥淐oming into college, I didn鈥檛 know what I wanted to do,鈥� Laygo says. 鈥淪o I鈥檓 seeing what I like and don鈥檛 like and discovering things I鈥檓 passionate about other than softball. I鈥檓 still figuring it out.鈥�

On the field, though, Laygo has it all figured out. She hopes to lead the Yellowjackets in 2027 to the 鈥淪uper Regionals,鈥� the round of the NCAA Division III softball tournament that is the precursor to the Women鈥檚 College World Series.

Along the way, she would like to earn All-America status鈥攆or the third time. After that, she wants to play softball internationally for the Philippines, a country to which she traces part of her heritage. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 always been a dream of mine since I was little,鈥� she says.

See what we mean about Riley Laygo and pressure?

This story appears in the fall 2026 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the .听

, the Arthur Gould Yates Professor of Engineering and chair of chemical and sustainability engineering, delivers a Kitchen Confidential for the lab. Part memoir, part confessional, and part advocacy, Lipomi鈥檚 candor about graduate school, failed experiments, and the economics of the $60 billion research enterprise demystifies the people who actually drive the work of discovery, with all its risks and rewards. (Buckland Creek Press)

A retired neurosurgeon and professor emeritus of neurosurgery, applies a clinician鈥檚 eye and ear to Beethoven, Schubert, Brahms, Mendelssohn, and both Schumanns, weighing historical records against modern medical scholarship. The result invokes musical biography and pathology to propose how illness, suffering, and resilience shaped six extraordinary creative lives, rather than merely shortening them. (McFarland)

Historian and physician , the Charles E. and Dale L. Phelps Professor in Public Policy and Health, maps the political history behind 1990s adoption reform, culminating in the 1997 Adoption and Safe Families Act. Drawing on archives, legislation, and oral histories, she argues that bipartisan enthusiasm for adoption reshaped鈥攁nd often severed鈥攑oor families of color through punitive intervention. (University of North Carolina Press)

, the Elizabeth Denio Professor in the Department of Religion and Classics, traces the most successful charitable cookbook in American history from Lizzie Black Kander鈥檚 late-19th-century Milwaukee cooking classes to Jewish kitchens nationwide. More than a compendium of recipes鈥攁nd not even remotely kosher鈥攖he book taught newcomers to adapt to America without surrendering the flavors of home. (Columbia University Press)

Assistant Professor of History presents case studies of Native American and Mexican American lives across the Sierra borderlands of Nevada and California, from the Gold Rush to mass incarceration. Reading archives against the grain, he discovers that both groups have existed as lovers, neighbors, and rivals who strategically claimed or denied their connection to survive colonization. (University of California Press)

Biologist , a professor of instruction who keeps 62,000 specimens and has a sweat bee named for him, edits a life-size portrait gallery of more than 400 species. Bold photography and field detail on behaviors, flowers, and human encounters make the case that there鈥檚 more to the proverbial hive than just the honeybee. (University of Chicago Press)

Associate Professor of Political Science draws on four decades of opinion surveys and census records to drill into the complexities of minority and migrant life in the context of culture, economics, and in-group identities. Suggesting that migration politics unfold within a nativist status quo, she contends that conflicts turn on a persistent question: Who counts as a local, and who decides?听(Oxford University Press)

This story appears in the fall 2026 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the 天美传媒.

I grew up in an academic environment. My dad is a now-retired professor of political science. When I was about three, I apparently approached Carl Sagan on the quad at Cornell and asked him questions.

I read a lot as a kid, and I really liked the Doctor Who series of novels. I think that鈥檚 what got me interested in physics. The first time I saw E=mc² was in one of those books.

I originally wanted to be an archaeologist, but around 10th grade, I saw a BBC interview with the famous physicist Richard Feynman. I was mesmerized. I鈥檇 never heard anyone speak with that kind of clarity of thought. I started reading books on quantum mechanics. It鈥檚 the strange weirdness about quantum mechanics that got me.

I became interested in complex systems in grad school. I was planning to study high-energy physics, but I went to a talk by my eventual advisor where he used techniques from condensed-matter physics and applied them to things like social and economic systems. I realized I could combine my interests in socioeconomics, political science, anthropology, history, and physics under this umbrella of studying complex systems.

Complex systems are pretty much everywhere in the universe. A society, an economy, the human brain, the desk in my office鈥攁ll are complex systems. When you have many interacting components, things get very complicated. But something interesting happens where there is this emergent global behavior, and things simplify. All of a sudden, you can understand a very complicated system through very reduced sets of variables.

I鈥檓 trying to understand a fundamental question: How does order emerge from very messy systems? Right now, through my Templeton Foundation grant, we鈥檙e bringing together philosophers, evolutionary biologists, physicists, and computer scientists to study how life, intelligence, and agency emerge and what distinguishes living systems from machines.

We鈥檙e trying to formalize some of these ideas mathematically. The first part of the project is a philosophical component, where we鈥檙e trying to define concepts like agency and intelligence. The second part involves developing mathematical models of how these systems arise and sustain themselves and the energetic costs of that.

Agency is something I鈥檓 really interested in. Living systems are constantly trying to stay alive, and much of what they do is organized around self-maintenance, whereas engineered systems are designed to solve problems. But even more important is knowing which questions to ask. Living systems accrue a tremendous amount of knowledge but discriminate between relevant and irrelevant information.

There are tasks that AI can perform much better than humans, but think about the resources and computing power it takes to train AI. AI is very good at solving existing problems, but I don鈥檛 see it advancing the frontier and asking truly original questions. Yet. You do have to be humble about these things and be open to what may come. And I honestly don鈥檛 know what that may be.

I use AI, but I don鈥檛 completely trust it. I use Claude and ChatGPT, mostly for mundane purposes, like accounting and travel research, or as a sounding board for ideas. I鈥檝e trained it to be adversarial. Every time it agrees with me, I scold it, so it鈥檚 a great way for me to sharpen my ideas.

I鈥檓 a scientist, but I have a love for the arts and humanities. I think it鈥檚 important to have a holistic perspective. I love to travel and go to museums and the theater. I鈥檓 a huge history buff, and I鈥檓 beginning to appreciate philosophy more. I like learning new things and reinventing myself periodically.

This story appears in the fall 2026 issue of Rochester Review, the magazine of the听天美传媒.