A Very Blustery Day

It was the day of our competition. We loaded the equipment up onto the coach buses and warmed up all the way down there, listening to a mixture of soul and Disney music. As we pulled into the the MICCA competition parking lot, the section leader put on the Blue Man Group soundtrack, and we got pumped as we changed into our uniforms. When we got out of the bus, we were blown back by a gust of wind. It was very strong and very cold. We looked at each other and unloaded the drums.

We warmed up again, trying to keep our hands warm and lose in the cold and windy weather. The drum major called us altogether for a huddle and we got energized and lined up to march into the stadium. Our section leader took us aside and we engaged in the usual "Mission Impossible" singing that bonded us together and got us focused.

We marched out onto the field, bracing ourselves against the wind. I was not having fun. Having a large bass drum protruding from your body is as good as attaching a sail to it. Because of my small stature, it was even harder to keep my balance. I looked over towards the rest of the bass line, whose panicked and grimaced faces told me that they were also struggling. The plumes on our hats didn't help either. The band was swaying in the wind, like trees. We must have looked so funny...especially the base line. We were battling the wind and ourselves, trying make ourselves stay still and face to the side. It was hard.

After the performance, we put our drums away and froze on the stands, waiting for the results. We got 2 stars overall, making us a below average band. The drumline got 3 stars, which made us average in the eyes of the judges. We were happy that we outscored the rest of the band (it inflated our egos), but wanted to be above average. For being blown about in the wind like a couple of leaves shed from a tree, I think the line did pretty damn good...

The Girls' Game

It was that time of year when the girls got the opportunity to strut their stuff and play the watered down version of football: powderpuff. Every year, the members of the marching band got together to form a pep band for the girls. Four members of the line showed up: me, another bass drummer, the quad player, and another bass player who decided he was going to play the snare for the night.

I walked into the auditorium hearing the sound of drills. "Look, I made a super drum!" one of the bass drummers said, pointing with pride at the two bass drums he had zip-tied together. "I call it 'The Snowman.'"

"Good luck carrying it," I said.

"Eh, it shouldn't be that bad," he said, putting it on and almost toppling over. I looked towards the quad player, and the sound of the drill. Instead of zip-tying extra drums to the quads, he was drilling into the shell and screwing new ones in, permanently destroying the other set of quads that we may have needed for the following year. "He's gonna be pissed, man," I said to the quad player. I knew the section leader and the band director would be appalled to see what had happened to the spare set of quads. "No, the section leader will think it's sweet!" he said. "And who cares about the director?" I shook my head and got my drum out of it's case, preparing to harness up and go.

That night we played with the most unbalanced band I had ever heard. We had 4 drummers, an alto sax, a trombone, and a trumpet. We sounded awful, but we were having fun.

The line was dressed in our 'kick ass' uniform: black adidas sweatpants, a white tee, and a black adidas zip up. It was a particularly warm night and so we had taken off the zip up. Suddenly, the skies opened up and we were drenched within seconds. The powderpuff game turned into a mud bath. My shirt turned transparent. We rushed to get our instruments inside, knowing that they would be ruined by the heavy rain. Once inside, I put on my soggy drumline jacket, pulling my arms through sleeves saturated in water. Seconds later, the girls cam in all muddy and wet, and the crowd followed them. We pt away our instruments, and I left, watching the quad player try to find a space that would fit his monstrous creation.

Homecoming Parade

It was the biggest game of the year, besides Thanksgiving. Even though the game was at 7, the marching band was at the school at 4, perfecting the music and getting ready for the parade. The drumline was goofing off. They had found a Frisbee that lit up when it was thrown and were playing in the pitch black auditorium where we practiced. Oftentimes the Frisbee would be thrown into the seating area instead of the aisles and either the boys would dive into the chairs and get tangled in them, or they would chase the Frisbee down the sloped auditorium. I sat on the edge of the stage, watching this comic act and warming up on my forearms. The director walked into the auditorium to see what we were up to, and the all-to-often heard "DRUMMERS!!" echoed through the place. The lights were quickly turned on and the boys walked up towards the stage, one chasing the Frisbee down through the seats. We practiced for a little while, the cadence mostly, and got into our uniform.

We joined the band assembled outside and marched single file to the start of the parade. While other sections talked and laughed together, the drumline was busy tuning our equipment and warming up. When the uniform went on, the line was all business.

We watched the floats get in line behind us. We were the front of the parade. We got in formation and the drum major counted us off. The snare line kept the beat of our footsteps as the drum major shouted, "Forward, march!" As soon as we stepped off, the police escort in front of us turned on their sirens as did the fire trucks directly behind us. It was so loud! I could barely hear the drum next to me. The section leader, seeing the band start to march off time, and seeing his line struggle to hear his beat, started playing even louder. The drum major came gliding through the band on a scooter. "They're kinda loud, huh?" he yelled towards us, gesturing towards the fire trucks.

Finally, we made it to the field. As we walked around the track around the outside of the field, the fire trucks and police cars veered off and made for the station. We marched around the track...5 times. By the end, my ears were ringing from the sirens, my hands were killing me from the intensity of the cadence, and my back hurt from trying to support a drum that was practically as big as me. But the spirit of the band and the crowd pushes you on.

Playing With the Girls

It was almost time for homecoming and we were busy getting ready for the biggest game of the year, besides Thanksgiving. While the band was polishing up the songs in the show, we were putting in extra hours with the dance team. The dance team captain had found a Beyonce song that had a drumline playing in the background, and she wanted us to play the part with them as they danced. We practiced with them a few unsuccessful times in the gym, but the drums echoed off of the concrete walls and metal ceiling, making it impossible for the girls to stay in time and hear the music.

We moved rehearsals outside on to the football field so that the girls could get the feel of dancing on grass instead of linoleum, and so that our drums wouldn't echo as bad. We soon found that our echoing drums may not have been the problem. The dance team was new to the school and contained various levels of dancers. Many of the girls could not stay on time to save their lives. It was frustrating for the line to play with the girls being so off tempo and frustrating for the captain who wanted to do more with the dance, but was stuck teaching the girls how to stay on beat.

As the dancers rehearsed over and over again, the drumline tried to come up with our choreography. " I think that we should each have a chance to dance to dance with a girl," the tenor player said.

"Oh and how're you going to do that with your drum on? And what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

"Shit. I forgot"

"OK, we need to come up with something where she doesn't look gay," the section leader said. "There goes all my ideas."

We ended up doing simple marching movements, but it looked pretty good with the girls all around us, finally able to sort of dance in time. We were satisfied with it and joined up with the band and the baton twirlers to rehearse music for homecoming, and watch the twirlers spin fire.

Heart of the Game

Going on away games with the football team seemed to give them a sense of confidence. The team knew we'd be there (unless it was raining, in which case we didn't go since the equipment would be ruined) and enthusiastically cheering them on. We seemed to be a piece of home and so gave them a little of the "home field advantage" excitement.

We went to this one game about 45 minutes away from home to cheer on the team and have a good time. We loaded onto the away stands, which was always a hassle for the drumline because of the size and placement of our instruments, and prepared to play. When we played in the stands, we always played when our team was on the defensive so as not to distract the offensive line with our music. The trumpets began to play the Superman theme as our team kicked off and we were off. We quickly switched into "Born to Be Wild," trying to play as much as we could before our team got the ball. Suddenly the referees blew the whistle and came running over to the stands. Confusion ensued as the drum major cut us off to see what was happening. We were informed that we were not allowed to play. Puzzled, we obliged and let the opposing team finish out their possession.

The next time the opposing team got the ball, we began to play again. Again, the refs stopped the game and told us to stop playing. He told us that if we wanted to play, we could do so in between plays. So we did... and we only got in a measure or two before we were forced to stop because the play had begun. Frustration mounting, we began to play louder and louder. Eventually the band director had us play through the football plays because it was impossible to pick up where we left off from before. The fans were getting bits and pieces of a broken song. The refs stopped the game for a third time and this time the coach came over and started yelling at us. He told us that if we couldn't stop playing, we could leave. Angry and dismayed, we sat down on the stands. This had never happened before. It happens in college football all the time, but never before had this rule been enforced for high school ball.

When the opposing team possessed the ball again, we were silent. Our team and the fans didn't know what to do. Never before had the band not played during our defensive period. The fans, angry that we were not allowed to play, began stomping their feet loudly on the metal stands and yelling loudly. Smiling, our section leader said, "Let them stop that." The drum major gave us the signal to stand up and we began yelling and stomping as well. Although the coach couldn't stop the fans, he did come over and yell at us again. Enraged, we sat down as the director yelled back at the coach. Eventually the director gave up and sat down. We waited about 15 minutes and then the director said, "Let's go, guys." We looked up at him, sad, angry, and puzzled. "There's nothing we can do here. We can't motivate the crowd or the team...let's just go." The drum major took him aside and they decided we would stay with the team until halftime and then we would go.

During half time, we played our show, and we played it so well. All the pent up energy when into that show and we kicked some ass. After half time, we packed up and as we left, we heard the fans once again stomping and yelling, creating the music that we were prohibited to play.

Bus Rides

We had learned and revised the show...many a time. Since it was an away season, we spent most of our time on buses going to various schools to perform the show. We were one of the only marching bands in our division to still travel to away games and we hadn't missed a single one...unless it was raining.

The bus rides were...interesting to say the least. The drumline loaded the equipment into the back of the school bus we took and claimed the back third of the bus. No one was allowed in that section except for the line...and a few VIPs (girlfriends, pretty girls, directors, etc.) The instant the bus started rolling, practice pads and sticks were out and the section leader was making us warm up. Towards the front, soul music mixed with Disney music as the brass and woodwind sections fought for control of the boom box privileges. It was hard to sing to the music that one learned to like since they were mingling together.

When we got to the school, everyone instantly stripped off clothes to get into uniforms. We all got awfully close, and I realized why boys fear to "fall out..."

Rides home were interesting too. The smell of body odor filled the air as uniforms were taken off and we realized that despite the cold weather, the body still had the capacity to sweat. It was especially disgusting in the back third of the bus...the drumline plays throughout the game and we tend to play loudly and intensely...

One time, the bus smelled particularly bad and a girl sprayed a huge amount of perfume to try to cover the smell. We were on the road heading home. Not a good time to learn that the bus driver was allergic to perfume. She started coughing and sneezing. We had to open all of the windows to air the bus out...and it was 30 degrees outside. We sat huddled in our seats, listening to a mixture of soul and Disney music as the brass and woodwinds battled it out.

The Impossible Drill

We were learning the third and final song of our show (we had spent band camp on making the first 2 songs presentable and on the stand music). The drill creator had left to study abroad, so we were trying to learn it without him. We got into the ending set of the second song and walked our places for the first set of the third. The drumline looked at our dot book and realized our spots for the first set of the third song were 30 yards from where we were standing in the last set of the second. We skeptically looked at each other and when we realized that we only had 8 beats to go those 30 yards, mixed reactions were voiced. The section leader was downright pissed and threw down his sticks, yelling and screaming. Much of the snare line had the same reaction, while the basses (me included) looked and just laughed at the distance we had to cover in 8 beats with our huge drums.

"OK guys, let's try it," the drum major said as the snareline's protests grew louder. We took our positions and it was then that the bassline noticed that we'd be going this ungodly distance while marching backwards. Many of the basses shook their heads incredulously as I burst out laughing. The guy who came up with the drill was a drummer...how could he not see that this was impossible?

The drum major counted off and the cow bell kept the beat as we took the biggest steps we had ever taken in our lives. Eight beats passed and we looked around. Not even half way there. "Can we march in double time?!?!" the section leader yelled to the drum major. The drum major consulted the band director and they decided that it was the only way we had a hope of making it to our marks on time. The cow bell started up again and we moved our feet twice as fast as the beat. The problem was that since we were moving faster, it was harder to take large steps. We were still about 7 yards off by the time 8 beats had passed. The section threw down his sticks yet again and walked away. I saw the drum major look at our section leader and he turned and again consulted with the band director. We were told we all had a ten-minute break as they tried to figure how how on earth the drumline would do this.

We reconvened after the break and the drum major told us the solution. "OK, we are no longer going to march in time. Everyone walk or run to your spots between the second and third song. Just get there in 8 beats. No more, no less." The basses look at each other as we imagined ourselves running with our drums. Big Bertha, the largest of the four bass drums, was surely going to kill her drummer. I knew that I, being a petite girl, was going to die too. the cow bell began and we turned a booked it towards the end zone. We made it...but had to do it over and over and over again because the rest of the band got to their spots too early. By the end of the practice, we were all fed up and reflecting the section leader's sense of frustration...


We were told a week later that someone else had redone the drill and we would be re-learning it.