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Celestial Suite: Not So Sweet “It’s too hot to be out here.” “We need a break.” “Stop talking!” These were the sounds on the Lafayette marching band practice field one Saturday morning. But as much as they complained, the 200 members of the 2006 state champion marching band knew they needed to practice. Hard. It was their only chance of nabbing that 6 ft. tall Grant County Marching Band Competition trophy. Even during rehearsal, worry was high about the ability of the band to perform at their first competition. “I know we’ll make finals,” said one color guard, laughing. “Cause there’s only nine bands competing and 10 bands make finals.” Then she got serious again. “But beyond that, I don’t know. We may be the only 5A band, but if we slack off tonight like we have been in rehearsal, there are several 1A bands that could beat us.” This was a fact that Charles Smith, the band director, reminded them of over and over again in the morning practice. On the field, the band may seem focused (sometimes), but as soon as Mr. Smith calls a break, all professionalism is lost. They run giggling and screaming toward the water coolers, scrambling for cups and cold water. Conversations range from “our friends down the road” (meaning the band’s biggest rival, Dunbar) to arguments about Dragonball Z. All too soon the drum majors dragged the groaning band back out to their spots. Slightly cooled down, there is a spark of energy showing. This quickly disappears as the sun breaks out of the clouds again. “Mother Nature is against us,” I heard one of the flutes gripe. “It gets cloudy for break and then sunny again when we march. I think Mr. Smith controls the weather.” After three hours of grueling practice, the band was sweaty, disgusting, and ready for lunch. But before they could get their hands on one of the Chik-fil-A sandwiches waiting for them in the cafeteria, they had to put away their instruments and load the trucks. The flutes and clarinets all raced towards the food line, since their instruments were small enough to carry on the bus, but all the other sections had to store their horns on the rental trucks first. At the mention of food, the band that had been lifeless and exhausted 30 seconds before sprinted across the parking lot towards the cafeteria, where brave band moms were waiting to feed their baby birds. The minutes following the devouring of food consisted of everyone frantically trying to exchange “secret pal” gifts and lining up for the bathroom to change. Everyone had to get into their “pre-uniform uniform”: the blue band camp shirt and white shorts to be worn under the uniform. The color guard wore their body suits under their regular clothes. Everyone loaded one of the 6 buses and waited to start the hour-long bus ride. The conversation mostly focused on who got what from their secret pal: a soda? Some chips? Coloring books? A clip-on fan? At 12, the buses were loaded and ready to go. The chaperones (all trying to win the title of “best chaperone”) started stating the rules—most of which were flexible—and handing out candy and drinks. Not long after, the buses rolled out of the parking lot toward Dry Ridge, Ky. The drive itself was pretty uneventful, going, apparently, as all bus rides do. People were listening to ipods, reading magazines from their secret pals, and getting candy shoved down their throats by doting chaperones. The color guard was frantically trying to put on the show makeup—not an easy task with a tiny mirror and a bumpy road—and several people had coloring books out. One bus even had a kid making balloon animals on request. “Can you make me a giraffe?” “I want a fish!” “What about a treble clef? Can you do one of those? That was the mark of a true bandie, right there. About 10 minutes from Grant County High School, Mr. Smith called a silent bus ride over the walkie talkies. The upperclassmen on the bus immediately took charge, explaining to the freshmen how a silent bus ride was a time before every competition where everyone was to concentrate on the show and think through their drill—no talking allowed. There were also no headphones and no reading: only thinking about the show. The buses pulled into the Grant County parking lot and the band saw every other competitor turn to stare at the 6 buses rolling in. Lafayette had an impressive reputation, and this seemed to make the freshmen nervous. “Why do they keep staring at us? I feel really pressured now,” I heard a freshman trumpet say to the kid sitting next to him. An upperclassman nearby just chuckled. Following the “wait forever, then run as fast as you can” mentality of band competitions, everyone was forced to wait on the hot buses while the director checked the band in. Then the chaperones guided everyone into the gym, where the Uniform Crew was set up and waiting with their Shout wipes and bobby pins. It was their job to make sure every uniform stayed white and every hair ended up inside the hat. The entire gym became chaos—or so it would appear to outsiders. Those acquainted with the land of band knew otherwise. Seeing high schoolers running around trying to find someone to zip up their uniform in the back, or put on their gauntlets, was nothing if not normal. After nearly 30 minutes of scrambling to get ready, the band set off for warm-ups, each receiving a small water bottle and a plume for their hat. Once in the assigned warm-up area, the band formed a warm-up circle, and the guard set their equipment. “It’s still hot out,” everyone was whining. “Is it time to go home yet?” “Band ten hut!” called Mr. Smith. The band stopped mid-conversation and snapped to attention. But the focus didn’t last long. Individuals began to break attention to push hair back, scratch a nose, or just slouch down. They never really got back into focus, either. The attacks weren’t together and several people completely forgot the visuals. Even the body move warm-up was done half-heartedly. “Point the toe at the knees and then lunge back farther,” said the dance instructor. The band ignored her, blaming the restricting uniforms for their lack of effort. “And the heat didn’t help either,” explained one of the staffers. “Every instrument was probably an entire note sharp.” Mr. Smith gathered the band together at the end of the allotted warm-up time, shaking his head. “That wasn’t strong, guys. It wasn’t strong. I hope that isn’t a sign of what’s to come.” Only it was. At 8 o’clock the band marched onto the Grant County High School football field. The show began with the band in a clock, their instruments on the ground. They were in various dance positions, which one band member described as “broken robots”. The drum majors started the tempo, and the show began. To the untrained eye, the first movement looked decent. But a closer look revealed plenty of mistakes that any present or former bandie would have been glad to point out to you. Feet were out of time and the band lack energy. The second movement was where the real chaos occurred. Between the three drum majors and soloists, the tempo was lost, and each continued at a different speed. The band, facing different directions, began marching at different tempos and soon realized that something was definitely wrong. Most upperclassmen continued watching the drum majors, but the freshman (and some upperclassmen, too) were following what they heard, not what they saw—a major Don’t in marching band. Even the dancers were all on different counts. The band almost fell apart. The soloist dancer, Addie White, yelled to the other dancers, “watch the drum majors!” A few seconds later she corrected herself. “Never mind…just dance!” Fortunately, everyone recognized the drum beat of the 4 count turn, and re-unified just in time to deliver an impact that, quite literally, came out of nowhere. The band was able to hold it together through the third movement, but they knew their chances of winning were slim. Frustrated and upset, the band left the field and began to line up to wait for awards. Politics is what saved the band. Lafayette Band claimed Grand Champion, due to reputation alone, and everyone knew they didn’t deserve it. “Both the bands that performed after us were better than us,” recalled another member of the band. “Thank god for politics.” Not everyone shared this grateful attitude. Many came back to the buses angrier than if they had lost. “What makes me mad is that Beechwood [one of the bands they beat] was good and deserved to win. And then they cheered for us when we did win.” This seemed to be the attitude of the whole band. Annoyed at their first win of the 2007 marching season, since it wasn’t earned, the band loaded the buses in a huff, and then tried to put the fiasco out of their mind. One Senior was particularly adamant about that. “We may not have truly won this time, but it will be good motivation for us, I think. We will make sure that the 2nd movement never falls apart again.” The whole band returned to the buses, trying to focus their mind on candy and balloon animals instead of the disaster on the field. The buses got on the road back towards Lexington, heading towards the hoards of Band Parents waiting at Lafayette, waving their Lafayette flags, cheering for their babies as if they had just won Grand Nationals. |
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