Transformation

This past summer, I finally experienced what was on the other side of the “windowpane.” As the assistant Drum Major of the Troy Colt Marching Band, I had the privilege of attending Smith-Walbridge Drum Major Clinics. It was a fantastic time bonding with my co-Drum Majors, being trained in leadership, teamwork and “Drum Majoring.” However, it was not the hours marching in the sun that lead to my revelation, but rather a Drum Corps performance.

Drum Corps International is the highest tier of marching band competition. The best “corps” around the world train all season in hopes of winning it all at the DCI Finals in August. The schedule of the corps is insane; they travel around the country, not spending more than a few days at each location. Their living consists of majority of the sleeping done on a bus, rehearsing for almost 12 hours a day in the blazing sun, and getting embarrassing tan lines. We were fortunate enough to watch a rehearsal of the Santa Clara Vanguard at the clinics.

Before this experience, the only marching band I knew was at the high school level. And since the TCMB blows all other competition out of the water, our band was the only one even close to the set bar. I tell you, we are nothing compared to the corps.

I remember vividly; it was a muggy day, low morale all around. Because of the rain, the clinics leaders kept us in this hot, humid field house. Dr. Houser, the clinics director, announced that the Santa Clara Vanguard will be rehearsing their “dropping the hammer” in the field house. Having nothing better to do, we all gathered around the group of shirtless guys and girls in sports bras. I was still in conversation when the conductor raised his baton- then like a row of programmed robots, the men and women snapped up their horns in perfect unison. I couldn’t even finish my sentence- the silence was deafening.

They started at a whisper. The sound almost nonexistent. It seemed like nothing was wrong in the world- the major chord resounding so peacefully. Then came the crescendo. Like a spring being slowly compressed, the tension built up. My heart began to beat faster and faster. My whole body oscillated to the sheer energy of the sound. The sound became bigger and bigger and never seemed to stop: it just kept building. The hundred or so musicians now put out almost double the volume of our 240 TCMB. Then it hit- the nasty “rub”- dissonant and unresolved. The half-step disagreement seemed to tear every bit of the peace- it was filled with anger and disharmony. The emotions now overflowing, the conductor leaped into the air and gave a shout- a massive downbeat. Like a freight train that miraculously rerailed, the massive output resolved into a major chord with such beauty and power. A wall of sound smashed through my chest, touching every part of my soul. Time froze, and I just lived in the moment. The cutoff was followed by a distant echo that rang all across the campus. The few moments of all that was right and wrong with the world, now gone away in the wind.

This is the story of how my perception of marching band was transformed.