Marking Time: My Memories of Marching Band

When I was in elementary school I took up playing the saxophone. My parents encouraged me to do something extracurricular and, not being at all an athlete, I picked music. Why the sax? I guess I just thought it was cooler, jazzier. Cool people played the saxophone, right? Bill Clinton, Lisa Simpson, they all rocked out. I kept with it all through middle school and high school, were I was a band geek for four years.

Then it came time to go to college. I was going to WVU because, frankly, we couldn't afford much else and I was going to college because it seemed wise to do so (in retrospect, it was sort of a mistake). My family was very excited because it meant I would be joining the legendary Pride of West Virginia: The Mountaineer Marching Band!!! And me, thinking that this was apparently inevitable, agreed.

The punchline here is this: I hate marching band. Now don't me wrong, in high school we had fun times, I made great friends, really came out of my shell as a person thanks to being in band. But the actual act of marching band just sucked. For one thing, I don't care at all about football. SHOCKING isn't it? It's not because I'm stupid or snobby or whatever, I have sat in front of many a TV and watched football and tried to get into it and I just can't. Perhaps I'm too cynical, I'm not sure, not getting into that now. (although last night I went on a Twitter rant about football to cure my insomnia. Lots of hateful things I probably need to touch on.)

It's common when a child doesn't want to play football to get them into band, but that makes no sense because the entire purpose of band is to encourage football. Support the team, even though "the team" never talks to me at school and most of the rest of the school will call me a band fag for my trouble. That's not so much the case at WVU, where the band is over 300 people large and gets crazy amounts of love and respect from the students and players. Respect was no longer a problem; the problem was the sheer act of being in the Pride of West Virginia when you had little love for the Mountaineer.

But it seemed important to join this band, more so for my family than me, so I did it. I was used to doing things because people told me to, which is why when I learned I "had" to go to college I reluctantly selected theater as my major because I liked it in high school. I don't really have regrets, although the interest in theater would significantly wane by the time I graduated  So there I was: a theater freshman in the marching band. Look out, world.

I experienced a few perks of being in the band. For starters I got to move in a week earlier than the rest of the campus so I avoided that mess of a process. Of course I moved in early because I had to go to band camp. And not funny American Pie sexualized band camp. This was "get ready to memorize all these songs/formations in the 80 degree heat for the next 12 hours" band camp. It was brutal. Admittedly I made friends during that time, and since there was no burden of class it was the only thing we had to worry about. But that was a damn long week.

Then it was time for the first home game, an important day for all band freshmen. If you've never been to a WVU football game, here is the legendary pre-show performance in a nutshell. The band hides out in the tunnels on one end of the field. The drumline marches out, plays a rocking intro (I wanna call it cadence, but I don't know if that's correct. Music people?), and then the band charges out onto the field. It's called "220" because that's how many beats per minute we're supposed to be marching at (but it's just running). Then we form the "Flying WV" and charge down the field. This leads to other songs and shapes, but youtube it yourself.

I'm technically in this video. Can you spot me? (I can't spot me.)

So we charge out onto the field and we're running and the crowd goes freaking wild! Somewhere amongst them my family is going just as wild, getting emotional and just so happy that I'm among this group I've been watching literally since I was 3. The world is a mess of yelling, clapping, and applause.

And I swear to you, I felt nothing standing on that field. I'm not a sociopath, it just didn't mean anything to me. I didn't have the Pride that the band was named after. I was a humble servant to the band and my saxophone was my tool. That stadium wasn't applauding for me, they were applauding for the band. They were applauding for the gold and the blue. They were applauding for football. And I don't give a fuck about football.

Looking back on those games I don't know how I got by, or didn't get thrown out. After doing the exhausting pregame show we would take our seats in the end zone. Fun fact about band uniforms: they're heavy enough to make fall games miserably hot but thin enough to not do anything against the chill of winter. We played many "stand tunes" during the games, and anytime we weren't playing we were supposed to watch the game but I would always try to see how much reception I could get on my phone (usually not much).

I wasn't an especially good band student either. Like I said, there are over 300 people in that band. The directors would encourage us all to memorize our music and play ouy because every voice was important. But if you're a cynic and a realist, then you know there are enough people there that half of them can phone 50% of it in and still be okay. Preshow was the same every game and I still never memorized all of it. Of course I was playing saxophone, and saxophone harmonies in marching band music usually give you the same four notes. Whenever I was unsure I would play G. No one said anything. I'm sure someone somewhere else was playing G.

Then there were these bus trips. Holy crap, how did Isaac do that? I do not travel well and we would have to go FAR away. On buses. With large groups of people. And then stay in hotels. Often with strangers because while I had friends, whenever there was pairing involved I tended to be the odd number. Which is fine, this is life, I was still kind of reserved, who cares?

Speaking of friends, I wasn't making many in the Theater department because band practices every evening. Which was problematic when you have to do things like work on a crew for a show. While I though I had a good schedule worked out with my crew assignment for my first show, it didn't turn out well. I actually failed my crew assignment and got a C in the class overall. The theater people hated me because I was "unreliable", I hated them because I thought they were being unreasonable, I hated the band for being such a time suck, and I hated football for being the cause of this mess.

 I watched more football games in those four months than I have in my entire life and I still don't get it. It didn't help that WVU had a good year that year and we won almost every game by a landslide, which is so boring to watch. The game we lost I felt a feeling of happiness as everyone else around me angrily screamed at the outcome. I'm a sick person, I know. Judge away. I think I just hated being unhappy while everyone else is so I enjoyed those moments were everyone could be miserable for a while (oooh, emo. We can look up psychologists in the morning.)

The end of football season approached. The team (and the band) were going to Arizona  for the Fiesta Bowl. Know what's in Arizona? I sure don't, because I resigned early from the band because there was no way in HELL I was flying (or busing, I forgot the options) across the country to watch yet another football game! So I turned in my uniform. But I had said I'd probably return next year.

In my spring semester I did some real thinking. I had time to do more theater things, actually made a few friends that semester, and did concert band which was great fun (once a week, awesome music, all I wanted). Then as that semester came to a close I realized there was no way I was going to return to that band next year. There were theater classes I really wanted to get into and I did not want to risk them hating me for my thousand band rehearsals and performances. So I decided to check out.

My family's group reaction was "Oh but whyyyyy?". I explained my very real fear that I wouldn't graduate on time, and didn't harp on the other "because I hate it" facts. I think someone even offered me money if I did it again. But I said no and broke a few hearts. Being an 18/19 year old, I went through a little fit and put the entire year behind me. Got rid of all the pics of me in the band (to an extent I can't find any for this blog), fell out of touch with all my band friends, and stopped playing the saxophone altogether (it's been about 6 years since I've touched one.) My ma (or maybe Nana) made a collage of the pictures she took of me in the band; it was on the wall for about a year and now resides in a corner in my bedroom at my parents' house.

The purpose of this story was not to shit on the band, mind you. They're great people and they do a great job. But it wasn't right for me and that was the problem the whole time. It was something I didn't wanna do that I somehow found myself doing and I just wanted to be angry about that.

My Nana loved to proudly tell her friends I was in the WVU Marching Band. "Oooh, I bet that's fun!" Little old ladies would say to me. "It's something," I'd said through my teeth. When I had finally officially quit Nana told me "I was disappointed when you said you weren't going to go back, but I'm proud of you for sticking with your guns and making that decision."

And that felt great to hear. It was my first post-high school big decision. It would be followed by many. Granted, some of these decisions might have been poor ones but they were mine to make. The band was a perfect representation of how I'd lived life before: suffering through things I didn't enjoy for the sake of pleasing others. I've since gotten over that and it's a good thing.

My one year in the band seemed to satisfy everyone. Technically I'm a marching band alumni (sounds better than "quitter"). Four years later my sister, who was majoring in MUSIC of all things, didn't join the marching band and no one really fought her about it. So "You're welcome" Sade, I took one for the team there. Every football game I've gone to since leaving the band has resulted in a loss for WVU; a clear sign that I'm a curse and a good excuse to never attend one again. Not that I need an excuse because, as we've learned from all this, I do what I want.