Finally, a book about the band dorks. And I thought the only portrayal of us during my lifetime would be “American Pie” – clearly not the most flattering depiction.
As a trumpet player for seven years, it’s fair to say I have an appreciation for music and band. I participated in every band activity offered at some point throughout my high school career: marching band, wind ensemble, orchestra, jazz band and pit orchestra.
What irked me throughout high school was how incredibly funny everyone thought “this one time at band camp” jokes were.
I wasn’t ever really offended – just annoyed because no one had any idea the amount of time and sweat that went into band camp. Ten-hour days, early mornings, late nights, aching legs and heat stroke were just a few of band camp woes. Of course, there were certainly fun times, but they didn’t involve some pervert shoving instrument parts in crevices of any type, much less genitalia.
But here is an opportunity for all proud marching band members, past and present, to redeem their names as hard-working, talented artists. Thanks to author Kristen Laine’s “American Band,” things may turn around.
Her book takes a closer look at the adversity band members must go through to put on a five- to eight-minute show. Hours of critiquing and practicing are rewarded by the blast of applause they receive once they are leaving the stadium, filled with proud band parents.
But band geek accusers don’t see this side. They see someone carrying a heavy, wool uniform over their shoulder with an awkward bucket hat to match. They see them duck into the band room at the end of the day, not realizing they’ll practice again for just one more shot at the solo they know they deserve.
Band is like any sport. It’s about the lingo, the culture, the drive and the enjoyment of winning. It’s not a dorky hobby people with no other options fall into. It takes talent, motivation and thick skin.
While the Spartan Marching Band receives an uproar of applause as they stomp onto the field, high school bands may get a glance or two from other, non-band students. But there’s hope with those who do appreciate the art, and for that, I thank them.
I’m no longer playing my trumpet, except for the occasional urge to play the “Star-Spangled Banner” (one of the only songs I remember how to play by heart). But I will always remember my band days fondly and the times I had leaving competitions with sweat dripping down my face, thinking, “Job well done.”
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