Grand Nai in detail part I
Right, um.
In my ninth grade year, I was sorted into concert band because that's just the way it goes. I was a flute back then, completely confident and sporting a bit of a tan, ready for my first game. However, I had to get through class first. Getting called out for a modes test did it for me; actually, it was the nerves. I jumped at the chance to switch, to change to anything but flute. I ended up being sattled with a bassoon. From then on, I moved up in ranks, but mostly because no one would stay long enough for me to get pulled down. Occassionally I'd have to teach someone, so I had partners, but I learned that double reeds were as sought for as they were fleeting--I learned to hold it down without being put down. From then on, partners annoyed me. Duty fulfilled (her section secure in the hands of a fourteen year old girl) my mentor left to do "bigger and badder" things-- such as pass the GHSGT and get a *Life.
A year and a summer of music, and I was moved up to Symphonic band. Apparently, due mainly to the concentration of egotistical underclassmen claiming this brand of pride, this band is cursed. The middle child, the expected upon, the band that holds all the ripe-for-the-pickin' kids. Generally, the curse breaks before big performances and, generally, the rants and sweat pay off. That year, I was alone again, and listening to the applause as our top band left for the Grand National Adjudicator's Festival without me. Implications to such a performance were not lost on me, nor my class, because all of these appearances would flow back to us anyway, right?
Now, a year or so after that Wind Ensemble performed at CSAS, I got to. Invitation. Wo-hoo. And I was annoyed when I had a partner. I was picked on because I should have been ripe. My entire class, and some of the left-overs from the other time, were under more pressure than the last band had been. This was the culmination of three years training, of countless rehearsals that led up to one night I'd marked on a calandar and still almost missed.
July-October 2005
"Of course you're in Wind Ensemble! You're the only one. We need you." Seemed to be the mantra. I was still a loyal junkie then, still marching, so I went along with it, dreading school.
Soon after, I stopped participating all together. I turned in my uniform, went to the games in civies; I spent my days in the back room chatting or "teaching" Bassoon to wannabes, betting with my two steadfast guys on which would last. On occassion, I stayed with the Symphonic Band and played flute. If the top band needed me, they'd ask or order me, but the audition was successfully rebuffed time after time. One day, I had no choice and I was entered into the ranks anyway. It took forever to break myself in, and W.E. was nothing like I'd thought it would be, what alumni warned me it'd be.
"When we had to go to Grand Nats, man, practice was hell!" and other such horror stories. All of which, I'd witnessed.
Imagine my surprise when, somewhere along the line, I'm informed we're invited again! And to think I was worried about Festival.
Up until
Songs went in and out of fashion. Reeds came and went. Festival came with a bang and the swish of a heavy curtain. Marches were voted on; sight reading workshops proposed; jokes passed and then there were the after-school rehearsals. Forget sports or jobs; deal with the other classes a student is supposed to endure. This is band--this is GRAND Nats!
Not all of them were what I'd hoped. Back in the day I remember having fun, staying passed the street lights. Now, though, there were people missing. No one knew if they'd be able to go, if they'd pay, if and when it was happening. Then another performance showed up right before. We accepted. Another chance to perfect the sets, to get a feel of what it'd be like on stage in front of VIP.
9:15 AM, April 23, 06
No later.
Of course, I'd told myself to pack a day ahead, so of course I had to double check around 8am anyway. My bag ended up being my dad's Army duffel bag and I packed clothes and pillows, books and my MP3. Then there were the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, food, instrument, music, socks, brush, camera. "Camping?" they asked.
Four hours or so on a bus full of band geeks? Yes, camping.
10:30 AM, April 23, 06
Lunch is a subway sandwich and chips. Will hands me his hat and a bag of chips. It had started raining and stragglers were entering the room with their civies and bags soaked. Somehow, I end up underneath the canopy of the academy, talking Titans with some close friends. Picnic.
10:30-11:15 AM, April 23, 06
Wasn't worried about timing. I spent most of the morning morning walking around.
Ooh. And then the Organ happened! My school owns one of at least 22 in the country--the only school in the state to posess one-- and they're upgrading it. Occasionally, when one gets lucky, it can be seen coming out of the floor through the trap door of the stage, a slow ascent usually accompanied by at least two men fiddling or playing with it. The techies usually look middle aged, casual. We don't bother them because they don't bother us; we hover on the shared stage, combined by music. It's one of the little secrets held in our auditorium, and I thought I'd known them all.
Yana came in, excited, and started raving about the back rooms. We thought we knew what she was talking about--the control room has panels for lights, for the screen, for the auditory system and we'd all snuck up there in our own time (up the stairs, past the manakins, through the usually locked door)-- but we didn't. The two doors on the side had never been opened and, so, we'd thought of them as being closets. They weren't full of brooms or boom boxes, extra light bulbs or even spare spot lights, but "Pipes and pipes and--ooh, ya gotta come see it!"
So, we did.
We were meant to stay on our hall, away from the Saturday School kids or other halls so we wouldn't get blamed (like we always do) by janitors. When we passed the commons to get into the theater, our directors stopped us; understandably, they were grinning when we gave them our reasons. Music to their ears.
The sound from the organ is always welcome, and the sight of it out is one I'll never get used to. The man playing it might have been new, but I could never tell. He was easy with it, with all his switches and pedals, and answered every question asked, if we asked it. Mostly, we just hopped on stage and watched or listened. The entire tuba section had already been oggling once I got there. He played songs from Phantom of the Opera the entire time--apart from that one Jazz bit where he even switched to a percussive sound when one of the SLs challenged him.
Listening was easy. The crowd swelled, thinned, rotated. Yana danced, the tubas gushed, and the rest of us watched and asked.
"How long have you played?"
"Fifteen years. Believe it or not, I didn't know didily about this until I started volunteering with the Society. I learned how it worked, how to play it, and here I am. People come from all over, but I get her on Saturdays."
"Yo," Yle quipped, "I bet I could get you on this."
"You probably can," he returned over a wonderfully executed crescendo. "There is one boy here who plays--"
"He play tuba?"
"I don't know."
"He's a senior?"
"Yes,"
"I know who you're talking about."
"His name was Will."
"Huh?" Will, who'd been chatting with someone, asked. "Oh, thanks." He plays french horn. He was not who Yle had been talking about but I learned something either way.
And, eventually, he took us up to the pipe rooms. He set up a synced song so we could see how it looked while it was working. It was interesting to see the complicated system behind the magic, crammed into room I'd never known existed. I should have brought my camera. Shutters connected to wires, connected to blocks, instruments, more wires, more blocks, air bags and pipes varying in size. The second room was deep, crammed with different sounds, and he explained that this was how the sounds were made in silent movies. There was a cowbell and a tuba in there. And only on the first level. "And the thing is, it'll be finished in a year."
I'd explored the level beneath the organ before, but the lights had been off so I hadn't seen how large it was either. It's and underworld for one instrument's survival.
11:30 AM, April 23, 06
We fight over buses. Coach. TV. Bathroom. AC. Cushy chairs. Same old Same old, but there are only two, and there are boundless combinations that can fill them. At first, it hadn't mattered, so long as everyone was happy with the people they'd be with. Then, the mom's announced that the Seniors had their own bus.
That bummed us out, seeing as how most of us had friends we'd be separated from, but we shrugged and gravitated towards the only bus left.
Then, the mom's announced that the bus the Senior's were to ride was the "lead."
Which would have been fine if said Seniors were not crowding around the one parked behind ours. Several shifts happen before things are exactly as they were and I put all three of my horns down as well as my duffel bag. If they want the lead (and they didn't, really) then their bus would just have to pull off before ours. We settle.
"Everyone here?"
"Steven and them said they're five minutes away."
We wait seven minutes. "You sure?"
"They said they were on the road when they called."
"Meaning they were on their way."
If they made it, I don't know, because they're Seniors.
"Before I forget," Mr. Render slapped his forhead. "Not to scare you guys, but one or two of the adjudicators couldn't make it. SO, they had to call in...and David Holsinger."
(Yana and Me: "NILESDANCE!" SQUEE) The bus dies and then slowly comes back to life in nervous giggles.
We leave twenty minutes later, never ones to be on time.
12:05 AM, April 23, 06
"If you're not here, raise your hand."
"Shut up and do the head count."
"Little late for that, ain't it?"
"Shut up and do the count, boy!"
"Five." the bus chants.
Eventually, "What?"
"Get the god damn head phones off your fat head and say ten!"
"What?"
Bus: "TEN!"
"Are we there yet?"
12:23 PM, April 23, 06
Because they're boys.
"Yo mama, man,"
"Don't start that."
"Why? You a mama's boy? She say I'm her man."
"Quit while you're ahead, Car. You don't want none of this from us!"
"Yeah, Car, you don't want to start baggin on Ter's mama. She say there ain't nothin' she hasn't done."
"Man! That--"
"Man, yo Mama..."
Eventually, "Enough with the mama jokes," Director says, "we have one present. Show some resepect."
(Mutter: "I'd show her something but she seen it all")
12:45 PM, April 23, 06
"You need to get that music out, that's what you need to do!"
"Leave that boy alone."
"Yo, what are you doin'?"
"He's writing from the score; Rich isn't here so his solo has to go to Risha."
"Where is he anyway?"
"He's 'sick' in Miami."
"Man, I'll be sick on him when he get back."
"...Shut up."
1:07 AM, April26, 06
...What am I, darlin'?
A whisper in your ear,
A piece of your cake?
"--her tone was so bad man, I don't know how--vippler, how the hell did you stand sittin' next to that? Iswea, if I was you, I'd tell her to quit."
"I didn't."
"You were too nice--makin her think she sounded good. It's prbably why she left."
"She don't even know who we're talking about."
"She don't need to. THey all like that."
"Hey!"
"You's a Bassoon now, girl, chill. I ain't talkin' bout you."
A boy you could fear,
Or your biggest mistake?
"You still talking about my sisters."
"And you still agreein'."
1:13 PM, April 23, 06
Distantly, loudly, "Everyone's asleep. It's a Saturday, get up!"
*drool*
1:45 PM, April 23, 06
"Blanket hog."
"Pillow hog."
2:12 PM, April 23, 06
"Y'all, look!"
"Man, King, if you don't shut--"
"We ain't in Georgia no more."
"Woo-hoo."
"Tennessee pretty."
"Woo-hoo."
2:30 PM April 23, 06
"What?"
"Grab your stuff, we're goin' in."
"Oh."
Then On.
Grand halls, huge bathrooms, near misses, DRESSing rooms, pictures, hair, dresses, more stenginess from Mini-Me. High heels.
We went to the warm up room, eventually.
The Apparently Appendix
*1--What one has when NOT enrolled in a band class, participating in music related activities, or generally selling ones soul.
TBC
Next: Dressing hazards, yellow chairs, stairs, the Performance, the glitch, the ghost, the Holsinger hour, the pictures, the Phat Bottom, the hair, the ride, the food, the tickets, the guns, the sing a long, the movie, the doze, the not-sleepy-anymore syndrom
In my ninth grade year, I was sorted into concert band because that's just the way it goes. I was a flute back then, completely confident and sporting a bit of a tan, ready for my first game. However, I had to get through class first. Getting called out for a modes test did it for me; actually, it was the nerves. I jumped at the chance to switch, to change to anything but flute. I ended up being sattled with a bassoon. From then on, I moved up in ranks, but mostly because no one would stay long enough for me to get pulled down. Occassionally I'd have to teach someone, so I had partners, but I learned that double reeds were as sought for as they were fleeting--I learned to hold it down without being put down. From then on, partners annoyed me. Duty fulfilled (her section secure in the hands of a fourteen year old girl) my mentor left to do "bigger and badder" things-- such as pass the GHSGT and get a *Life.
A year and a summer of music, and I was moved up to Symphonic band. Apparently, due mainly to the concentration of egotistical underclassmen claiming this brand of pride, this band is cursed. The middle child, the expected upon, the band that holds all the ripe-for-the-pickin' kids. Generally, the curse breaks before big performances and, generally, the rants and sweat pay off. That year, I was alone again, and listening to the applause as our top band left for the Grand National Adjudicator's Festival without me. Implications to such a performance were not lost on me, nor my class, because all of these appearances would flow back to us anyway, right?
Now, a year or so after that Wind Ensemble performed at CSAS, I got to. Invitation. Wo-hoo. And I was annoyed when I had a partner. I was picked on because I should have been ripe. My entire class, and some of the left-overs from the other time, were under more pressure than the last band had been. This was the culmination of three years training, of countless rehearsals that led up to one night I'd marked on a calandar and still almost missed.
July-October 2005
"Of course you're in Wind Ensemble! You're the only one. We need you." Seemed to be the mantra. I was still a loyal junkie then, still marching, so I went along with it, dreading school.
Soon after, I stopped participating all together. I turned in my uniform, went to the games in civies; I spent my days in the back room chatting or "teaching" Bassoon to wannabes, betting with my two steadfast guys on which would last. On occassion, I stayed with the Symphonic Band and played flute. If the top band needed me, they'd ask or order me, but the audition was successfully rebuffed time after time. One day, I had no choice and I was entered into the ranks anyway. It took forever to break myself in, and W.E. was nothing like I'd thought it would be, what alumni warned me it'd be.
"When we had to go to Grand Nats, man, practice was hell!" and other such horror stories. All of which, I'd witnessed.
Imagine my surprise when, somewhere along the line, I'm informed we're invited again! And to think I was worried about Festival.
Up until
Songs went in and out of fashion. Reeds came and went. Festival came with a bang and the swish of a heavy curtain. Marches were voted on; sight reading workshops proposed; jokes passed and then there were the after-school rehearsals. Forget sports or jobs; deal with the other classes a student is supposed to endure. This is band--this is GRAND Nats!
Not all of them were what I'd hoped. Back in the day I remember having fun, staying passed the street lights. Now, though, there were people missing. No one knew if they'd be able to go, if they'd pay, if and when it was happening. Then another performance showed up right before. We accepted. Another chance to perfect the sets, to get a feel of what it'd be like on stage in front of VIP.
9:15 AM, April 23, 06
No later.
Of course, I'd told myself to pack a day ahead, so of course I had to double check around 8am anyway. My bag ended up being my dad's Army duffel bag and I packed clothes and pillows, books and my MP3. Then there were the essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, food, instrument, music, socks, brush, camera. "Camping?" they asked.
Four hours or so on a bus full of band geeks? Yes, camping.
10:30 AM, April 23, 06
Lunch is a subway sandwich and chips. Will hands me his hat and a bag of chips. It had started raining and stragglers were entering the room with their civies and bags soaked. Somehow, I end up underneath the canopy of the academy, talking Titans with some close friends. Picnic.
10:30-11:15 AM, April 23, 06
Wasn't worried about timing. I spent most of the morning morning walking around.
Ooh. And then the Organ happened! My school owns one of at least 22 in the country--the only school in the state to posess one-- and they're upgrading it. Occasionally, when one gets lucky, it can be seen coming out of the floor through the trap door of the stage, a slow ascent usually accompanied by at least two men fiddling or playing with it. The techies usually look middle aged, casual. We don't bother them because they don't bother us; we hover on the shared stage, combined by music. It's one of the little secrets held in our auditorium, and I thought I'd known them all.
Yana came in, excited, and started raving about the back rooms. We thought we knew what she was talking about--the control room has panels for lights, for the screen, for the auditory system and we'd all snuck up there in our own time (up the stairs, past the manakins, through the usually locked door)-- but we didn't. The two doors on the side had never been opened and, so, we'd thought of them as being closets. They weren't full of brooms or boom boxes, extra light bulbs or even spare spot lights, but "Pipes and pipes and--ooh, ya gotta come see it!"
So, we did.
We were meant to stay on our hall, away from the Saturday School kids or other halls so we wouldn't get blamed (like we always do) by janitors. When we passed the commons to get into the theater, our directors stopped us; understandably, they were grinning when we gave them our reasons. Music to their ears.
The sound from the organ is always welcome, and the sight of it out is one I'll never get used to. The man playing it might have been new, but I could never tell. He was easy with it, with all his switches and pedals, and answered every question asked, if we asked it. Mostly, we just hopped on stage and watched or listened. The entire tuba section had already been oggling once I got there. He played songs from Phantom of the Opera the entire time--apart from that one Jazz bit where he even switched to a percussive sound when one of the SLs challenged him.
Listening was easy. The crowd swelled, thinned, rotated. Yana danced, the tubas gushed, and the rest of us watched and asked.
"How long have you played?"
"Fifteen years. Believe it or not, I didn't know didily about this until I started volunteering with the Society. I learned how it worked, how to play it, and here I am. People come from all over, but I get her on Saturdays."
"Yo," Yle quipped, "I bet I could get you on this."
"You probably can," he returned over a wonderfully executed crescendo. "There is one boy here who plays--"
"He play tuba?"
"I don't know."
"He's a senior?"
"Yes,"
"I know who you're talking about."
"His name was Will."
"Huh?" Will, who'd been chatting with someone, asked. "Oh, thanks." He plays french horn. He was not who Yle had been talking about but I learned something either way.
And, eventually, he took us up to the pipe rooms. He set up a synced song so we could see how it looked while it was working. It was interesting to see the complicated system behind the magic, crammed into room I'd never known existed. I should have brought my camera. Shutters connected to wires, connected to blocks, instruments, more wires, more blocks, air bags and pipes varying in size. The second room was deep, crammed with different sounds, and he explained that this was how the sounds were made in silent movies. There was a cowbell and a tuba in there. And only on the first level. "And the thing is, it'll be finished in a year."
I'd explored the level beneath the organ before, but the lights had been off so I hadn't seen how large it was either. It's and underworld for one instrument's survival.
11:30 AM, April 23, 06
We fight over buses. Coach. TV. Bathroom. AC. Cushy chairs. Same old Same old, but there are only two, and there are boundless combinations that can fill them. At first, it hadn't mattered, so long as everyone was happy with the people they'd be with. Then, the mom's announced that the Seniors had their own bus.
That bummed us out, seeing as how most of us had friends we'd be separated from, but we shrugged and gravitated towards the only bus left.
Then, the mom's announced that the bus the Senior's were to ride was the "lead."
Which would have been fine if said Seniors were not crowding around the one parked behind ours. Several shifts happen before things are exactly as they were and I put all three of my horns down as well as my duffel bag. If they want the lead (and they didn't, really) then their bus would just have to pull off before ours. We settle.
"Everyone here?"
"Steven and them said they're five minutes away."
We wait seven minutes. "You sure?"
"They said they were on the road when they called."
"Meaning they were on their way."
If they made it, I don't know, because they're Seniors.
"Before I forget," Mr. Render slapped his forhead. "Not to scare you guys, but one or two of the adjudicators couldn't make it. SO, they had to call in...and David Holsinger."
(Yana and Me: "NILESDANCE!" SQUEE) The bus dies and then slowly comes back to life in nervous giggles.
We leave twenty minutes later, never ones to be on time.
12:05 AM, April 23, 06
"If you're not here, raise your hand."
"Shut up and do the head count."
"Little late for that, ain't it?"
"Shut up and do the count, boy!"
"Five." the bus chants.
Eventually, "What?"
"Get the god damn head phones off your fat head and say ten!"
"What?"
Bus: "TEN!"
"Are we there yet?"
12:23 PM, April 23, 06
Because they're boys.
"Yo mama, man,"
"Don't start that."
"Why? You a mama's boy? She say I'm her man."
"Quit while you're ahead, Car. You don't want none of this from us!"
"Yeah, Car, you don't want to start baggin on Ter's mama. She say there ain't nothin' she hasn't done."
"Man! That--"
"Man, yo Mama..."
Eventually, "Enough with the mama jokes," Director says, "we have one present. Show some resepect."
(Mutter: "I'd show her something but she seen it all")
12:45 PM, April 23, 06
"You need to get that music out, that's what you need to do!"
"Leave that boy alone."
"Yo, what are you doin'?"
"He's writing from the score; Rich isn't here so his solo has to go to Risha."
"Where is he anyway?"
"He's 'sick' in Miami."
"Man, I'll be sick on him when he get back."
"...Shut up."
1:07 AM, April26, 06
...What am I, darlin'?
A whisper in your ear,
A piece of your cake?
"--her tone was so bad man, I don't know how--vippler, how the hell did you stand sittin' next to that? Iswea, if I was you, I'd tell her to quit."
"I didn't."
"You were too nice--makin her think she sounded good. It's prbably why she left."
"She don't even know who we're talking about."
"She don't need to. THey all like that."
"Hey!"
"You's a Bassoon now, girl, chill. I ain't talkin' bout you."
A boy you could fear,
Or your biggest mistake?
"You still talking about my sisters."
"And you still agreein'."
1:13 PM, April 23, 06
Distantly, loudly, "Everyone's asleep. It's a Saturday, get up!"
*drool*
1:45 PM, April 23, 06
"Blanket hog."
"Pillow hog."
2:12 PM, April 23, 06
"Y'all, look!"
"Man, King, if you don't shut--"
"We ain't in Georgia no more."
"Woo-hoo."
"Tennessee pretty."
"Woo-hoo."
2:30 PM April 23, 06
"What?"
"Grab your stuff, we're goin' in."
"Oh."
Then On.
Grand halls, huge bathrooms, near misses, DRESSing rooms, pictures, hair, dresses, more stenginess from Mini-Me. High heels.
We went to the warm up room, eventually.
The Apparently Appendix
*1--What one has when NOT enrolled in a band class, participating in music related activities, or generally selling ones soul.
TBC
Next: Dressing hazards, yellow chairs, stairs, the Performance, the glitch, the ghost, the Holsinger hour, the pictures, the Phat Bottom, the hair, the ride, the food, the tickets, the guns, the sing a long, the movie, the doze, the not-sleepy-anymore syndrom