Pep Band

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... I have decided to tell you about something that goes on in my life.
... My irregular life as a musical geek.
... That I spend at Pep Band every few Friday nights.

Pep Band is something my school band does to help the cheerleaders cheer on the football team every time we have a home game. Usually, it consists of me getting together with my instrument section, buying absolute junk food, having a blast, then having a sugar hangover while cleaning the crud out of my horn the very next day.
   

Image courtesy of Park City High School

                 

1. fun |fən| noun

    Madly cramming Swedish Fish in your mouth while all of the other members of the section make       fun of the local high schools' football team

Hhmmmmmmmmmmm.........

Sounds like my Friday nights are better than yours.

One very special pep band was a night I will never forget. It was Homecoming, of course. Out of the four games we have had, that one is my outright favorite. To me, it was not just another game, but a night where it seemed as if everyone were floating on the clouds.

It all started on a Friday, which makes everything good automatically. After school, we had Marching Band practice (Marching Band IS A SPORT) to rehearse our part in our field performance. Unlike Pep Band, Marching Band is not required of band students, so only real band geeks were in Marching Band all summer. Out of the large assemblage of trombones the band program has, only seven were in Marching Band, consisting of me, my brother Nathan, Barski, Molly, Hunter, Jake, and Dominic. We all got really close over the summer, which made that night even better. After practice, the sweating cluster of instruments and players went into the instrument storage room to put horns away, although we all knew we'd be pulling them out again within three hours. 

Then after high-fives were given and the I-can't-wait-for-tonight's-performances were said, a group of us from Marching Band went to get food. I rode in Jake's car with Molly, Nathan, and Barski on the way to the restaurant. We had loads of fun, but mostly we made fun of the golden-oldies coming out of the car radio. Not only this, but because we were a car full of trombonists, we made jokes about the trumpets.

What is a gentleman?

Somebody who knows how to play the trumpet, but doesn't.

What do trumpet players use for birth control?

Their personalities. 

Why did the chicken cross the road?

To get away from the trumpet players.

How many trumpets does it take to change a lightbulb?

None. They can't reach that high.

How do you know when a trumpeter takes their kids to the playground?

They don't know how to swing.

Stop it, you're killing me! Alright, I'll stop, but I'm no murderer.

We are all also fans of cheesy jokes. Not many of us like corny ones, though. Although these are jokes about trumpets, there is one exception. The band directer, Mr. Taylor, is a trumpet player. He is an exception because he plays trumpet very well, plus he understands a ton of things about music. And he knows how to swing.  

When we got to the restaurant, we pulled a ton of tables together for other band geeks who were going to join us. Then we got in line for food, which I was thankful for, because after running around on a football field depriving my muscles of oxygen, I was hungry. When we sat down, there was an awkward silence other than the growls of stomaches and the clacking of teeth. As we devoured our food, others filled in the table around us, talking about the latest news and such.

As we sat at that table, it was a great environment to be put into. It felt like we were a large family that had one thing in common that made us the geeks and nerds at school, but here we were all just great friends with a love of music. Brett, one of the two Drum Majors, was with us, sharing stories of his experiences with music. Brett is an amazing bass player who also happens to sing jazz. He is one of the two best jazz singers I know today, and he is good, really good at it. 

- A Dirty Story - 

Once upon a time, I was leaving the restaurant with Jake and Quinn. We were his car again, laughing and poking fun at everything. Quinn, riding shotgun, was telling a story about something, and I made a comment that might have ticked him off, I'm not sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

Quinn - "F**k you!"

Me - "Now or later?"

Jake - "You can move to the back seat with her, and I'll keep my eyes on the road."

Awkward.

When we pulled into the school, we were late for Pep Band. I ran into instrument storage, hastily put together my trombone, and changed into my red t-shirt. I was really excited and jumpy, despite the Coca-Cola I had the previous hour. I ran into the main band room and grabbed a spot at the end of my section. We went through the pieces we played during the game and grabbed our things to leave. 

This is where the fun starts. It was Homecoming and the stands had the biggest audience than any other game, which made the circumstances better to play under because we wanted to sound good. As usual, the game started off with the school song and the first play in the game.  Since I don't understand football too well, I mostly chatted with my friends. Every once in a while, the band would play a tune directed by either Mr. Taylor or one of the Drum Majors. If you haven't been to one before, football games are really loud. In order to know what song we play, we have hand signals for the songs, similar to what the refs have on the fields. I have no clue how the band remembers what to play, because we have over 25 different signals, like two fingers for Number Two and an invisible sandwich for Eat 'Em Up.

We pretty much played and talked for the first quarter, but second quarter on was the best part of the night. At the beginning of the second quarter, Marching Band was excused from the stands to go to the band room and get ready for our field performance. We had to change into our spiffy uniforms in a blink of an eye, which was not easy due to the fact that our uniforms have multiple layers and parts. The entire band has the same pair of shoes called Speedsters. Then the overalls, similar to slacks but more durable. On top goes the splendid red jacket with glitter, but that's not it. We have matching white gloves we have to slip under the sleeves of our jacket without wrinkling either of them. Almost last, comes the glitter-covered gauntlets that velcro over the sleeves of our jackets. The most amazing part is the hat. It is a tall cylindrical  red hat with a black shiny bill. It has a small stripe of glitter and white on it, with a white plume on top. Putting on the hat basically defines the essence of life for the entire time we have the honor of wearing them.

After magically putting the fabric onto our bodies, we went outside, made an arch, and played through the performance with piano dynamics. Then we waited for half-time, our hearts beating in time to the drum line in the stands. Soon enough it came, and we marched onto the field. Have you ever felt like your liver turned into a snake that was crawling around your other internal organs just trying to screw things up for its own enjoyment? Yeah, that was basically me. We waited for the entrance beat from the drum line on the sidelines, in separate lines for where we stand. 

As the beat came, we marched onto the field with as much pride as our shaking snake-infested bodies let us have. We turned around, and the entire crowd was watching, although only momentarily. We burned through the first song, I Can't Turn You Loose. As usual, I was gasping for air as my burning muscles threatened to drop me on the ground. Then the drum beats for Starships had started. We somehow pulled this song off without to much of a problem. We made our formations, Darth Vader and a starship, and we were onto the last note. We turned around, headed off the field, and practically floated back to the band room. The performance was over.
 

  Image thanks to the Park Record

We took off of our uniforms, and waited for others to change out. The heavy breathing, the fast pulses, it was perfect. Everyone congratulated the seniors; they wouldn't march with us again. We then walked back to the stands, and continued to play through the game happily.

Game over. everyone put their stuff away and waited in the band room. Mr. Taylor ended the night with a "Good job, band," and also told us how people could hear us from three miles away. They would call to tell him the band sounded great from that distance.

Yeah, my Friday night literally sounded better than yours.