Ahh, junior year. No longer was I a lowly underclassman. I was almost 16
and about to get my license, and it was finally time to start checking out
colleges and deciding where I wanted to spend yet another four years of my
life. The year was already looking great, and it was only July. All my
classes were great (with the exception on chemistry) and I was looking
forward to everything about the year. Most of all, I was eagerly awaiting
marching season.
At the end of my sophomore year, our band director, Mr. Gunter, announced that our field show would be "Gloria" by John Rutter. As soon as he announced that I began anticipating the new season, because I was very familiar with the Gloria. My dad's church choir had performed it at Christmas a few years prior, and I could not stop listening to it. Something about the music impressed my intermediate musicianship as well as captured my attention and fed my craving for good classical music. When Mr. Gunter handed out the early revision of the opener at the end of the year, I had a blast playing it on my beat-up yet faithful, school-owned bass clarinet.
With the distribution of this new music, Mr. Gunter also announced some staffing changes that would be taking place the next year. The biggest change was that we would be acquiring the director from a rival band. Mr. Wilson would come alongside Mr. Gunter and the two of them would teach us equally. None of us really knew Mr. Wilson, but we knew of him and we'd seen the success of our rival's program with him as their director. So we accepted this somewhat happily.
That summer was when I made the decision to switch from the safety of bass clarinet to the vulnerability of trombone. I knew that the Gloria called for heavy brass, which our band didn't have at that point (most of the good trombone players had just graduated). So at the first rehearsal for new marchers, which I went to to help out, I asked Mr. Gunter what he would like me to play. He told me baritone, so that summer I devoted the little time I spent at home to learning to play the baritone. It was not an easy task. I discovered that brass was a lot different than woodwinds—a LOT different. For two months I struggled to learn baritone, and finally I was able to get decent enough sounds out to not humiliate myself at practice.
However, by the time I was actually able to get a decent sound out, I conveniently had to get my wisdom teeth out, which made me unable to play for a couple weeks. I was not excited about this because I knew I'd lose it if I took too much time off, since I'd just learned the instrument. But what can you do when your face is all swollen and you can't even smile?
And as much as I was looking forward to our new season, there was still the fact of last season. We had been in the big band division and had gotten completely devastated all season. There was a severe attitude of discouragement in the air for those of us who would be returning next year. We knew what we had to follow, we just didn't know how to follow it. Even though we'd moved back to our small band division, it would be hard to build back up after such a disappointing season. This feeling escalated as we dove headfirst into our new marching season.
At the end of my sophomore year, our band director, Mr. Gunter, announced that our field show would be "Gloria" by John Rutter. As soon as he announced that I began anticipating the new season, because I was very familiar with the Gloria. My dad's church choir had performed it at Christmas a few years prior, and I could not stop listening to it. Something about the music impressed my intermediate musicianship as well as captured my attention and fed my craving for good classical music. When Mr. Gunter handed out the early revision of the opener at the end of the year, I had a blast playing it on my beat-up yet faithful, school-owned bass clarinet.
With the distribution of this new music, Mr. Gunter also announced some staffing changes that would be taking place the next year. The biggest change was that we would be acquiring the director from a rival band. Mr. Wilson would come alongside Mr. Gunter and the two of them would teach us equally. None of us really knew Mr. Wilson, but we knew of him and we'd seen the success of our rival's program with him as their director. So we accepted this somewhat happily.
That summer was when I made the decision to switch from the safety of bass clarinet to the vulnerability of trombone. I knew that the Gloria called for heavy brass, which our band didn't have at that point (most of the good trombone players had just graduated). So at the first rehearsal for new marchers, which I went to to help out, I asked Mr. Gunter what he would like me to play. He told me baritone, so that summer I devoted the little time I spent at home to learning to play the baritone. It was not an easy task. I discovered that brass was a lot different than woodwinds—a LOT different. For two months I struggled to learn baritone, and finally I was able to get decent enough sounds out to not humiliate myself at practice.
However, by the time I was actually able to get a decent sound out, I conveniently had to get my wisdom teeth out, which made me unable to play for a couple weeks. I was not excited about this because I knew I'd lose it if I took too much time off, since I'd just learned the instrument. But what can you do when your face is all swollen and you can't even smile?
And as much as I was looking forward to our new season, there was still the fact of last season. We had been in the big band division and had gotten completely devastated all season. There was a severe attitude of discouragement in the air for those of us who would be returning next year. We knew what we had to follow, we just didn't know how to follow it. Even though we'd moved back to our small band division, it would be hard to build back up after such a disappointing season. This feeling escalated as we dove headfirst into our new marching season.