Chapter One
"You know, when I look out into this crowd of teenagers , I see great musicians. I know you are all here because of one common goal, to become better and more magnificent players . and to have a little fun. I think of marching as not just the art of making kids run around at crazy speeds while playing the top hits of the 90's . I see it more as the art of crafting every one of you into the top players you are, and to unite you all into one fine-tuned machine, producing picture-perfect movements and ear-glistening sounds with your fine talents. No, I am not here to pummel you into the ground every time you miss a set. I am here to help you further your education in the arts .."
The dank band room of North Carrick fell silent. Poised on every word.
" ... But heck, maybe I just want you all to make-out and make sexual innuendo's to screw with your parents minds. Whichever you prefer."
An uproar of laughter bellowed through the dark band hall as the entire room full of teenagers holding awkward black cases fell to the ground in hilarity.
"Haha, yeah .. They always liked that one. Anyways, I know that most of you are quite concerned, well, with the band not having a director and all, but I'm pleased to announce that I, Mr. George Canterburry, am your new "Director of Music", if that's what the big-wigs call us nowadays. And my staff and I have prepared a WONDERFUL show for you guys, I really hope to have a lot of fun with the lot of you this year."
Mr. Canterburry was not but 26 years old, I knew this because it was in the band newsletter. His hair was gelled into soft waves, his hair still appeared wet from it, and he was wearing a bright red polo with "NC Marching Band" in gold embroidered in the left chest. He wore khaki cargo shorts, and judging by his legs, he must have ran an awful lot. He looked distressed, and a bit hot to say the least. Boy, that man was sweating like a pig in our poorly ventilated school. Felt sorry for the man, but of course no one had told him of the school's ineptitude to buy any sort of air conditioning device.
The band room also seemed a lot different since the leave of Mr. Kensington, our former band director. The man, who practically did not believe in the idea of laminated papyrus to cover the dark gray walls, was upstaged by old Mr. C who had plastered posters of any media onto it. Several of the typical "You can do it if you try" varieties, a few about determination, and the occasional "band award" scattered the cinder-block siding. On the back wall were 7 posters, each with a seniors name on them, including some rather interesting inside jokes.
On the front board was written "North Carrick MB Theme" and below it read "Robin Hood". At first, I had no idea what to make of this 'Robin Hood' character, all I know is that he stole my damn name and I was going to make him pay. But of course that was immature, but at least Cat thought it was funny when I whispered it to her while Mr. Canterburry was carrying on about how he will not tolerate poorly carried out freshman initiations.
"Wow, this man can really turn our band around, duncha think?" Obviously, Cat was paying more attention to his long speech than I was. I couldn't really give a response based on the 'make-outs and sexual innuendo's' part that I tuned into.
"I mean, he's got lots of great ideas, and he said we might even dance in our show this year! This is really cutting edge!" Well thank the Lord she kept talking, I had no idea how to respond.
"Well what I want to know is, how do we dance to ROBIN HOOD. I mean, was this guy some kind of flamer or pimp? Come on, someone clue me in!" I felt rather foolish as to being the only one in the room who had not heard of this Robin Hood character. But it wasn't as bad as when I announced in Music class that I had never seen nor heard of the Nutcracker.
"Well, Robyn, Robin Hood ." Mr. C chuckled at the ironic connection. "Yes, yes, Robin Hood was a man in the old Sherwood Forest who used to rob from the rich and give to the poor." I guess I appeared disinterested towards him, but he kept on flashing that smile of his and I thought it best to at least respond.
"Yes, but, how do we go about playing music for the old man? I mean, he ought to be dead by now, shant he?" Oh God, I was breaking out the 'old world' dialect.
"Ah, we're not playing for the man, Robyn. We're playing music from the movie, Robin Hood! You know, 'Everything I do', 'Robin Hood's Theme' .. stuff of that nature ." He slowly pointed his baton at the stereo in the left hand corner of a bookshelf that held old marching band tapes and a few rolls of guard tape. ".. Would you be so kind as to hit 'play' on that stereo, Rob? Then you'll hear just what I'm talking about."
I was expecting to hear the original orchestral version. No such luck. I later found out there was no such thing. Hm, what a shame.
"GAH! Jesus Christ!" I screamed when the bass drum was smacked on the tape. What the heck do they want to do, kill all the spectators on the first hit?
"Robyn, relax . it's just a big hit." Well, I could have told you that, Cat.
So we sat in the band room for a good 10 minutes, no one talking. A cough here and there, a scratch on the leg occasionally, and about 7 minutes in Pedro walked in late and was hurrying to get his saxophone together and sat down on the carpeted stairs. I kept looking around the room, meeting eyes with various people with the same thing on their minds, Why are we not outside . I don't need to listen to this damn recording. But I guess it was my fault for inquiring about the musical selection.
As the music faded out, I reached for my clarinet case and began to put it together, keeping my eyes off Mr. Canterburry who I knew was just ready to rant and rave about the wonderful music we were about to perform.
"Oh wow, don't you just love those woodwind parts? I bet you can't wait to play them." .. yeah, a LOT coming from a brass player .
Picking up his megaphone and holding it at his side, Mr. Canterburry proceeded to add, "All right guys, outside for Marching Fundamentals! Seniors and Jason, get the freshman all in a block and put the rest of the upperclassmen in their own, I'll be out in two minutes."
Mr.C took his megaphone and was waving it back and forth in front of his mouth saying 'hello' in an effort to make it work. I just sat there slowly screwing my clarinet together laughing. I hope I hadn't made it to hard on the old fellow, asking him about the music and all. He seemed like an understanding guy, maybe he would take us places.
"Come on Robyn, don't make me make you run laps!" It was Jason all right, wonderful Drum Major Jason. What I wouldn't give to just be allowed to flap my arms around all practice, oh what I wouldn't give.
I slowly applied my reed to the mouthpiece and screwed the ligature on tight. Then I took out my bottle of reed flavoring. Mmmmm . mint. Mr. Canterburry obviously noticed the scent in the air, by all the sniffling coming from his direction. I laughed again and offered him a lick, but he declined.
"You know, Robyn, out of all the school's I could have worked at, you want to know why I came to work here, back at my old Alma Mater?" I looked up from my mouthpiece and nodded my head yes. Gosh, this man loved to talk.
"You kids are so darn easy to work with. Why, you still all act as crazy and wild as I did back in '95. I know that's like an oxymoron, I mean . you're crazy and wild and yet you're easy to work with .. Heh heh . " I forced a laugh .. " .. but really, I love this school, I love this band, .. And hot damn I love you darn sarcastic kids!"
"Well, thanks Mr. C. Jus' letting you know, you might be getting a coupla' 'You're pretty straight' jokes at the beginning of the year with that hair. But hell, it's sexy to me, so that's all that matters, right? Band geek to band geek." I was of course, cluing into the sarcasm with that one.
"Ah you darn sarcastic kids."
I stood up and carefully stroked the cane of my reed to smooth it out as I walked towards the door. Of course, not without tripping over Mr. Canterburry's trumpet case and breaking my finely broken in reed. Oh drat, I guess I'd have to miss Marching Fundamentals. Darn you trumpet case, darn you.
Sarcasm, Sarcasm, Sarcasm.
"You know, when I look out into this crowd of teenagers , I see great musicians. I know you are all here because of one common goal, to become better and more magnificent players . and to have a little fun. I think of marching as not just the art of making kids run around at crazy speeds while playing the top hits of the 90's . I see it more as the art of crafting every one of you into the top players you are, and to unite you all into one fine-tuned machine, producing picture-perfect movements and ear-glistening sounds with your fine talents. No, I am not here to pummel you into the ground every time you miss a set. I am here to help you further your education in the arts .."
The dank band room of North Carrick fell silent. Poised on every word.
" ... But heck, maybe I just want you all to make-out and make sexual innuendo's to screw with your parents minds. Whichever you prefer."
An uproar of laughter bellowed through the dark band hall as the entire room full of teenagers holding awkward black cases fell to the ground in hilarity.
"Haha, yeah .. They always liked that one. Anyways, I know that most of you are quite concerned, well, with the band not having a director and all, but I'm pleased to announce that I, Mr. George Canterburry, am your new "Director of Music", if that's what the big-wigs call us nowadays. And my staff and I have prepared a WONDERFUL show for you guys, I really hope to have a lot of fun with the lot of you this year."
Mr. Canterburry was not but 26 years old, I knew this because it was in the band newsletter. His hair was gelled into soft waves, his hair still appeared wet from it, and he was wearing a bright red polo with "NC Marching Band" in gold embroidered in the left chest. He wore khaki cargo shorts, and judging by his legs, he must have ran an awful lot. He looked distressed, and a bit hot to say the least. Boy, that man was sweating like a pig in our poorly ventilated school. Felt sorry for the man, but of course no one had told him of the school's ineptitude to buy any sort of air conditioning device.
The band room also seemed a lot different since the leave of Mr. Kensington, our former band director. The man, who practically did not believe in the idea of laminated papyrus to cover the dark gray walls, was upstaged by old Mr. C who had plastered posters of any media onto it. Several of the typical "You can do it if you try" varieties, a few about determination, and the occasional "band award" scattered the cinder-block siding. On the back wall were 7 posters, each with a seniors name on them, including some rather interesting inside jokes.
On the front board was written "North Carrick MB Theme" and below it read "Robin Hood". At first, I had no idea what to make of this 'Robin Hood' character, all I know is that he stole my damn name and I was going to make him pay. But of course that was immature, but at least Cat thought it was funny when I whispered it to her while Mr. Canterburry was carrying on about how he will not tolerate poorly carried out freshman initiations.
"Wow, this man can really turn our band around, duncha think?" Obviously, Cat was paying more attention to his long speech than I was. I couldn't really give a response based on the 'make-outs and sexual innuendo's' part that I tuned into.
"I mean, he's got lots of great ideas, and he said we might even dance in our show this year! This is really cutting edge!" Well thank the Lord she kept talking, I had no idea how to respond.
"Well what I want to know is, how do we dance to ROBIN HOOD. I mean, was this guy some kind of flamer or pimp? Come on, someone clue me in!" I felt rather foolish as to being the only one in the room who had not heard of this Robin Hood character. But it wasn't as bad as when I announced in Music class that I had never seen nor heard of the Nutcracker.
"Well, Robyn, Robin Hood ." Mr. C chuckled at the ironic connection. "Yes, yes, Robin Hood was a man in the old Sherwood Forest who used to rob from the rich and give to the poor." I guess I appeared disinterested towards him, but he kept on flashing that smile of his and I thought it best to at least respond.
"Yes, but, how do we go about playing music for the old man? I mean, he ought to be dead by now, shant he?" Oh God, I was breaking out the 'old world' dialect.
"Ah, we're not playing for the man, Robyn. We're playing music from the movie, Robin Hood! You know, 'Everything I do', 'Robin Hood's Theme' .. stuff of that nature ." He slowly pointed his baton at the stereo in the left hand corner of a bookshelf that held old marching band tapes and a few rolls of guard tape. ".. Would you be so kind as to hit 'play' on that stereo, Rob? Then you'll hear just what I'm talking about."
I was expecting to hear the original orchestral version. No such luck. I later found out there was no such thing. Hm, what a shame.
"GAH! Jesus Christ!" I screamed when the bass drum was smacked on the tape. What the heck do they want to do, kill all the spectators on the first hit?
"Robyn, relax . it's just a big hit." Well, I could have told you that, Cat.
So we sat in the band room for a good 10 minutes, no one talking. A cough here and there, a scratch on the leg occasionally, and about 7 minutes in Pedro walked in late and was hurrying to get his saxophone together and sat down on the carpeted stairs. I kept looking around the room, meeting eyes with various people with the same thing on their minds, Why are we not outside . I don't need to listen to this damn recording. But I guess it was my fault for inquiring about the musical selection.
As the music faded out, I reached for my clarinet case and began to put it together, keeping my eyes off Mr. Canterburry who I knew was just ready to rant and rave about the wonderful music we were about to perform.
"Oh wow, don't you just love those woodwind parts? I bet you can't wait to play them." .. yeah, a LOT coming from a brass player .
Picking up his megaphone and holding it at his side, Mr. Canterburry proceeded to add, "All right guys, outside for Marching Fundamentals! Seniors and Jason, get the freshman all in a block and put the rest of the upperclassmen in their own, I'll be out in two minutes."
Mr.C took his megaphone and was waving it back and forth in front of his mouth saying 'hello' in an effort to make it work. I just sat there slowly screwing my clarinet together laughing. I hope I hadn't made it to hard on the old fellow, asking him about the music and all. He seemed like an understanding guy, maybe he would take us places.
"Come on Robyn, don't make me make you run laps!" It was Jason all right, wonderful Drum Major Jason. What I wouldn't give to just be allowed to flap my arms around all practice, oh what I wouldn't give.
I slowly applied my reed to the mouthpiece and screwed the ligature on tight. Then I took out my bottle of reed flavoring. Mmmmm . mint. Mr. Canterburry obviously noticed the scent in the air, by all the sniffling coming from his direction. I laughed again and offered him a lick, but he declined.
"You know, Robyn, out of all the school's I could have worked at, you want to know why I came to work here, back at my old Alma Mater?" I looked up from my mouthpiece and nodded my head yes. Gosh, this man loved to talk.
"You kids are so darn easy to work with. Why, you still all act as crazy and wild as I did back in '95. I know that's like an oxymoron, I mean . you're crazy and wild and yet you're easy to work with .. Heh heh . " I forced a laugh .. " .. but really, I love this school, I love this band, .. And hot damn I love you darn sarcastic kids!"
"Well, thanks Mr. C. Jus' letting you know, you might be getting a coupla' 'You're pretty straight' jokes at the beginning of the year with that hair. But hell, it's sexy to me, so that's all that matters, right? Band geek to band geek." I was of course, cluing into the sarcasm with that one.
"Ah you darn sarcastic kids."
I stood up and carefully stroked the cane of my reed to smooth it out as I walked towards the door. Of course, not without tripping over Mr. Canterburry's trumpet case and breaking my finely broken in reed. Oh drat, I guess I'd have to miss Marching Fundamentals. Darn you trumpet case, darn you.
Sarcasm, Sarcasm, Sarcasm.