I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again:

I hate electronics in drum corps and drumline.

Tonight I attended the DCI Quarterfinals broadcast in the theaters. As has been the trend of the past few years, synthesizers were utilized by several corps. Unfortunately, I don’t see this problem (yes, I view it as a problem) going away any time soon, which saddens me. And not only because drum and bugle corps should consist of percussion and horns (hence the name of the activity), but because of another reason, one I think is very important to this medium.

Drum and bugle corps is both a visual and audible medium. It relies on sound and corresponding visuals. If you look at the field, take note of what you see: horns, drums, mallet keyboards, tom-toms, percussion toys, timpani… do you see a violin? A piano? A full orchestra? No? Then where the hell is that sound coming from?

The sound generated by a synthesizer is distracting. Being a visual medium, my ears expect to hear what I’m seeing. If I hear an orchestra or a piano but don’t see one, my immersion into and my connection with the performance and the show itself have been compromised. Hearing something I don’t see is a distraction. It is so jarring that my connection to the show is suddenly broken and I become removed from what I see and hear on the field. I suddenly become focused on other things besides the show.

Oh, wait… you can see the synthesizer keyboard on the field, can’t you? Well, that’s fine and dandy, but what exactly does a synthesizer sound like? Generally, it’s supposed to sound like something else. A synthesizer’s job is to synthesize sounds. I’m not aware that a synthesizer has an identifiable sound, unless it’s the sound you get when you run a midi piano or a midi horn through some weird processor. But since the synthesizer keyboard is associated with more than just that processed sound reminiscent of prog rock from the 1980’s, any sound created by the electronic instrument is jarring and distracting.

Then there are the sound effects. Even more jarring because they are so incredibly out of place. The samples? The pre-recorded vocals? Out of place. Can’t see where they’re coming from, no one is actually performing them… distraction. In addition, these sounds don’t balance well with the acoustic instruments at all. They don’t complement each other. It’s like watching a Disney movie from the 1990’s: hand-drawn animation composited with obviously computer-generated graphics and animation. It causes an imbalance. This imbalance causes yet another distraction.

I realize I am only one man, but I do know this man isn’t the only one with the opinion that electronic instruments should not be part of the activity. Even if the activity of “drum and bugle corps” were changed to “music and movement”, I would still want to see the orchestra if I heard the orchestra. I want to see the woodwind players if I heard woodwind instruments.

A medium – any medium – has boundaries. These boundaries are what helps define the medium. Music consists of a tempo and rhythm. Without tempo, there is no rhythm, and without either you get a bunch of jumbled sounds. A painting is composed of colors applied with a brush, whether digital or physical. Comics are composed of silent, static images in a sequence. If you add movement, it becomes animation.

This is the same with drum and bugle corps. There are drums and there are horns. Along with this is the visual aspect: drill, body movement, and colorguard. What you see is what you get. Unfortunately, in this day and age of the activity, what I see is not what I’m getting. I’m getting more than what I see and it’s a distraction. It’s an imbalance.

It’s like taking two foods that you absolutely love separately but do not pair well together at all because, when paired, they just taste horrible.

On March 27, 2010, the Northern California Band Association (NCBA) held championships at Foothill High School in Pleasanton, CA.

And I was pissed for much of the day.

I always let my drumlines know that, at least for me, drumline isn’t just about drumming. It’s about class and responsibility, amongst other things. If a drumline has no class, if they act like rude, obnoxious idiots, I pretty much refuse to watch them. This falls in line with a philosophy I spout to every group–drumline or otherwise–I teach:

Make people want to watch you without playing a single note.

I think this is incredibly important. A musician should prove to be reliable, professional, and courteous when dealing with other musicians and his or her audience. Those traits can go a long way in both getting work and gaining a bigger audience. Acting rudely is not impressive, whereas acting with grace is impressive. Why? The former leaves a bad impression while the latter leaves a good impression. It’s that simple.

Unfortunately, at the Foothill show (no fault of Foothill, mind you), I contended with rude instructors and drumlines for much of the day.

Let’s take the parking lot, for example. If there’s plenty of room in the parking lot, don’t set up a mere yard or two away from another drumline if they were in that spot first! I cannot tell you how many times that has happened to my group this season, and from the same drumline, too. Yes, parking lot space can be tight, but unless you absolutely have to, you should set up in as isolated a spot as possible. As space gets tighter, then I understand a close setup, but in my experience space rarely gets so tight that extremely close proximity is necessary. Parking lots are already plenty loud without having an ensemble within arm’s reach playing right next to another. It’s rude. And rude instructors are responsible for this.

If you’re a drumline member, don’t walk around wearing group apparel or uniform, or handling your equipment, screaming and shouting like a two-year-old, and don’t cuss. Save that for the bus. Save that for the after party. Just don’t do it smack dab in the middle of the parking lot where everyone else can see you. Don’t do it when walking from one place to another: the lot to the competition area; the bus to the warm-up area. It shows a lack of class and disrespect for both the group and the people involved in helping the group operate. In the case of a school, it’s also disrespectful to the school.

Don’t walk through another drumline’s equipment or rehearsal area, especially when things are clearly sectioned off. For instance, if a drumline has laid out their floor (large tarp used for performing indoor shows), don’t walk on it! This has happened to my drumlines as well as others. It’s happened to colorguards. I heard that, during the Foothill show, even though the announcer asked the audience not to walk across the floor of the colorguard setting up for their performance, people did anyway, including a performing member from another group who allegedly ran across the floor to get to the other side of the gym. This is extremely disrespectful. It shows a lack of acknowledgment of another group’s space and the fact that they are working. In addition, walking through someone else’s equipment is cause for accidental damage.

It is the instructors that let this happen, either by allowing it, causing it, or not instilling in their members a sense of class and respect. Sometimes–maybe more often than not–it’s all three. And this is sad because these are the instructors that set the bad example for their members, members who may want to go on to become instructors themselves someday. It is these instructors that teach their members how to lead by their disrespectful example. It is these instructors that cause future instructors to teach others how to act in the same manner.

Everyone makes mistakes. I have made mistakes. In fact, at Foothill, the rudeness got to me and I vocalized my discontent to no one in particular (let’s leave it at that). I have apologized for that. But when instructors and drumlines make the same mistakes over and over, they can no longer be labeled mistakes. At that point, it’s just habit. I can forgive mistakes. I cannot forgive bad habits.

It makes me sad that my group, and a few others, are subjected to rudeness and a lack of class and respect because other drumlines care more about the drumming aspect of the activity and not the other aspects. This activity is more than that, and the lessons learned in this activity carry over to other aspects of life. For example, we often hear testimony of drum corps alumni that say they learned to work hard because of drum corps. But there are other lessons to be taught by instructors and learned by members. Working hard is a great trait, but I’m not sure many people want a hard working ass unless they need one to pull a carriage.

I apologize for the absence. I have a lot to blog about, but things have been pretty hectic lately, schedule-wise. Not an excuse, just a reason.

See, it’s indoor percussion competition season for me, and late February and all of March has been full of late rehearsals and busy, tiring weekends. West Campus, my only competitive school this year, has been putting together a very unique show (ever seen a drumline eat someone before?), and each week the goal was to have a different ending. There are technical, musical, visual, and overall design issues that need to be addressed, not to mention trying to make sure the abilities of the members continue to increase.

What makes the show unique isn’t just the shock value (did I mention eating someone during the show? I did? Alright, then). The caption head, Noah Clark, came up with an idea of doing a story-driven show about surviving in a deserted winter environment. There is a beginning, middle, and end to the story, with lots of acting.

That is the unique aspect of the show.

Most indoor percussion shows that I have seen in the past few years at the WGI level have been 6-minute drum feature, done in the vain of drum corps field shows. And that saddens me. Not that all indoor percussion shows have to have a story. In fact, done right, a simple theme and some visual interpretation of the music can make for a very good show. The problem is, a lot of the WGI shows consist of music that sounds like incidental score music for a movie, interspersed with several battery features.

Intro. Snare feature. Pit chords and runs. Tenor feature. Odd pit melody. Bass feature. Pit build. Battery impact. Ensemble music leading into the next snare feature. Etc.

You get the idea, right?

The problem with this is that it isn’t interesting to listen to or watch. When a show theme is present, say, medieval times, or “gone”, or computers, the theme is usually turned into a one-note gimmick that doesn’t get expanded on or developed. Instead, the audience is given several, similar reminders of the theme through the show to the point where the show repeats itself until the end. All set to forgettable (in many cases) music.

This isn’t the case for all shows. In fact, there are several non-WGI high school groups that have been trying to do interesting things in their shows. Not all are successful, but A for effort.

When putting together an indoor percussion show, I try to stick to some guidelines. Here are a relevant few:

1. It’s a show set to music, so the music had better be memorable, interesting, and captivating.
2. The show shouldn’t be repetitive. Motifs are one thing, but when the audience feels like they’re watching the same segment over and over for 6 minutes, it’s time to rethink the development of the show.
3. It’s not a frickin’ drum feature! If the show is an excuse to show off tricky licks and the monster chops of the line instead of the music and and its visual interpretation, then the show isn’t a show, it’s a drumline feature. This isn’t to say that the show can have those things, but unless the show is entitled, “Show Offs”, then it’s music first, cool licks second.
4. Never be afraid to experiment.

Noah pointed out that the talent and ability of present day drummers has come a long way since I first did a winter show (1994, folks. I have some students that were born that year). Unfortunately, show design hasn’t evolved into anything spectacular (don’t even get me started on electronics). Shows that are essentially field features don’t necessarily teach the members to be good musicians, just drummers with monster chops. And while chops are a good thing, they’re useless unless they are used to express via music.

I’ve tried writing something about this topic 4 or 5 times by now. It’s a tricky subject and one I think about a lot. After all, the goal is to pass on knowledge and wisdom to the students, right? As an added bonus, teaching helps one to understand and perform his or her craft better. I’m constantly analyzing my craft(s) and the ways I can convey concepts to my students. I want them to understand what I’m talking about, and that means I have to understand various teaching methods as well as the nuances of the craft itself.

Now, think about the above generalization. Think about that and then ask yourself, “If I call myself a teacher, am I really teaching?”

Allow me to be cut and dry here.

There’s teaching, teching, and instructing. Which one do you do by default?

Instructing is the base of all three categories. Quite simply, an instructor tells someone what to do. Since this is a drum blog, after all, I’ll “Play that again.” “Go hold a roll.” “Clean up the flams.” This, of course, is drum-related (it’s a drum blog, you know), but you’ve seen the stereotype of a bad teacher on TV: “Open your books to page 94 and start reading to the end of the chapter. Do the questionnaire at the end.” In basic, basic instruction, you can certainly show someone how to do something. Demonstration, for example, is a form of instructing; by demonstrating a method and giving a play-by-play of what you’re doing is basic instruction. Instruction, however, doesn’t always have to contain information other than instructions of what needs to be done.

Teching is the step up. It includes instruction but also offers a bit more information. For me, teching deals with the issues and problems at hand. Techs address these issues, offering both instruction and advice, but generally the lessons given are not global. That is, the lessons aren’t related to other, similar topics both inside and outside of the craft. For example, a tech will help the student fix an accented passage in a piece of music by may not generalize the concepts of playing accents so that the fix can be applied to other, similar situations.

Now, instructing and teching aren’t bad things. In fact, in the medium of competitive drumline, you get a lot of instruction and teching that are very narrow in focus, and depending on the time restraints, sometimes you just have to give instruction and hope that the students trust you know what you’re doing.

The problem is, I often see instructors and techs that default to these methods and still call themselves teachers.

Teaching is the final step up. It includes both teching and instructing, but whenever possible the lessons pertain to both the immediate issue and is also relatable on a global scale. Teachers will take narrowly focused information and offer to their students a way to apply it to other, similar situations. Fixing an accented roll in a passage of music can also have general drumming applications. There are analogous situations, too. I can’t count the number of times I’ve related the discipline of being in a drumline to becoming a disciplined student in school, or how respectful presentation learned in drumline is related to showing up to a job interview.

Global lessons lead to this point: a teacher should be imparting wisdom to the student, and that includes giving the tools to the student so that they will eventually be able to go out and teach themselves different things.

Having said all this, ask yourself again, “Am I a teacher?” If you call yourself a teacher, but the answer, according to what I’ve laid out here, is, “no,” then perhaps you should re-evaluate how you approach your students.