Dominic’s POV I woke up this morning and something wasn’t right. I looked below my bunk. Matt was there sleeping happily and soundly. I then tried to get out of my bunk. Once I got down, my head felt light headed. My stomach was doing turns and I felt like I
Standing backstage, mentally going through every measure of music for our performance, me and the other percussionists representing Prosper were about to play our three ensembles that we prepared for the North Texas Percussion Festival. With the group before us finishing their last song, we were all
The music started playing like I’ve heard before time and time again, morning practice after morning practice. In that moment I wanted to win. We deserved to win no matter what size of band we were, we worked to get into finals and I wanted to put on the best performance of the season. I took my first step into my spot on the squishy turf field and did what I’ve done multiple times before. Next thing I know I’m in my position on the field playing my last chord of our performance feeling utterly exhausted and like I’ve just ran a marathon. I felt like we all gave it everything we had and then the crowd stands up and gives us a standing ovation. It was the most incredible feeling I had ever gotten. At that moment everything seemed worth it, all of the six a.m. practices, the two weeks of band camp, running through the same sets over and over again in the ninety degree weather. Everything seemed like it wasn’t that bad, I didn’t want to be anywhere else in that moment. Then I heard the snare drum, amongst all of the applause, leading us off of the field. Once we were off everybody was tearing up and saying that they gave that performance all they had. Now all we had to do was wait until all of the others were done performing until we could figure out what we got. It was pure torture
Standing on stage behind The Philadelphia Orchestra, I peered into the empty auditorium. The red velvet-lined seats were plush; the crown molding was elegant and classic. As I stood on the stage of Carnegie Hall’s Isaac Stern Auditorium, I wished I had smuggled my camera onstage to capture the scene from my vantage point as some of my fellow choristers of The Philadelphia Singers had done. Here I was, at the mere age of twenty-five, performing on the same stage as musical greats such as Enrico Caruso, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Yo-Yo Ma, Joni Mitchell, and Itzhak Perelman. In the moment I felt scared and excited, and unsure I even deserved to be there. Despite the magnitude of the event, I felt eerily calm and prepared for this performance. As I gazed into the closed house with wonder and awe, I reminisced on the events that led me here in May of 2012.
The concert ended with a very energetic song, which all the musicians in the stage played in. This arrangement was very rock/country like. A vocalist accompanied the orchestra. His vibrant personality and style of singing help the audience really engage in the
Just a few days ago we were heading in the opposite direction. When I say “we” I mean all of us, the whole band. It’s a sort of mentality that was driven into us since sixth grade, that we are a collective unit and are only as strong as our weakest player. I was once again alone in my bus seat with my headphones on, blasting some sort of screaming music into my already damaged ears. Even though it was still day I slept away most of the trip. The bus was heading towards Indianapolis; the Godwin Heights marching band of 2010 was having its final hurrah at the Lucas Oil Stadium. We had just got first at the Ford Field House which was hosted by The Michigan Competing Band Association, and our hopes were high to repeat that. The show that year was
The Rachel Hillman Band Concert As discussed throughout this course music is a bridge that brings people together. As I sat through this concert I looked around and noticed that there was a great mixture of cultures and races attending despite the small attendance for the event. Socially I noticed that people were conversing and laughing with one another. Parents were engaging and being attentive to their young children as they ran around on skates and scooters. It made an impression on me that it was a time that for many people, was a bonding experience. Memories were being made for people of all ages.
Marching season is one of my favorite parts of the school year. With marching season comes homecoming and during the homecoming game the band has to sit on the ground bleachers because of the amount of people who come to that game compared to the other games. We were excited for the game because we were about to present how hard we had worked in preparation to make everything look and sound good.
Of course, their entry was welcomed with cheering, but then suddenly, the signer asked us to be silent. He pulled out his classical guitar and started to play their most beautiful song as the other members of the group were adjusting to his music with little or no instrument. The moment he begun the signing part, the whole theater was hanging from his lips. In my whole life, I had never heard such a beautiful and light voice as his. It was like the most perfect sound in the world. Of course I recorded it on my cellphone but today, when I listen to it, it’s nothing compared to the live
For the remainder of the month we got together three times a week to write, rehearse and iron out details of the show. That was one of the most stress filled, exciting months of my life. On one hand the pressure of the show gave us motivation to make more progress in music that i feel like i ever had in my entire life, but on the other hand that creeping feeling that we weren't going to be prepared enough by the time the show rolled around was just as constant. After weeks of stress filled practices and promoting the show to our friends and family, and around town, the night was finally
I have always wanted to play an instrument and be a member of the band. The Bangor Elementary School band had a concert three times a year. When I walked through the doors the first concert I saw I remember all I saw was a stage full of students and stage lights reflecting off the shiny brass instruments. Moving to a new school the following year I had to decide on an activity I wanted to be involved in. Sports weren't a big interest of mine in elementary school since I was riding horses and it was hard for me to stay after school with my parents work schedule. After this concert band was a possibility.
It was mid-September but it was still 90 degrees. The blistering heat mixed with the 100% humidity and the approaching thunderstorm made for a typical marching day.We were in the band room. You know, the room where all the music nerds carry on. Where the tears of anger, pain, joy and happiness are shed. The room with the old musty, dirty, smell and the floor that is engulfed in everyone’s spit and dirt. The enter if you dare room.You know the one right? Everyone was getting their marching uniforms on. Pristine, clean, and ready for a miserable but yet heartwarming show. The freshman’s first band show and the seniors last. Thunder over Aurora band show is supposed to be like no other but the day was about to change. Our heavy metal halftime
Sitting down, I could see what I was feeling in everyone else’s faces: “Yikes,” and, “I’m just going to zone out for the rest of the concert in order to recover from that disaster.” It made me feel a little sick to know that I had performed badly, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that none of the people there really cared about me as an individual.
I was in a sea of people, all jumping to the beat of the music. Sure, some of the people had never heard the songs and were just present, but most people, including myself, were having the time of their lives. From one song to the next, people were crowd surfing and dancing as if they would never run out of energy. My older sister, Janelle, was by my side, traveling across the vast lawn from one stage from another. Live music was practically booming all around me from all kinds of artists, with the sun beating down mercilessly.
In my church’s charity event, I stand behind a microphone and a music stand. My ears hear clamorous noises. I am waiting for what seems like an eternity. To my left, I hear high-pitched vocal warm-ups. To my right I hear blasting and loud eruptions from the tuning of instruments that vibrate the stage. At a distance I hear low beats and piercing crashes, with occasional hums and heels of bass. Finally, it is time to start. I cough a little to prepare my voice. The whole ensemble sits in silence, observing and anticipating. I see the rhythm of the director’s hands moving in a beat to give us singers the tempo. All at once, an army of voices starts singing in harmony. On my left, I hear a perfect euphony of high-pitched and low-pitched singing.