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DCI's 2008 season in review


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Good week-later, fellow DCP'ers!

I have been savoring the 2008 season this past week, like something of a late-night brandy. All the while I have replayed each show in my mind's eye, formulating my season-ending thoughts to share. Even though many folks here are well into their 2009 "thoughts," I thought the one week mark of the season's end was a fine time to offer one more round of recollection.

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Just how many people in the DCI world are breathing sighs of relief about the 2008 campaign? It surely didn't seem, early in the year, that the season just completed would have concluded in such high celebratory fashion. In this case, the third strike from the batters box was an into-the-fans-hands homer.

The first two strikes were unexpected: Drum Corps International's move to Indianapolis was completed, but Lucas Oil Stadium was not; and then the University of Indiana at Bloomington field "erupted." The third strike, some feared, when it came, might be the final blow for the activity's championship event.

Precision in event execution prevailed, much like the precision that comes in the final two weeks of a unit's competitive regime. The season was not only salvaged; it was sensational!

For starters, while every fan with any vintage palpated over Phantom Regiment's revisiting "Spartacus" -- real music, remember the drama -- only Rockford's crew had the vision to turn a scored performance into activity-wide acclaim, with lethal timing for the rest of the competitive field. Taking a shell game programming tact, the design and production staff teased, taunted, and trickled out expanding plot, effect -- indeed mis' en scene -- for six weeks. Blockbuster perceptions grew, as did scores, until ... Allentown. The "Roman armies" and their abjectly-abused "slaves" retreated into the trenches for four days, planning their final battle of the summer war.

They came out fighting. With music and percussion well in hand, Phantom had found the heart-pounding essence of the colossal tale, and then became subservient to its power. The effects overwhelmed; the scores soared. "I ... AM ... SPARTACUS" became the narrative message of the year, not to mention the most spoken line in Bloomington all week. Slavish fan adoration became lightning-rod exhilaration at every turn. Regiment responded.

The drum and bugle corps activity prevailed!

(Three years ago, a programming side-step by the corps seemed delicious aberration. In the breath-catching aftermath of this immense contribution to the idiom's canon, the French-accented "Rhapsody," a winner in its own right, presaged the dramatic structure from which "Spartacus" grew.)

The season-long presumptive champion Blue Devils teetered on its high-wire balancing act conceit, only to acquiesce the title by an artistically absurd .025. I was sent rummaging through my library for parallels, for descriptions, for context in which to frame this loose, wild, imaginative folly. Alfred Camus' philosophical notion helped: "What is absurd is the confrontation of this irrational and wild longing for clarity whose call echoes in the human heart...." Theatre of the Absurd, which held such defining playwrights as Samuel Beckett and Jean Genet, supplied the Devils with "broad comedy, often similar to Vaudeville ... characters caught in hopeless situations forced to do repetitive or meaningless actions ... clichés and nonsense; cyclical or absurdly expansive plots; and parody (at least) or dismissal of realism."

Even though I often viewed the program as if the yard lines were in fact high wires on which the corps was forced to balance, and that the rollicking, running drill implied something of a constantly moving safety net, by season's end, and with classic drum corps restating the obvious strengths of the corps, I wanted more absurdity.

Someone fall, I wanted to yell at the field; imagining a coalescing squadron of corps members scooping up their colleague and setting them right to continue the performance. And I really think that the mirror imagery portrayal of Mr.Stickman at shows end needed to be either more powerful or, frankly, more cheeky. What if the human stickman had become the flat pattern stickman, rather the the corps rushing the sideline for obvious effect. I know, the move was intended for its absurd effect. Heh.

A howling success, the Devils' reinvented much of what has become expected of the unit to grand achievement. But in the end, having nothing to do with my absurd desires of the show, "Constantly Risking Absurdity" felt like an insider's show. Something akin to Robert Altman's movie "The Player," with the ensuing, and critically exhaustive, praise that was lavished on it. "Best movie ever made," shouted one critic. The absurdist black comedy about the movie industry was to yield the Oscar bounty that had eluded the director. By awards season however, with spectacular reviews as credentials, it fell just short.

See, I told you someone needed to fall!

In the Olympic-style quest for drum corps gold, for titles, there was some perception that The Cavalier's bronze represented a fall from grace. Best steer clear of both Samurais and that stylish horn player, if you did. Too much of a good thing was at play with this century's most honored corps at its 60th anniversary, as it was this season overall.

The Cavaliers brought to the field what got 'em here: detailed design and pixelated precision, nuanced arrangements and symphonic sound. And it was all wrapped in an exquisite Japanese veneer. The recherche rumblings from the percussion that evoked the eastern nation and its customs hushed stadiums nationwide; drum corps ears perked at the invention. There is no escaping the visual depth and pleasure from this machine each season; but honestly, no matter how eastern ethnic the design, the "Bond" that exists in, and between these men, will never waiver.

So much so, that at a dinner preceding championship week, alumni of the Cavalier brotherhood pledged a half million dollars towards the corps, before its ranks filed on field at after semi finals for a audio-visual history of the Scout troop-founded unit.

More than a victory, this was a gold-silver-bronze year for the men, for the organization and for its future.

What composer Antonio Salieri was to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Carolina Crown's phenomenal color guard was to the corps proper this year: a wincing, royal pain in the performing aspects! Give it up for the full-throated brass; all praise the ever-improving percussion; and gasp at the obvious general effect of yet another marvel of drum corps confection; but when the guard (as I heard a staff member implore the unit prior at one show to do) "busts'a move," the ridiculous-wonder of the ridiculous-wonderkind Salieri beamed!

Okay, so "Finis" was read, and was often perceived as an attempt to be the all-endings-to-end-all-be-all. But this grand finale was, in fact, a nod to the drum corps' catalogue of endings-to-end-all, so in performance before a drum corps crowd (as distinguished from a crowd of high school band students), this wholly true-to-the-idiom, tongue-in-cheek program was musical/visual nirvana -- "an ideal condition of joy."

The high-bred imprint of drum corps' years was picked, parsed, and praised all season with nightly standing ovations.

But back to that color guard for just a minute. As wonderfully wacky as the performers were in that "Carol Burnett Show" parody kind of way, the guard became gaspingly evocative throughout "Claire de Lune/Somewhere," before stripping down to its 1970's essence to absolutely tear the roof off the sucker during the finale montage. High concept design plus superior training proffered the head-shaking levels of execution, character, and humor. I can't resist it: as Parliament sang it, Carolina Crown is "standing on the verge of getting it!"

There was genuine championship narrative to The Cadets' show, but like last year it took a full competitive season to find it. No one missed it, but "the pursuit of happiness" narrative that rang true, and that moved many of us to genuine tears, was as old as is the corps on the precipice of its 75th anniversary.

If the 2008 journey of the world class performers, as it showed in their upward-turned faces to the crowd in the show-ending company front championship week, was not a plot-filled narrative of their "pursuit of happiness," well then, you just don't bleed the drum and bugle corps experience. Group hug for the herculean accomplishment.

It might be taken from the late season announcement of the corps' 2009 show, "Lenny," that the music of Maestro Bernstein would not suggest augmentation by human voice. But if it does -- and I agree with corps director Mr. Hopkins that spoken voice can have a place in this activity -- the design team needs look no further than to its alumni ranks to make it work. Former color guard member Dean Broadbent, a winter guard programming wizard, has interjected dialogue to spectacular effect into several programs of Florida's Flanagan High School, the 2008 Scholastic World champion. Just ask him.

I am a sap. I believe in comebacks, in miracles, and in second chances. So when I realized that the ever popular Bluecoats' "The Knockout" was the activity's first "Movie of the Week," I was more than happy to go with the flow. Sure, we all knew the ending the moment we read the shows title months ago, so just like the ABC television phenomenon, the show became all about "getting there."

And as the Ohio corps does every single year; get there, it did. Round 1 pleasures: the drum corps basics; quality brass, percussion, and visuals (especially the marvelous recurring "boxing ring" image). Round 2 journey: theatricality in drum corps will be a new caption before we know it, the level of accomplishment in character and drama is better every year. I'll hand it to the young men in the guard who found out they were to become the "boxers" two weeks before move-in; while they did not have the requisite physique for the roles, they more than made up for it in relentless dedication. Final round: "The Knockout" did; becoming drum corps' thrillingly inspirational "Brian's Song."

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By name and historic record, the list of the second six this year could be confused with a top six of many years. This was a good year in drum corps. The Santa Clara Vanguard flirted with the first tier all season with formulas of the traditional drum corps sort: drill and music. The show seemed, by description, simple enough: three distinctly different pieces of music, each staged with distinctly different visual approaches. It was when dense visuals made way for arid spread, and when bedrock techniques morphed into Vanguard magic effect that "3" became "V."

Three years ago when the Blue Stars re-entered the World Class, the folks in charge had championship night on their mind. Eschewing back-when reference in favor of every current activity mode, the corps slipped into this century's performance clothes. They fit like ... a speed bikers outfit.

Every second counted in this year's race to finals, the well documented 28-year race back into the World Class elite. No Tour de France image, or reference, was assumed. The French countryside became the musical palette on which biking visuals sped across the field. It was a crowded field early, what with bicycle wheels, flags with bicycle handlebars, that glorious spinning wheel opening set, and the rest. But by race's end, with a full corps bicycle moving towards the finish line, that field had been narrowed down to the winning cyclist. A resurgent year and performance for any corps, made yellow jersey memorable by the Blue Stars.

Here's just how strong I found this year's World Class entrants: There were reasons that any of the next six units should have been considered for a finalist spot. At half-century, Denver's Blue Knights gave no ground to its individualized drum corps methodology of long standing. Both haunting and piquant -- especially in its splendid percussion feature -- here's another unit that remains standing ... tall ... in the activity.

I have to talk of Boston's Crusaders and San Antonio's Crossmen in the same paragraph, because I viewed them as thematic mirror images. Rebirth, new frontiers, and out of this world possibilities abounding, both units reached to the heavens for starring performances. From "2001: A Space Odyssey" to "The Planets," there were space and spacial treks on fine display from the tenth-year-in-finals Crusaders and from the new Texas powerhouse.

Sheer professionalism and entertainment have become the touchstone for perennial finalist Glassmen. Revealing steamer trunks full of carnival conceits became another favorite recitation from the Ohio corps. Led by a whopper side-show of a color guard, the corps presented a smile-a-minute, heart-warming show.

I respectfully disagree that what landed the Madison Scouts back in finals was "regaining their swagger." I found the Latin feel of this music, swing over bluster, the inventive edge. In fact, just about everything the venerable Scouts did this season appealed. Always striking on the field, the historic uniform reference with its elongating black, set off the field-matching green of the Scout jacket to distinctive, and defining, effect. The climb back to finals looked to be one of sweat and grit that only intense practice can afford.

What's not to appreciate about Dubuque's fine Colts? It is as clear as night and day that the corps brings solid performance and pure entertainment to the field each season. This one, included. The former volunteer show director in me knows that having the Colts in your line-up is a sure-fire way to keep the audience happy. Field-spanning drill, familiar sound, quality execution, all swathed in first-rate trappings; these state musical ambassadors had the goods to "be the one."

Rounding out the World Class semi finalists: Spirit, a finalist in five of the last seven seasons, sported a fierce percussion section; The Long Blue Line added 50 to its engine's years, as The Troopers delighted audiences in the second year of its comeback effort; and Pacific Crest, whose visuals brought passion to ritualistic life.

The other World Class units, The Academy, Mandarins, and Pioneer, each with fine efforts, showed that DCI's marketing line "Marching Music's Major League" has bite and meaning.

I "live blogged" the Open Class Semi Finals here at Field&Floor. The quality line-up provided plenty of pleasure, while underscoring a distinct difference from the World Class units. Both design and demand on the young performers was appropriate for each unit's talent and season's length. It was a heartening sign that the top two units were a part of World Class corps organizations, showing a commitment to their own growth and to the stability of the activity. Adding the whisper of "joining the World Class in 2009" to several unit names, is an encouraging sign, as well.

In the coming days I will post some thoughts on what may be the most important single caption in the activity now, I will reveal the top ten stories I followed this season via discussion threads on Drum Corps Planet, and I am submitting a piece for Drum Corps World on the burgeoning media business in drum and bugle corps, indeed in all of pageantry. If the topics interest you, click back over and pick up a copy of the activity's longest-running independent publication.

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So as your favorite units are back at home trying to balance the summer's budgets while looking towards 2009, it is time for each of us to thank them with a check. Not for tickets, not for souvenirs, and not for CDs or DVDs; send a check in support of the general operating budget.

It will be the biggest thanks you can offer, it will help where they need it the most, and the contribution is fully tax-deductible.

Think of it as an insurance payment; insurance for a 2009 season that we all want to be just as sensational as was the one concluded just a week ago.

See you on the 50!

Edited by David Hill
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an absolutely glowing review,i love the way this guy writes!

drum corps addison dewitt!

BRAVO! :thumbup:

Edited by dugg
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  • 1 month later...
Great stuff! You live in B'ham?

Thank you. Indeed I do! Home of the 1979 and 1980 DCI Championships.

Edited by David Hill
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