Chapter 9: Audition Part 1

| Part 1: My Analogy | Part 2: My Reality |

Top Secret!

“From the point of ignition to the final drive, the point of the journey is not to arrive” – Neil Peart

~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, I’m going to start this analogy out with a true story. When I was about eight years old, our landlord’s teenage son, Berndt, decided to store his best friend’s drum set in the attic above our apartment. I was afraid to ask permission to try it out (since I figured the answer would be “no”) so I snuck up there and played it as quietly as I could, filling in the volume – and all of the other instruments – with my own imagination. From that day forward, I always wanted to be a drummer and hoped for a chance to pursue that dream one day; luckily, a few years later I ended up at a high school with a top-notch music program. We had more band trophies than sports trophies and consistently took top honors at national invitationals and other music competitions around the country.

Our drum line typically led the scores for the rest of the band at these competitions and – at least in my eyes – the drummers carried the marching band through more than one of their championships. OK, so maybe that went to our heads and it was more of a group effort than I remember, but we did work our tails off practicing longer and harder than any other section of the band. In any case, I definitely felt that our trophies were well deserved rewards for our intense, collective efforts.

I come from a long line of drummers – both my father and his father before him played the cadences for military-style marching bands in their day – and I always wanted them to be proud of my own musical accomplishments. For myself personally, the Drummer of the Year trophy I received during my senior year of high school punctuated the years of effort I had spent following their passion for percussion.

The competition became much tougher when I got to college, though, and I really had to step up my game. When it came to the university drum line try-outs, every auditioning drummer had a trophy of their own in their back pocket; that little trinket didn’t mean anything anymore! I spent hours and hours preparing for my own audition and was thrilled to get an acceptance letter a few weeks after mailing in my audition tape.

It was an exciting new ball game playing in collegiate stadiums, and I felt like I had found my calling in life. But we all shared an even bigger dream than amateur performances. As we traveled to different performances on the marching band’s tour bus, we would often watch professional drum corps videos. Actually, now that I think about it, all of the video tapes we watched were from the same drum corps: Top Secret. If you haven’t heard of them, try a quick Google search; I think you’ll agree that they are hands-down the best drum corps on the planet – no question about it! I absolutely loved the uniformity of their Swiss precision and – along with every other member of our university drum line – dreamed of joining their ranks one day.

Over the next few years, I watched intently for any openings and finally saw the news of an open audition just before my own college graduation. Getting paid to travel the world with a drum corps seemed like the culmination of my life-long vision. I was only going to have this one chance, though, so I really needed to ace the audition. I called my dad for some advice, and he gave me the phone number for Coach Tommy. Given that Tommy had coached him through his own successful audition, it seemed like a no-brainer to hire him.

Tommy was more than happy to oblige and walked me through the selection process over the phone:

“The audition itself will be held in conjunction with the drum corps world championships at Soldier Field,” he said, “It will consist of four parts over four days, each of which will be scored: Learning, practicing, performing, and teaching.”

“So what music will we be playing?” I asked.

“Well, that’s the trick,” Tommy said, “You won’t get the sheet music until audition day.”

“And how do they score it?” I asked.

“The judge will be watching from the box seats, and you’ll be scored on how quickly and thoroughly you can learn the piece from scratch and perform it,” he said. With a hint of warning in his voice, he added, “Of course any missteps or missed notes during the performance will be heavily penalized.”

He could tell by my silence that this made me a bit nervous.

“But if you execute the routine perfectly,” he said, trying to inspire some confidence, “you’ll be sure to earn a spot – guaranteed, in fact!”

“But is a perfect routine even possible?” I asked him.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll train very hard – staying up all night if needed – until you can perform it error-free. The steps will be so ingrained in your muscle memory that you won’t even have to think about it!”

I wasn’t sure it was possible, but from my own experience, I did know how to work harder than anyone else when it really counted – especially when there was going to be a scoresheet involved!

Day 1: Learn

When audition day arrived, I entered the stadium and was awestruck by its sheer size. I made the mistake of looking up at the box seats, trying to picture what might be going on behind the one-way glass; unfortunately with my eyes pointed upwards, I didn’t manage to see one of the instrument bags right in front of my feet.

Next thing I remember, I was lying on my back looking up at the stadium lights.

“You knocked your head pretty hard when you fell,” said the voice behind an extended hand, “Hi, I’m Coach Tommy.”

I took his hand and he helped me up. Everything seemed foggy, but luckily Tommy had my back. He sat me down at his table on the sidelines and laid out the whole audition plan for me, filling in all of the gaps that I couldn’t remember.

He reminded me about Top Secret, and how it had always been my dream to join them. I looked around at all of the other people in the stadium and then glanced up at the box seats.

“This is actually a very special audition,” he said, “Herr Doktor Professor Hänsli Zermatt, Top Secret’s founder, is up there in the box behind the glass!”

Everything was still a bit blurry and confusing, but his explanation for why I had woken up in the middle of a stadium made more sense to me than anything else I could come up with.

“You mean the Founder himself will be judging my performance?” I asked, perhaps a bit awestruck and nervous at the same time.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Tommy said, “You see this headset I’m wearing?”

I nodded.

“This allows me to stay in direct contact with Herr Zermatt so I can tell you exactly what you need to do along every step of the way.”

That sure sounded comforting, especially since a lot of the other musicians seemed to be making random tracks around the stadium without a coach at their side.

“See how they’re all just wandering around aimlessly?” he said, “That’s because nobody else out here has a headset, so they have no idea what they’re even going to be tested on.”

I couldn’t believe my luck! What are the chances that I’d get the only coach with a direct line of communication to the control room? I was sure glad I had Tommy at my side!

“If we get right to work,” he said, “you’ll have the added advantage of a head start!”

With that, he dropped a stack of sheet music on the table, and I pulled my chair up close, thumbing through the sheets. It all looked very confusing, but luckily Tommy was there to explain what it all meant. The musical terms were written in a Swiss dialect – a reformed German of sorts. He translated the terms for me, and I became fully conversant in the use of Achtzehntels, Wirbels and Doppelschlags.

The names sure sounded funny, but he drilled me on the contents over and over again with flashcards until they felt like part of my own vocabulary. It wasn’t long until I had mastered the background theory behind ratamacues, pataflaflas, paradiddles, and even syncopated dragaflamadiddle-diddles. Tommy beamed with pride as I soaked it all in.

With the theory in hand, I went through the sheet music page by page and memorized the whole set, noting every step and every note of the prescribed routine.

At the end of the day all of the candidates were handed a written exam. I finished mine in record time and Tommy took my completed test up to the judge’s office to be graded. I tapped my fingers anxiously on the desk while I waited for my marks, but I wasn’t the least bit nervous. I had answered each question with complete confidence, so when Tommy returned, I wasn’t at all surprised at his response.

“Congratulations,” he said, giving me a big bear hug, “you’ve aced the test!”

“No mistakes?” I asked, wanting to make sure I hadn’t disappointed him in any way.

“Perfect score!” he replied, “In fact, Herr Zermatt himself told me he’s very proud of your achievement today; he’ll be watching your progress very closely over the next few days.”

I felt flattered that the Zermatt actually knew me by name.

“Here’s your Certificate of Achievement for Day 1,” Tommy said, “signed and sealed by the Founder himself.”

Not bad for my first day!

Day 2: Practice

I arrived early for the second day of the audition, anxious to put the theory we had learned into practice. The other candidates had already beaten me to it and had been warming up on their own. Maybe I was in over my head after all.

“Suit up,” Tommy said, pointing to a shipping container that had been placed on the side of the field for instrument storage, “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

The doors were locked, but outside the container was a marching snare with my name on it. When I put the carrier over my shoulders, it felt a bit awkward and didn’t fit quite right.

“One size fits all!” Tommy said proudly, “Doesn’t that feel great?”

“Not really,” I said, shifting it around in an attempt to make it more comfortable.

“Well, if it starts to get irritating while you’re playing, just grit your teeth and press on,” he said, “It’s a great trick because the audience will think you’re smiling!”

I gave it my best shot and proceeded through each of the rudimentary warm-up drills on the snare, checking for Tommy’s approval with each one. As the day moved on, we combined the individual ingredients into the routine that had been written out in the sheet music. Even though I had been standing in place for hours, I was slowly getting accustomed to the carrier and began to forget how uncomfortable it was.

“Not bad!” said Tommy after the first time through the music, “Now let’s start marching!”

Each of the numbers had accompanying marching steps, all guided by the yard lines on the field. I looked down at my designated yard line and started to march toward Tommy while playing the opening bars.

“Eyes on me!” Tommy said.

I tried looking at him but soon veered off course. He blew his whistle and pointed me straight back to my starting position.

Watching the beats and keeping my feet on track at the same time seemed nearly impossible: I could focus on my hands or on my feet or on Tommy, but not on all of them simultaneously! If I zoned in on the music, I’d get into a groove but would stray from my line. If I focused on the line, I could march straight, but I’d start missing beats with my drum strokes. I didn’t see how this was going to work at all!

Each time I messed up, he’d send me back to the starting line to try again; and each time I started back into it, the whistle would blow again after a few measures. I didn’t think I was ever going to get it right, especially since some of the steps just didn’t seem to line up with the music.

“Again!” Tommy ordered.

“But this part doesn’t seem right!” I argued when we got to an awkward bit, “I think there are some mistakes in the music!”

“Can’t be,” replied Tommy, “The Founder himself wrote both the music and the steps. Trust me, it’s right!”

“But…”

“If you get to a part where the music and the steps don’t seem to line up,” Tommy explained, “that’s an intentional syncopation. Any apparent dissonance is by design. It’s really beautiful in its complexity when you think about it.”

“But it just doesn’t seem to jive with the theory we learned yesterday,” I complained.

“Who are you to question the Founder?” Tommy snapped back, raising his voice.

I figured I’d better not push it – he was right after all; what did I know? I couldn’t even remember what happened the day before yesterday!

“You might not understand it now, but it will make sense later,” Tommy said, calming himself down and trying to reassure me, “Just keep doing it over and over again until it feels right.”

I practiced marching toward Tommy in a straight line again and again, with my eyes on his conducting, and we finally made it through the whole routine. Sre enough, once we repeated the routine enough times, it began to feel ok; eventually it felt not just familiar but entirely correct. I could even begin to see some beauty in the parts I couldn’t understand before.

Still, every once in a while I’d feel myself getting into my own groove and I’d break into a solo or wander off course, following my own steps wherever they took me. Each time I deviated from the line, though, I’d be interrupted by Tommy’s whistle.

I had blisters on my hands and my back was aching, but ultimately we got through the day.

“I talked to Herr Zermatt about you,” Tommy said as I put down the drum, “and he’s very concerned.”

I knew I could have done better, so I didn’t have a response for him.

“You showed a lot of promise yesterday, but now he’s not so sure,” Tommy said, “He told me you’ll need to do a better job tomorrow if you want to get in.”

I looked around and saw a few other candidates throwing up their arms and walking off the field.

“Well I did better than them, didn’t I?”

“You see those other guys out there?” Tommy responded, “They show no loyalty to their coach, and a lot of them are giving up on their audition altogether; it’s their only chance and they’ve blown it – what a shame!”

“Maybe they just decided they don’t like this routine,” I remarked, “and want to try something else – or maybe they’d prefer to join a different kind of drum Corps…or even play an entirely different instrument altogether?”

“Don’t kid yourself, kid,” Tommy said, “They’re just being lazy and weak. Everyone wants to be in Top Secret, even if they don’t always remember that fact.”

I nodded.

“Think about it,” he said, “I mean you’ve seen the videos yourself – who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be part of that?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“The quitters will regret this one moment for the rest of their lives,” Tommy said sternly, “I can guarantee you that!”

Before I could respond, he added, “There will come a day when they would give up everything to have just one more chance.”

“But can’t they try again someday?” I asked.

“Nope, everyone gets one chance and one chance only,” Tommy said resolutely, “By the time they figure that out it will be too late for them. Don’t let that be you!”

“So they just weren’t cut out for it?” I asked, “It just wasn’t meant to be?”

“Precisely – they simply don’t have what it takes,” Tommy said, “If they can’t even make it to the end of Day 2, how do you think they would manage on a world tour?

“Makes sense,” I mumbled, “…I guess.”

“Well,” said Tommy, “I think it’s time to talk about the big show tomorrow!”

I sat down with him to go through the game plan.

“You’ve managed to squeak by with a pass for Day 2, but I do see some red flags,” Tommy said, “You’re going to have to step it up if you want your spot with the pros!”

I had lost a lot of confidence, and Tommy seemed to take notice.

“Remember, you’re not like those other guys who walked off the field,” Tommy said, trying to cheer me up, “Plus, you’ve got another advantage going for you, too.”

I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Due to your long family tradition with the drum corps and their contribution to Top Secret’s success,” he said, “I have the Founder’s personal guarantee that as long as you don’t stray off the line tomorrow, you can have this ticket that guarantees you a spot.”

I reached for the ticket in his hand to have a look for myself.

“Sorry,” he said, “I can’t show it to you just yet.”

He put the ticket back into his pocket and swore me to secrecy about this little advantage. It didn’t seem all that fair to me; whether or not I actually deserved it, I figured I just got a lucky break.

“See you tomorrow!” Tommy said.

I thought about the routine long and hard that night and decided to give it my all for the next day’s performance – I was going to earn my spot outright!

Day 3: Perform

I have to admit I had some jitters getting ready for the performance on Day 3.

I wasn’t Tommy’s only pupil who showed up that morning; he had trained up some other hopefuls as well; he lined us all up outside the shipping container. This time the doors were open. I tried to take a look inside, but it was all dark.

“Wait!” Tommy said, “You’re going to need a pen when you get inside.”

He handed me a pen, I stepped inside, and the doors closed. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark when I heard a voice from the back of the container say, “Sign this.”

I couldn’t see a face but I could make out the shape of some hands that were passing me a piece of paper. I took the paper and tried to read it, but it was too dark.

“Sign it,” the voice said, sounding remarkably like Tommy putting on a Swiss accent.

“But I don’t even know what it says,” I replied, “Can’t I take it outside to read it first?”

“No!” the voice said firmly, “The contracts stay here. They’re printed on very special paper that will disintegrate if the light hits it.”

My eyes were starting to get accustomed to the dark, so I squinted to see if I could make out any words on the contract.

“If Top Secret pays me for my time, I will give that money to Tommy,” I read out loud.

“Don’t worry,” the voice said, “Tommy will invest your pay and give you back ten times as much as you would have earned without my help!”

“I will never, ever, ever hire another coach besides Tommy,” I read.

“Remember, Tommy’s the best,” the voice said, “I’m the…he’s the only certified coach in the whole stadium!”

“And if I ever leave Top Secret,” I read, “may my own skin be stretched over the drums so I can keep feeling the punishment for ever and ever while loyal club members beat my remains to a pulp with their drumsticks.”

“That’s a little creepy,” I thought, not realizing I had said it out loud.

“Of course, that’s all just metaphorical,” the voice said, “sign the papers!”

I hesitated a bit, and one of my fellow pupils patted me on the shoulder. “Be glad they toned down the initiation ceremony for us,” he said, “my dad said they used to make you slaughter a goat, slice it up, and stretch its skin over your own drum just to drill in the point.”

“It’s the true order of drum-making,” the voice said, “just like our ancestors used to do in the caves.”

It all made sense to me in a symbolic sort of way, but I still couldn’t make out the fine print in the contract.

“Just sign it,” the voice said, “It’s the only way we know we can trust you with your new drum.”

Apparently, the practice instruments we had played the day before were just kitschy replicas; priceless, hand-crafted drums were waiting for us at the back of the container.

“Your father signed, your grandfather signed, and all of your new friends here have signed as well.”

I looked around, and the other pupils all nodded at me. If it’s good enough for them, I thought, there must be something to it. Plus, I really wanted to try out the new drums. I held the paper against the wall and signed my name on the dotted line.

We each handed over our signed contracts, and we were escorted to a small porthole that we had to climb through to reach the back of the container.

“Don’t be dumb, pick up a drum!” the voice said, “Dragadiddle flamadiddle ratamacue!”

The wording seemed weird, and we weren’t sure what we were supposed to do.

“Repeat after me!” the voice said.

“Don’t be dumb, pick up a drum!” we shouted in unison, “Dragadiddle flamadiddle ratamacue!”

“Very good!”

After the recitation, we were each given a customized drum. The voice told us to start with the synchronized cadence we had all learned the day before.

“Mark time mark!” said the voice, setting the tempo with accompanying drumstick clicks.

With that intro, we dove into it the number we had practiced. The sound echoed off the wall of the container, and the reverberation sounded awesome. I looked around at my counterparts and saw that I really wasn’t alone in any of this – all these other guys had been through exactly the same thing as I had. Although we felt a bit trapped inside the stuffy container, we bonded like any other band of brothers as we jammed together over the next few hours.

After mastering the cadences in complete synchronicity, we were told that we were ready. When the doors on the back side of the container opened, Tommy was there to greet us.

“The voice in the container sounded familiar,” I said.

The others agreed.

“You can’t always trust your ears,” Tommy told us.

“I’m a bit confused by what they said about beating the pulp out of our own skin,” one of my counterparts told Tommy.

“What you hear in the container stays in the container,” Tommy said, “by the way, speaking of hearing, did you know I can actually wiggle my ears?”

Everyone got so distracted by his ear wiggling that they forgot about the disturbing drumskins.

“Well, I hope you remember your routine!” Tommy exclaimed, “because now it’s time to show the Founder what you’ve got!”

“Don’t be dumb, pick up a drum, dragadiddle paradiddle ratamacue!” we all shouted in response, echoing our primary cadence precisely in sync.

“If you get stage fright when you start playing,” Coach Tommy said, “and if you can’t seem to remember anything, just make sure to keep your eyes on me and follow every one of my hand signals. It’s a secret code that only you’ll be able to understand – the signs are meant to confuse everyone else.”

“Yes sir!” we all replied in unison.

“OK, eyes on me,” he shouted.

We were excited about this next adventure; we had all learned the same theory, practiced the same steps, and mastered the same music. When Tommy struck up the band, the unison was obvious, and it all came together beautifully.

We stared straight at Coach Tommy as we marched through our routine, watching his every direction. While we marched around in our straight lines, I saw lots of other cadets on the field, in the bleachers, and on the sidelines. Some were carrying different instruments, and some weren’t carrying anything at all. Every time I ran across anyone else, I recited the line we had been taught in the container.

“Don’t be dumb, pick up a drum, draga….”

Most of the other musicians we encountered had already turned the other way before we could even finish the line. Some gave us strange looks, while others shouted insults. We never stopped to actually find out what they were saying, and even so, all we could hear was the beat of our own drums, which drowned out everything else. I couldn’t be sure, but I think I heard one guy shout, “Yeah right, follow you tightwads? No thanks!” That pretty much summed up the general reaction to our invitations.

A few cadets who seemed to like our rhythm had started following us around the field. When they agreed to take up the challenge to pick up a drum, we directed them to the sidelines. Tommy promptly suited them up and sent them into the container to start drilling for their own show.

As we marched around performing our cadence, though, it started to sound a bit monotonous. I realized there was other music going on, and some of it seemed pretty catchy. Tommy had warned me about these distractions. When you’re playing in a large stadium, every drummer knows that if you listen to the noise around you, you’ll be off beat. By the time the sound bounces around the stadium and reaches your ears, you can actually find yourself a whole beat behind. The answer is to follow your drum major’s visual cues. Every marching drummer knows that: watch the baton and you’ll be right on target. If you divert your eyes, your ears will deceive you!

We did just that, sticking to Tommy’s signals while keeping in mind that everyone else was just a distraction.

“Perfect!” he said when we finished our routine and met him on the sidelines, “No technical errors at all!”

“Really,” I responded, remembering a few gaps in the number, “to me it felt like we making some major mistakes.”

“It might sound that way,” Tommy said, but as long as you’re playing what’s written, even the mistakes are correct.”

“But I thought you said Hänsli didn’t make mistakes,” I countered, “Should we ask him about the gaps in the music?”

“You deal with me, and I’ll worry about talking to the Founder,” Tommy said, “Remember, to you he is Herr Doktor Professor Zermatt, you are not on a first-name basis with him; you are to always refer to him by his complete name going forward.

I nodded my head and changed the subject: “I thought we’d find more fans out there,” I said, “How come everybody seems annoyed by us?”

“They’re too ignorant to recognize our prominence,” Tommy said, “Now let’s stop with the questions and huddle up.”

We put down our drums and gathered in a circle around Tommy.

“Congratulations!” he said, handing us our certificates for Day 3, “You have all demonstrated that you have what it takes to tackle the next step tomorrow. But first, go ahead and have some fun tonight!”

We gave ourselves a cheer and started to disperse.

“Remember, you’re going to need to team up with a partner tomorrow,” Tommy reminded us, “So spend some time getting to know other snare drummers – make sure you only associate with those whose drums have a Top Secret sticker on them. Don’t get distracted by anyone else!”

I took my marching snare back to the container and heard some bongo drums coming from the other side. I went to check it out and found a bunch of long-haired hippie-types gathered around in a circle. They definitely didn’t seem like Top Secret material, but they looked like they were having a good time.

Despite Coach Tommy’s warning, I started talking to some of the bongo drummers to find out what they thought of the auditions. As it turned out, they had all sorts of differing ambitions and ideas.

“There’s nobody behind that glass up there,” one of them said.

“The Founder was there,” someone else said, “but I think he’s out grabbing a coffee or taking a smoke break, because nobody has heard from him in a long time.”

“He?” another bongo player said, “She’s the warmest, kindest person you could possibly imagine; in fact, I’ve heard that everybody who’s here for the audition gets a free ticket into the professional group no matter how you perform out there.”

“Coach Tommy’s crazy!” another said with a laugh, “Criminally insane!”

“Sorry?” I asked, pretending not to hear the evil insult above the sound of the bongos. Tommy had actually warned me that non-snare drummers would say discriminatory things like this. I knew I shouldn’t engage them any further, so I was prepared to dismiss their opinions and find myself a more tolerant crowd. I started walking away when another bongo player spoke up.

“What did he tell you about where you came from?” he asked, “Let me guess: a drum set in the attic, a trophy, and some Top Secret videos on a tour bus?”

I was shocked. How did this hippie know about my past? Had he snuck into my files? As I thought about it, though, I realized I couldn’t actually remember anything before I had woken up lying on the field. Tommy had simply filled in the gaps for me, and I never doubted any of it.

“He tells all of his recruits the same story,” the hippie said with a smile, “It seems to work as long as you don’t ask any questions, but everyone else here knows that he made it all up.”

Could it be? I asked the others if they remembered where they had come from.

“I was a soldier in a military drum and bugle corps,” one of them said.

“I was a football player,” said another.

“I was a cheerleader.”

“I wasn’t anything at all before. I just showed up here spontaneously.”

That didn’t make any sense to me at all. “You must have come from somewhere outside the stadium,” I said.

“Nope,” came the reply, “There’s nothing out there beyond the stadium walls. This field is all there is.”

All of the stories sounded completely absurd to me, but none so much as the idea that this structure was our whole world. It wasn’t a concept I could even grasp.

“So why not check it out for yourselves?” I asked.

“The doors lock when you leave,” I was told, “and nobody gets back in.”

“But what about the world tour we’re prepping for?” I asked, completely baffled by the notion that there might be no such thing.

They all started laughing. “Make the most of it here,” one of them said, “Cause you’ll never play again once you leave the stadium.”

No world tour? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

I saw other directors on the sidelines debriefing their band members. As they disbanded, I thought I’d check with some of the more regimented musicians to get their stories. Each of them claimed to know what was outside the stadium, but I started to wonder if those expectations had simply come from their own coaches. All they seemed to want to talk about anyway was what the Founder was judging them on out on the field.

“I heard directly from my coach that the Founder wants to see something syncopated,” one of them said.

“He’s actually looking for more of a hip-hop groove,” said one of the musicians from another ensemble.

“He’s most impressed by speed,” said another.

“It’s all about accuracy and precision.”

There was no consensus at all; I went back to our storage container, unsure of what to think. Maybe I should have listened to Tommy and avoided conversing with anyone without a Top Secret sticker on their drum.

To my surprise I saw a drummer leaning up against the container, playing a catchy cadence that was unlike anything I had heard before. On the side of his drum was a Top Secret sticker, so I struck up a conversation.

“What do you think this whole thing is about?” I asked, “Do you think the Founder is happy with our performance?”

“Be nice and enjoy playing” he replied, “I think that’s all there is to it.”

That made a lot of sense to me. No matter what Tommy said, I hoped that was the real answer. It was, in fact, the only thing I had hear that day that sounded even remotely plausible to me. We played a couple of pieces together, and I really liked how his improvisation added to it.

“Can we partner up for the teaching routine in tomorrow’s audition,” I asked.

“Sure, but just so you know, I’m not really a Top Secret fan – I just tried the drum on for fun. And what’s this about an audition?”

I told him I was shooting for a spot in Top Secret’s line.

“Who would want that?” he asked, “You guys all look like you have drumsticks up your….”

“Let me introduce you to some bongo players,” I said, trying to change the subject.

Tommy was not going to like this, but I thought we’d make a good team. I didn’t mention the regimented expectations, but I figured he’d fall in line once he met Tommy. I talked him into giving it a shot, and we spent the rest of the evening with the bongo players who weren’t so uptight about the routines.

Day 4: Teach

We showed up for the final day of the auditions and were assigned a set of new recruits who had just arrived that day. We were supposed to learn a new marching piece that the Founder had written, teach it to the recruits, and perform it for grading.

“The Founder is going to want to see leaders,” said Coach Tommy, “He needs to see how well you can pull someone else into line and motivate them to improve their performance.”

We all nodded our heads.

“No slackers!” he added.

We gathered the new recruits and started learning our new piece. We threw in some of our own style, and I thought the end result was uniquely innovative. It felt great to have something we had created ourselves instead of only playing someone else’s music. I thought it was an awesome blend of regiment and freestyle, and I was sure the Founder would take notice.

“Remember,” Tommy said as he made the rounds to each group, “repetition leads to perfection!”

I took his philosophy and walked the new recruits through their drills again and again.

“OK, performance time,” Tommy said near the end of the day, “For this performance, I am not just your coach, I am also the band director and the drum major!”

I didn’t see how he could fill all three roles simultaneously, but we lined up on the 50-yard line with our team and got ourselves ready.

“Don’t be dumb, pick up your drum!” I shouted, clicking my drumsticks together to mark the time.

“Dragadiddle, paradiddle, ratamacue!” the recruits replied in unison.

We marched out onto the field together with the cadence driving our steps. All of the other teams started stepping out as well, playing their own tunes. I tried to keep my eyes on Tommy, but others kept getting in the way. Each team was watching their own drum major on the sidelines. This was bound to be a disaster!

Out of the corner of my eye, I kept seeing collisions. One of Tommy’s other recruits came head to head with a color guard member. Tommy’s drummer pulled the heaviest drum sticks out of his stick bag and beat the living daylights out of the flag cadet.

“Keep marching,” Coach Tommy shouted from the sidelines, noticing that I had gone off step.

“That was a little over the top, don’t you think?” I shouted back, “Shouldn’t we report him to the Founder?”

“That flag twirler was asking for it,” Tommy replied, “Let’s just hope nobody saw that, because it would be really bad for my reputation.”

“Reputation?”

“Quick,” Tommy shouted to the instigator, “Wipe that blood off your sticks!”

I was shocked but I didn’t want the Founder to see me arguing with Tommy. I started counting the rhythm of my own steps to get back on beat.

“Don’t break cadence,” Tommy shouted, “and don’t you dare talk to anyone else out there!”

For some reason, something just didn’t feel right; I had to keep my eyes right on Tommy to avoid letting the other musicians distract me, but the visual cues Tommy wanted me to follow from his mace just didn’t seem to jive with the music. It wasn’t even close! As the set neared its midpoint, I felt more and more out of place and then started to freeze up. With all of the practicing I had done, I didn’t expect to be struggling in that way.

As we continued our routine, we found ourselves on a collision course of our own. Directly in front of us was a lively band playing a blend of jazz, hip hop, R&B, and soul music. My dad had warned me about these guys. They got in his way during his own audition, and Tommy’s recruits had run them right over.

“Go around them!” Tommy shouted.

I’d have to take my feet off the chalk line, so I hesitated.

“It’s ok,” Tommy shouted again as we got ever closer, “We learned our lesson last time around. We need to go around them!”

I was relieved to avoid a collision and quickly got back into my comfort zone following along the yard line. I still had their music in my head, though, and I found myself playing along to their timing instead of watching Tommy.

A glee club started crossing diagonally toward us, and I got ready for another diversion. They were singing showtunes, and I found myself humming along.

“Stay on your yard line,” shouted Tommy when he noticed I was straying.

“But we’ll run right into them!” I countered.

“That’s an order!” he replied, “straight from Zermatt.”

“But we went around the jazz band,” I challenged, “Why can’t we do that again!”

“No buts!” Tommy shouted, “Keep marching!”

One of the choirboys ended up right in front of me. I had a split second to decide what to do.

“Sweep the leg!” Tommy said.

I tried to take him out and stay on my feet, but it was an absolute disaster. Our whole line was knocked to the ground – instruments and all. We staggered to our feet one by one and tried to get back to our line. A few of the singers were still in front of me.

“Go around!” shouted Tommy.

“But the Founder…:”

“Zermatt agrees with me on this one,” Tommy said, “Leave your line!”

I was a bit disoriented by how quickly Herr Zermatt had changed his mind. I looked around to get my bearings but I couldn’t see Tommy: A tuba was blocking my view. Tubas? I hadn’t even noticed them before. Top secret doesn’t have a brass section, and here was an oompa band out on the field; this was getting crazy! As I struck up my cadence, the tuba player turned, and his instrument knocked me in the head.

I found myself staring up at the sky for the second time that day. I knew the Founder wanted to see precision, and I was sure that I was blowing it now with my stumbling routine. I thought of the contract I had signed and how awesome we all sounded inside the container. That memory helped me muster the strength to get back on my feet. We all regrouped and tried to pick up where we had left off. It took some effort, but eventually we got it sorted out and found our groove again.

Things improved as we moved through the rest of the set. Everything finally seemed to be flowing smoothly and comfortably by the time we got to the middle of our final number. The new recruits were falling in line, and we had learned our rudiments well enough to just rattle them off by habit wherever they showed up in our music. Tommy had stopped yelling, so that must have meant that the Founder was happy with us. The field was clear in front of us, and we were really starting to enjoy performing the music.

Part 5: Time-out

Now this next little incident was never supposed to be part of the audition, but I’ll include this part just the same:

Right as we got to the climax of our finale, my feet hit something. I kept on marching, but as I looked down I saw that I was trampling the flag that had been dropped at the beginning of the set.

It made me sick to think of the color guard missing one of its members – someone who happened to love twirling that flag and had just a much a right to perform as I did. Tommy’s concern for his reputation rang in my ears. I knew I needed some answers!

I threw down my sticks, put my hands up to make a T shape, and shouted “Time Out!”

All of the musicians around me stopped playing their music, and everything went silently into slow motion. All eyes were on me.

I hesitated for a second, wondering if I had made a big mistake in breaking cadence…then marched straight off the field over to Tommy’s seat on the sidelines.

“What’s the deal with the glee club?” I shouted at him.

“What are you, a flag football player?” he shouted back, “There are no friggin’ time-outs in a drum corps! Get back in line!”

“I asked you a question, sir!”

“You don’t get to ask the questions here, son!”

“Well I’m not going back out there until I get some answers,” I said, “so we might as well talk.”

“Fine,” Tommy said, “Their coach is hell-bent on seeing me fail. He’s my old nemesis and he’ll do whatever it takes, including failing his own team, just to see me go down. I won’t stand for that!

“Well, I actually enjoy their music,” I said.

“What? These guys are singing without any instruments at all,” Tommy said, “It’s not even music. It’s unnatural!”

“I happen to like it,” I said.

“Don’t be fooled,” Tommy said, “They’re just trying to be a distraction to make everyone else fail the audition.”

“The Founder told me they aren’t even supposed to be on the field,” Tommy said, “They’re imposters!”

“So why did we give way the second time?” I asked.

“I just can’t see you get knocked down again…”

I felt a brief measure of understanding for his predicament; maybe he cared about my well-being after all.

“…because it might damage the drums.”

Well there it was. The priceless drums had been the biggest concern all along.

“So the Founder told you to tell me to first plow them over, then to let them be?”

“That’s right!”

“The Founder who’s right up there behind the glass in the box seats?”

“Yes – and you’ve got his personal guarantee for a spot in Top Secret if you stick with the program – though this little charade of yours might put that spot in jeopardy.”

“I’ll take that chance,” I said, “I’m just wondering how I’m supposed to know that this performance is even what the Founder wants to see. It doesn’t seem right to knock people over, and besides, it seems like the sheet music is full of mistakes!”

“I told you those mistakes are there to test you,” Tommy said, “You’ve got a personal copy of the sheet music that he handwrote for you. It’s even got his original seal on it!”

“You mean this one right here?” I asked, pointing to the sheet music with the routine I had spent the whole audition learning.

“Yes,” Tommy said, “that’s the one!”

Something in the seat behind him caught my eye, and Tommy noticed the diversion immediately.

“Don’t look over there,” he said.

Well, of course that made me want to take an even closer look. I walked around him and found some pieces of balsa wood, a carving knife, an inkpad, and some wood shavings on the chair – along with a finely carved seal. I picked up the seal and turned it over.

“This looks just like the one that was stamped on my contract,” I said, “It looks to me like you made your own seal.”

“Well yes, as a matter of fact, if you have to know, I made it myself,” he said.

I was stunned at this admission. I thought he would fess up entirely after having been caught red-handed, but he managed to stop short of admitting any sort of wrongdoing by offering further explanations:

“Of course, the Founder gave me the instructions on how to carve it,” he added.

“So you’re absolutely sure this routine of yours is what he would want to see?”

“Yes, I’m positive,” he said, “He told me right through my own headset.”

“This headset?” I asked, pointing to the one he was wearing.

“Yes, it’s a direct line,” he answered.

I looked a little closer and saw that the battery compartment lid was missing. “But there are no batteries in it!” I said.

“Well, I don’t need batteries,” he countered, “My body is a natural antenna, and when I wear the headset, I hear the messages coming through loud and clear; in fact, I feel the messages right through my soul. And I know these messages come from the Founder!”

“Because you feel it?” I asked.

“Yes!” he said.

“So why the headset?” I asked.

“The headset gets me in tune so that I know how to follow his instructions.”

“So you don’t actually hear anything through the headset? With your actual ears?”

He wiggled his ears again. I wasn’t impressed.

“Not exactly,” he said, “it’s more like I’ve got musical ears that can perceive the message.”

“But the musical symbols are written down,” I said, “They’re actual characters in print, not feelings!”

“Yes, the notes on the pages are real,” Tommy said, “And they represent Zermatt’s real instructions.”

“But they’re in the same handwriting as the notes you handwrote for me,” I argued.

“That’s right,” Tommy said.

“But you just told me they’re fake.”

“That’s because you asked.”

I was getting nowhere with my questions. “Does everyone else know about this?” I asked.

“They haven’t asked.”

“So you’re not planning to tell them?”

“Certainly not!” Tommy replied, “What would the Founder say if they decided against Top Secret because of a silly little detail like this?”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely,” he said, “None of this really matters anyway, because you’ve already signed the contract; now get back in line!”

“But you lied to me.”

“Well yes, technically, but I had to,” he explained, “It’s the only way you would listen.”

“So you lied to our new recruits, too?”

“Well yes, but look at them now, it got them out on the field,” he said, “It got them where they wanted to be.”

“But what if they prefer another style of music?”

“Like I said, that’s not music,” Tommy said, “the Founder only likes percussion.”

“Well, I know Hänsli is a drummer,” I said, “But doesn’t he enjoy other music too?”

“Stop calling him that!” Tommy warned, “He likes percussion music the best; that’s why he wants us all to be drummers: Top Secret drummers!”

“So what’s everyone else doing here?”

“They’re just distractions,” he said, “they’re going to fail the audition anyway.”

“All of them?” I asked.

“Yes, every last one of them,” Tommy explained, “That is unless, of course, they decide to get with the program and learn the drum rudiments.”

“But some of them have never played a drum – or even seen a drum!”

“Listen, I didn’t make the rules here,” Tommy said, “The Founder wrote the rulebook, and he told me it’s all fair in the end.”

I couldn’t believe Herr Zermatt would just write off everybody else if they didn’t line up outside our container to get a drum when the number was over.

“What if they don’t like what they see in the container?” I asked, “I mean, you have to admit that was kind of weird.”

“Never mind, they’ll come around. Someday they’ll all want to be drummers. And if one of the qualified Top Secret drummers sends in a referral card in the future, we’ll print out honorary Top Secret memberships for everyone else.”

“But what if they still don’t want to be drummers?”

“Well that would be their loss,” Tommy said, “Of course everyone is going to want to be a drummer in the end, though; everyone wants in, and Top Secret is the only drum corps worth drumming in.”

“What if they’d rather join Stomp, or Blast!, or Taiko Dojo?” I asked, “Will they still be able to choose their own music at that point?”

“Of course,” Tommy said impatiently, “We can’t make them march to our beat, but at least they’ll all have the option.”

“But most of them have never met anyone in Top Secret; how are they supposed to get a referral?” I asked, “That just doesn’t make any sense!”

“It doesn’t need to make sense,” Tommy said, getting exasperated, “it just needs to feel right.”

“But it doesn’t even feel right!”

“Listen, that tuba player must have knocked you on the head pretty hard,” Tommy said, “Your students are going to flunk their own auditions, and you don’t want that on your head, do you?”

“Guess not…”

“Trust me,” he said, “Your father trusted me, and your grandfather trusted me. I know your family better than you do; and they would all want you to trust me right now.”

“I don’t know about this whole thing,” I said, feeling exhausted myself, “What if others get in my way again?”

“As for the glee club and the jazz band,” Tommy answered, “Herr Zermatt told me himself that he wants them off the field.”

“Through your broken headset…” I mumbled under my breath

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I answered, “I just wanted to know why you told me to go around the jazz band. Dad told me he had to knock them out of the way back in his day.”

“The Founder told me to change that, because we were getting booed by the crowds in the stands.”

“But I thought our scores come from the Founder, not the crowd,” I said, feeling more confused than ever before.

“OK, here’s the deal. I mean he used to want them off the field,” Tommy explained, “Now he wants the jazz band on the field, but no glee club. Herr Zermatt’s in charge, and his orders have nothing to do with the crowd’s opinion.”

“Now wait a second,” I said, “You just told me the crowd was the deciding factor.”

“No I didn’t.”

The stadium’s gas-driven lights started to flicker in the background. Maybe I was going nuts after all.

“But we dodged the glee club toward the end as well,” I said, trying to salvage my own sanity, “What gives?”

“That’s right,” Tommy answered, “Herr Zermatt still doesn’t think they should be on the field at all, but for his own reasons, he told me for now we need to let them do their thing – whatever that is.”

“Well that makes me feel even worse for having knocked them down the first time around.”

“You were only following orders, so that won’t count against you,” Tommy said confidently, “You’ve got my personal guarantee on that.”

“You heard that directly from the Founder?”

“Yes, he told me through the headset.”

“The one that doesn’t work.”

“What are you talking about?” Tommy asked, “Of course it works – the instructions just come through very faintly. These earpieces help tune out all the other ambient noise; luckily, I’ve got really fine-tuned hearing, so I can pick it all up, but you wouldn’t be able to hear it yourself. That’s why you need me to translate it for you.”

“So I’m just going to have to take your word for it?”

“No, not at all,” Tommy said, “Don’t you feel good when you’re performing well, and the audience is cheering while you’re hitting all of your marks?”

“I guess so.”

“Well there’s your answer!” Tommy said, “In fact, they’re still applauding. Don’t you hear the cheers right now? They love you out there.”

“Really?”

“Sure, just close your eyes and listen. If you get in tune, you’ll actually feel the applause.”

I gave it a try, and sure enough, I could hear it; but when I opened one eye just a bit I could see that nobody in the stands was even watching anymore. In fact, lots of them had started throwing things since they were bored and disappointed by this unplanned intermission. The noise I was hearing didn’t make any sense. I opened both eyes and saw that Tommy had turned around and was fiddling with something. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped back, a bit startled.

“OK,” he admitted, “I’m just playing back a recording of them cheering while you were playing.”

“What?”

“You were supposed to keep your eyes closed, so now you’ve missed the whole lesson,” he said, “but trust me, they love you, and they all want to be you. They only wish they were good enough to be in Top Secret.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “They seem happy enough without us.”

“You’ve got that wrong,” Tommy said, “Don’t you remember what I told you when I first met you? You are supposed to be Top Secret’s center snare someday, leading the squad on their world tour. That’s how you spread happiness to the crowds. And you’re giving it all up? For what? Don’t blow it now! The Founder will be so disappointed in you.”

I looked up toward the box, but the stadium lights were so bright that I couldn’t see anything at all. It reminded me of how blurry everything looked when I woke up on the field the first day.

“When you first found me, lying on the field,” I said to Tommy, “How do I know what you told me about my past is even true?”

“How dare you ask that sort of question?” Tommy said, “Are you insinuating that I’ve been lying to you?”

“Well, how can I be sure you speak for the Founder? How can I know that Top Secret even exists? Have you ever even seen the Founder?”

“That’s something I don’t talk about, but yes, if you have to know, I’ve seen him myself.”

“With your own eyes?” I asked.

“Well, it might have been his shadow…or maybe his reflection…but it was definitely him!”

I had a strange sensation that the hippies were right with their diagnosis of Tommy.

“Like I said, I can’t talk about it,” Tommy said, “Now everyone’s getting restless and impatient, so you need to man up and do your job.”

I could see that the field was getting pelted with objects thrown by the restless crowd.

“This is your last chance,” Tommy said, “Go back to your students out there and finish the audition!

“I don’t think I can do this,” I said, “I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore.”

“Well, if you’re going to be a coward and walk off the field, do it quietly,” he said, “Don’t you dare make a scene!”

I weighed out my options and finally decided to march back onto the field and pick up my drum. Having come this far, I might as well finish my audition. One way or another, this was going to be the last number. I looked around and saw a bunch of eyes on me. The cheers and jeers resonated all around in a frenzy of sound. I had been warned about this: The noise echoing off the stands was confusing. “Don’t listen to the sound around you,” I had been taught, “Just watch the director and trust him completely!”

I looked down at the fifty-yard line which led straight to Tommy’s podium. As I looked up at him, he was holding his mace high in the air, ready to strike the downbeat that would signal the commencement of the finale and my concluding march toward him.

What should I do when that baton drops?

So…now this has become my own story; this is the point at which the analogy has caught up with my real life in real time. And Nathan has told me once again that I am that man. This where I am standing right now. I’m not awaiting any further instruction; I know all I am ever going to know. The choice is now mine alone. What should I do?

Let’s turn this question into another multiple-choice quiz. Should I:

Stick with the snare drum and fall in line again
Walk quietly off the field with as little disruption as possible
Go relax in the stands and enjoy the show with some popcorn
Try a new instrument
Boycott and picket the show
Punch Tommy in the face
Have a beer and make fun of those who are auditioning from the stands
Share the lessons I’ve learned so far while learning as much as I can from others

Whether it came from the Founder or not, in the back of my head, I know the music I’ve learned is a part of me wherever I go:

His blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul
My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man
[Am I] a living legacy to the leader of the band?

Well, am I?

~~~~~~~~~~
Retrospective

I thought Tommy had the Founder’s blessing when he told me to stay on target and knock others down as I stuck to my line and proceeded toward the podium. Wherever I go from here, I can see now that walking right over anyone who got in my way was bad advice. The orders came from someone whose personal opinions had been swayed by those who had wronged him in the past. It had nothing at all to do with a directive from the box seats; it had nothing to do with protecting the band members. In the end, I realized it had everything to do with retribution, protecting his own reputation, and preserving his expensive instruments.

So regardless of my ultimate path, my first step needs to be an apology to those I knocked over along the way. If any are still down, I want to help them get on with their own audition.

I owe another apology to those whose music I ignored or invalidated in the past. I want to hear their music now. I like the idea of asking lots of questions – this time not to convince everyone to be drummers but to find out what beauty they may see in their own instruments.

And I owe the biggest apology to my teaching partner and our understudies. I have no answers at this point, but I’d still like to take all of the lessons we’ve cumulatively learned, recognizing both the imperfections and the sincerity of the teachers along the way, and write our own show. I don’t disagree with the basic theory in the drum rudiments; that can still serve as the backbone; but I’d like to help them recognize that music is so much bigger than the rhythm section!

Even if we write down the planned measures, there needs to be enough room to insert solos wherever we like, allowing everyone do play what feels right, even if it isn’t exactly as prescribed in the sheet music. As for me, I’m going to keep on drumming because that’s what I like to do and that’s what I know how to do. But when I find a groove, I’m going to run with it, regardless of the previous plan. If the audience likes it, fine, they can cheer me on. If they hate it, fine, they can throw tomatoes at me. I can take it.

If I come up with my own cadence, my interns may march in step with me or go their own way. I’ll try to teach them the parts of music theory that opened up the freedom to jam. Without some of the basic tenets, they might be stuck without being able to find a groove of their own – one that makes them happy and allows them to freely express themselves.

Maybe Top Secret’s all that. Maybe it’s not. But by no means is it the only drum corps out there, and preferences are subjective. What will my father think – and his father before him – knowing that I walked off the field? That I rejected their personal coach? That I decided Top Secret just wasn’t my style?

Maybe that shouldn’t matter, but it does figure into the mix. At this point, nobody remembers a thing from before the Day 1 concussion. All we have to go on is the stories others have told us. Was Tommy really supposed to be my coach? He told me a story that I bought into for over forty years, but I didn’t pick him; he was picked for me. Or was he? Should I be looking out for a replacement coach? Do I even need a coach?

For the time being, I have no idea who is behind that one-way glass – it might be an empty room for all I know. You may have heard a voice coming from that direction; maybe you’ve seen a glimpse of who’s there and what the scorecard looks like. That’s awesome for you – keep playing to the best of your convictions if that’s the case! But now that I’m standing on the field with my own students, having confirmed the parts of Coach Tommy’s story that are made up – that he even admitted he made up – well, I can’t deal with the lies. I’m going to have to throw those out and let my understudies know that I am rescinding any orders that are based on those lies.

I’d still like to think that there’s something outside the stadium, but rather than seeing life as an audition for what’s next, I’m planning to live my life as if this is the grand finale itself. Because it may well be.

I’m convinced that none of us will ever know what’s outside the stadium until we take that final stroll through the one-way exit doors. So I’m not claiming to know anything at all, but I suspect that if I had continued to step on others – or to ignore them altogether – I’d end up flunking the audition. If there is indeed a Founder up in the box seats, I believe he would have expected me to fire Tommy a long time ago, and that every avoidable takedown from here on out would be a mark against me.

We’ve all learned some good lessons and bad lessons during our time in the stadium. We can only take our best guess as to which is which. Maybe we’re right, maybe we’re wrong. Maybe we have a collective responsibility to take out those who are ruining the show for others and let them know just how awesome our own drum corps is. But I’m going to be much more careful in casting that judgment going forward. And in the end, I’m convinced that how we treat each other along the way is more important than whether we are right.

| Next: Chapter 9 Part 2: Prima Ballerina |