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The Coolest Activity You Might Have Never Heard Of

If you happen to follow any of my Meta-owned social media (Facebook, Instagram, Threads), then you’ve seen frequent posts from me on Saturdays doing PA and sound for a Winterguard event. Usually, it’s a photo of a high school gym with views from my table and from some other place in the venue. I typically don’t include a photo of the action on the floor because 1) I don’t want to post any image to which a performing group might object, and 2) I’m don’t always have an opportune moment to capture a good photo. Most likely, though, it wouldn’t matter if I did post an action shot, because Winterguard is something the average person has never even heard of.

Having said that, I encourage you to explore the world of Winterguard on YouTube. Just search “Winterguard” and check out what comes up. No doubt you will see some shows from the Winter Guard International (WGI) World Championships (obviously the culmination of each season), but you’ll also come across some WGI Regional performances and perhaps local circuits, like the North Texas Colorguard Association, for whom I’ve worked the past several years. Go ahead, fall down that rabbit hole, and be astounded at the artistry and athleticism on display.

“So why is this stuff called ‘Winterguard? It look just like flag twirling and dancing in a gym.’” If that’s you’re reaction, although you’re not completely inaccurate, you are so, SO wrong. There was a TV ad for Hampton Inn a few years ago that depicted a dad taking his daughter to guard competitions, and they called it “flag dancing.” UGH. So, some brief history: In the 1970s, high school marching bands around the country typically marched end zone-to-end zone, “military” style, and they included “featured twirlers” for some extra visual flare. Flags weren’t necessarily part of the halftime show, and when they were, many schools referred to it as the “flag corps” (to go with the “drum corps”). Mercifully, both of those terms have been retired, save for the person who just may not know it. The term “color guard” is literally military, referring to the soldiers who carry, or guard, the colors, i.e., the U.S. flag. In the world of drum & bugle corps, the colorguard still actually carries/guards the colors at retreats. But as the drum corps activity evolved, the colorguard expanded in number and in the ways it contributed to the show. It literally took on a life of its own, with performers spinning (NEVER “twirling” ) a variety of flags, rifles, sabres, and more. While Drum Corps International (DCI) formed in 1972 to govern the drum & bugle corps activity, WGI formed in 1977 because colorguard had expanded to a year-round endeavor. Every DCI corps had a guard on the field accompanying the brass and percussion in the summer, but then many of those same guards would rehearse and perform an indoor show during the winter. Hence the name “winter guard.” Other guards formed that only performed during the winter. It became very much its own thing. And still, you may have never heard of it.

Since the 1980s, the term “colorguard,” not “flag corps,” is the generally accepted term, just as marching percussion is called the “drumline” and no longer the “drum corps.” “Drum Corps” instead refers to the drum & bugle corps activity, the “DC” in DCI. The “WG” in WGI is, of course “Winter Guard.” These days, a given student entering junior high or middle school might embark on a career in guard lasting well over a decade, depending on that student’s enjoyment of and commitment to the activity. Over the course of that career, the student will be part of a cadet and/or novice unit in middle school/junior high during winter only, since there’s currently no such thing as junior high marching band. The student will likely be involved in band, as well, though not every school requires guard members to play an instrument. (Though it definitely helps from the standpoint of rhythm and phrasing, among other skills). This student will learn how to carry, spin, flip, toss, and exchange a flag, a rifle, and probably a sabre. Those items are called “equipment,” and the student will accumulate many, many skills using each of them. I honestly don’t know all the terminology involved, but I do know that guard judging guidelines include a thing called “equipment vocabulary,” which is basically what it sounds like — the greater variety of movements a group can do with a wide range of equipment, the better the score.

But equipment is only one part of the score. There’s also movement. And yes, it is dance, but not in the sense of what you see anywhere from youth dance competitions to high school and college dance teams to professional shows. “Movement vocabulary” in colorguard competitions isn’t quite that extensive, but guard performers learn foot positions and principles of body positioning as it relates to their art form. Students with a background in dance definitely have an advantage, but nearly any performer can master the dance principles needed for the activity. Add movement and equipment skills together in a given performer, hone and build them year after year, enlarge the vocabulary over time, and increase the performance demands, and that performer will accomplish physical, mental and emotional feats that truly impress and entertain. (Some of those performers will continue in the activity as instructors themselves, or perhaps judges and event staff.) Now multiply that performer by anywhere from 6 to 30 for a given ensemble. String together roughly 40-60 performances filled with these performers, and you’ll have an idea of how I spend many of my Saturdays each winter into spring. Is it like announcing a huge sporting event with 10,000+ screaming fans? Not really, but not many PA guys ever get that experience, anyway. But don’t think that these shows are poorly attended. The gym always fills up. Always. And it gets downright rowdy for WGI Regionals and NTCA Championship shows. There’s parents, families, friends, and just plain fans who genuinely appreciate the activity. The WGI World Championships, held annually in Dayton, Ohio, regularly sell out. There’s a community out there that loves this stuff, even if the average person probably has no idea what it is or who’s involved.

“So why haven’t I heard of it?” That’s a great question. Some of it comes down to marketing. WGI and DCI have both sought ways to expand their reach over the years, but the “marching arts,” as they call it, remain fairly niche. Now, why does this activity matter so much to me at this time of year, as a voiceover talent? It’s actually quite simple. My place in VO is never about starring roles; I view myself always in a supporting role. You have something that needs a professional voice showcasing it. A message, an idea, a product, or in this case, an event. (Hey, that’s like my website tagline!) In the context of a Winterguard show, we’re actually talking a large event comprised of a series of small events, each 3-7 minutes long featuring a group of these performers whose skills could and should astound you. My job is simply to showcase THEM. It’s also frankly one of the tougher VO gigs out there, because I’m not just the PA guy. I’m actually called the “sound engineer,” because I also play the audio tracks for each ensemble’s performance. It’s a bigger responsibility than you might think, because if I make a mistake, it hinders the performance on the floor. Ultimately, my job at these gigs is to help each guard unit – Every. Single. One. – have their best possible performance. That means, as a Live Announce voiceover pro, I introduce each group with the proper timing, energy, and pronunciation (I live in Texas, so sometimes that’s more challenging than you think.) I have to follow completely the announcer guidelines provided by the sponsoring organization (typically NTCA or WGI). And I have to manage the music provided for each unit, including timing, adjusting volume as needed, and troubleshooting as required. Oh yeah, I am also literally my own roadie for the first and last 45-60 minutes of each day. Not every performance gym has a reliable sound system, so I am often asked to set up a portable sound system provided by the organization. That system consists of two 2500-watt powered speakers (weighing around 60 lbs each) on stands, cables for audio signal and power, mixer, microphone, etc. I bring a lot of my own gear, including a MacBook Pro to play all music. Arrive at the venue two hours early, set everything up and test it, then prep for the gig. When it’s all over, break everything down, load it into my car, and leave. It includes far more work than your typical PA gig where you show up and just sit down in front of the mic. Pays more, too, but that’s not why I enjoy it so much.

Of course, I deeply enjoy watching the shows. In the world of sports, I consider the sound of a basketball falling cleanly through the net to be the best one. But don’t underestimate the power of hearing the unified >snap< of several rifles being caught cleanly at once, or the >whoosh< of flags spinning, flying, and landing perfectly together. There’s even artistry in the logistics of setup and tear-down, as each unit unfurls their vinyl floor, sets up their props and equipment, then gathers it all up afterward. But what I really enjoy is not just the activity, the logistics, the athleticism, or the artistry. (WGI’s tag line is “Sport of the Arts,” which is really quite inventive.) What I find most gratifying is that, because it’s an intimate setting with a manageable number of performers, you get to see some raw emotion fully displayed, up close. I also announce at marching band contests in the fall, and I’ve written before about how great modern marching band is. But a typical marching show involves 100 people or more, and because you’re watching it in a football stadium, your view of individuals can be limited. At a Winterguard show inside a gym, the individual has nowhere to hide. And it can be glorious. Because I do multiple shows throughout the season, I get to see some units early-season, when they’re still growing from their mistakes, and late-season, when they’ve added new equipment work, new movement, and perfected all of it. You want to experience a cool sense of emotion? Watch a guard performer struggle and persist through a bunch of early-season struggles with tosses, then come back 6 weeks later and watch that same performer nail every single one. Watch everyone’s faces, especially late-season, when they know this show, they know they know it, and they’re truly performing it with energy, emotion, and excellence. The performances themselves can be breathtaking to view, but it’s gratifying just to watch the emotions, and I’m privileged to have a role providing a foundation of poise and professionalism as each unit puts their work and their achievements on the floor for all to see.

And as with just about any team activity, as cool as the “product” may be, what seems every bit as enjoyable for the performers are the connections they develop with one another. This coming weekend, NTCA will host their top-level Championships (they’ve already had two championships for younger units) for the 2026 season, and the awards after Finals will feature a full retreat, where every unit gets to enter the floor and be recognized. The performers will come in uniform, but they’ll also be armed with t-shirts, with sunglasses, with something that expresses their camaraderie and esprit de corps. They’ll have some kind of marker on seniors who have made their last performance with the unit. They’ll celebrate their achievements this season, but more than that, they’ll celebrate rehearsing, performing and growing with each other. They’ll stay on the floor after the ceremony concludes to take photos and sing to whatever music I have pumping for them. (And I have developed a pretty keen sense for what songs resonate in this setting.) And they’ll have benefited more than any of us can imagine, learning lessons about themselves, about working with others, that go beyond equipment and movement, and that will resonate forever. And yet so many have never heard of it. But now you, dear reader, have. The next step would be to check it out. You’ll be glad you did, if only because you’ll know what “Winterguard” actually is, how difficult and amazing the shows can be, and so you won’t ever use phrases like “flag dancing” or “twirling rifles.” Enjoy.

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Is the Friday Night Lights experience Overrated?

Texas high school football is a unique obsession. I mentioned in a previous post that I did PA for a high school football game earlier this season, and I’ve also had the occasion to run the scoreboard for a local high school a couple of times, including this past Friday. It is also no secret that I have been a sports fan literally all of my life.

I remember my first high school football game: Arlington Lamar vs Irving MacArthur, Fall 1973 at UT-Arlington’s old Memorial Stadium. I sat on the home side with my siblings. I vaguely remember repeating most of what the PA announcer said to a random kid sitting near me (seeds firmly planted in me at a young age). It was the first of many. I would estimate that over the course of my life, I have attended around 300 high school football games – that includes games I attended with my older siblings and games I attended while in junior high. When I was in junior high, I even attended a few games with my older sister while she covered them for the local paper early in her journalism career. Then there were games when I was in marching band in high school, when my old high school was involved in the playoffs and I attended, and when I was a high school teacher. I was also at a few games with the UTA Marching Band, both as drum major and doing PA, when we were playing postgame exhibitions. Throw in all the games I announced over the course of roughly 14 years in a previous district, and the total has to be around 300. I used to love high school football fiercely, especially playoff games. Favorite high school football memories: LD Bell vs Trinity at Texas Stadium to conclude the 1983 regular season (in the pressbox with my sister, keeping stats) and DeSoto vs Cedar Hill at Newsom Stadium in December of 2006 (on the mic doing PA). Both of those games featured packed houses – Texas Stadium’s lower bowl was full in 1983, and Newsom Stadium overflowed in 2006. At that 2006 game, I got to call Von Miller’s (yes, the Super Bowl 50 MVP) name all afternoon because he was involved in so many tackles. Today, I think I still like the activity, but I’m not sure I love it anymore, and it’s not just because I’m old or otherwise burned out.

The question I pose is this: Is Texas high school football – “Friday Night Lights,” as people like to call it thanks to the brilliance of H.G. Bissinger – really that great of an experience? Or is it overrated? Maybe it’s vague and indecisive to say so, but my answer is officially “Yes And No.” There are some things about it that I still very much enjoy. There are other things that I personally find a beat-down of the highest order. And away we go…

The Good:

  • The Two-Sided Stadium. In college and the pros, the stadium is mostly filled with home fans, with a smattering of visiting fans scattered about or shoved into one section. (The main exception is Texas-OU at the Cotton Bowl, which is a fantastic atmosphere that basically proves my point.) High school has home on one side and visitor on the other, and the back-and-forth energy of that setting can be mesmerizing, especially as the weather gets colder and the games get bigger. Those specific games I mentioned earlier were really magical in part because of the two-sided stadium. It’s amazing to hear the roar on one side contrasting with the silence of the other, based on what’s happening on the field.
  • The Alma Maters (or if you prefer, School Songs). Before the game, it can be a pretty cool moment. Heck, I can still sing my own high school alma mater. It doesn’t make me cry or anything, but I do enjoy it. After the game – especially a close, hard-fought game, it’s often a poignant experience. One side is elated as they hear it, the other is disappointed. Again, this experience takes on more meaning later in the season. During the playoffs, some of these kids know it will be the last time they stand with their teammates for this moment, and there’s a lot of emotion. And that is the absolute best, because that connection between teammates matters more than the scoreboard at the end of literally any and every high school football game.
  • The Run-Throughs. I grew up seeing the paper signs the cheerleaders would spend all week making, and those were awesome. These days, team will have big reusable vinyl signs with velcro down the center, and many schools just have a giant inflatable tunnel and/or sculpture for the team. Those are also awesome, even when they look awkward. (You could ask me about “Deuce the Jaguar” sometime, but you might not want to read the full story in print on that one.) A good run-through, whether a sign or an inflatable, sets the tone for a high school game perfectly.
  • Fight Songs. THE. BEST. I don’t care whose fight song it is. I kind of like them all, and I absolutely love many of them. You simply cannot beat a good fight song. “But do they have to play the fight song so much?” YES. Yes, they do. Why would you even ask that? If the band is playing the fight song a lot, it usually means good things are happening on the field. But even if it doesn’t, who cares? Full Disclosure: Arlington High School was our bitter rival when I was in high school, but I absolutely love the AHS Fight Song, maybe even more than my high school’s. You cannot beat a good fight song, and it’s impossible to beat one into the ground by playing it too much. If you hate fight songs, I’m not sure we can be friends.
  • Drum Cadences. Another of The Best. Call Fight Songs 1A and Cadences 1B. College bands often play cadences in the stands and to march on and off the field, but there’s something unique about the high school drum cadence that’s played while action is taking place on the field. Add the dancing and other visual things the band does during the cadence, and it becomes a thing of beauty. Perhaps somewhere there’s an Arlington Lamar High School alum reading this who knows exactly what I’m talking about when I mention “The Guillotine” during “Mountain.” Literally, IYKYK. And if you don’t, you missed out. Some bands even bring the drumline down to the sidelines during the 3rd quarter so the cheerleaders and spirit group can jam out with them. Here, here. Rock on, man.
  • Spirit Songs. No, not the Fight Song, and not “Stand Tunes.” (We’ll talk Stand Tunes later on.) I’m talking about ultra-short songs that the band plays in the stands which are specifically designed to get the crowd and the team energized. “Go Big Blue.” (Or whatever color you prefer.) “Eat ‘Em Up.” (!!!) We used to have a straight, swing, and polka version of Eat ‘Em Up when I was in high school, and it was glorious. Some schools play the William Tell Overture. Duncanville High School traditionally opens every game with “The Planet Krypton” fanfare from John Williams’ score to the 1978 Superman, and it is amazing. Mansfield High’s band plays “Eye of the Tiger” at the kickoff of every game. I find Survivor’s original to be one of the worst songs of the 80s, but as a spirit song on a Friday night, it works. More Spirit Songs, please.
  • Friendly Visits by the Band and Drill Team. One of the best traditions at any high school football game happens when the home drum majors and drill team officers head to the visitors’ side during the second half, introduce themselves, and greet the visiting band/drill team. Then they escort the visiting drum majors/officers to the home side, where they introduce them to the home band/drill team. It’s always a lovely moment of camaraderie among performers across school boundaries.

The Bad:

  • Halftime. “Whaaat? Didn’t you recently have a post about how great marching bands are?” I did, indeed, recently post about how marching band is awesome. (and thanks for reading, if you thought that.) And it IS. And if you have a chance, you should attend a marching band contest, because it might blow your mind. But the football halftime itself is a beating, especially in the month of October, when every band tries to perform their entire contest show. The bottom line is that 28 minutes for a football halftime is way too long, any way you slice it. I recently saw a school play a 2-minute hype video for the drill team, then the drill team did their “march-on” routine, then they introduced every single officer and spirit girl and special girl and on and on, then they finally had the actual drill team performance. Then the band performed their full contest show. And then they did it all again for the other school! I’ve heard people insist that high school halftimes have taken 40 minutes or longer, and while I can assure you that’s not likely, it sure can feel that way. And yet, for the performers it nearly always feels rushed, especially when the teams emerge from the locker rooms and begin warming up while the show’s still happening. (Don’t get me started on that team in Idaho that ran out through the band’s performance.) That’s why some band directors will, when it’s serious contest season, have the band perform post-game, where they can focus strictly on their own competition show free of distractions and have more control of the performance environment. It’s a smart play, allowing the fans attending for football to focus on it, and the parents attending to watch the band to focus on it. While it makes for a late night for the band, the ability to dedicate the post-game environment solely to their own performance can be beneficial.
  • Homecoming. When you’re in school and are sweet on someone, homecoming is a lovely date night, even if you’re in the band and have to go home, shower, and change before you head out to eat dinner at 10:30pm or later. You’re in high school; enjoy it! But for just about everyone else (also some students, including my own children) “HoCo” (I despise that abbreviation, BTW) is a beating. Technically, “homecoming” is supposed to be when alumni “come home,”but it’s often unlikely any meaningful sampling of alumni actually shows up. Maybe a class celebrating a specific reunion. No, homecoming as it exists now is mainly little more than a celebration of the popular kids. Sure, some schools will occasionally crown a special needs student as king or queen, but statistically speaking, the same students who have been popular since, like, second grade are the ones who get to be part of the “court.” And we tell the world who their parents are, what their favorite memory is, where they’re headed next, yada yada yada. “And please welcome last year’s homecoming king and queen” (who you won’t remember) to crown this year’s. Please just jab a fork in my eye. I do have one favorite homecoming memory from my years doing PA: One school sent their own announcer to the booth for the ceremony. This guy made an error, saying “Your Homecoming Queen is…” before reading the boy’s name. Then he said “And your Homecoming Queen is…” and read the girl’s name. He didn’t even realize it, but all of us in the pressbox did. Two homecoming queens, well before that might even be considered a thing. The game staff joked about how progressive that was, but I still wonder if the Homecoming King’s parents heard the gaffe and got upset.
  • Stand Tunes. I did say we’d talk about this one later. I railed about this one slightly back in September. There’s nothing wrong with a decent arrangement of a song for the stands. But do they have to be all the same? Seriously – Rock and Roll, Part 2 (aka “The ‘Hey’ Song,” aka “The Only Song We Know”), Seven Nation Army, and Pretty Fly – remove them from the face of the earth, and half the bands in America would have nothing left to play. Does every band have to play these? Do something different. Give me some Bruno Mars, Chappell Roan, or even Taylor Swift. Heck, throw it back to Earth, Wind, & Fire or The Gap Band. Just stop playing the same stuff everybody else plays. Surely there are other good arrangements of other energizing songs. Or…break out a specific spirit song, like I mentioned earlier.
  • Disengaged and/or Nasty Fans. I realize that there are many fans in the stands who are A) parents of the players; B) parents of one of the performing students, like band, drill team, cheer, etc.; C) faculty and staff there to support their students; D) friends and family of someone involved in the game and surrounding activities; E) students standing (all game) in the student section because they want to support the team F) other actual fans of the team, whether community members, alumni, whatever. And as long as they support their team, bring it on. I humbly submit that these attendees are too often in the minority at your typical Friday football game. The majority are the types I cannot stand, including G) fans who are constantly yelling at the coaches, officials, or both; H) students and adults who talk trash to opposing players and/or coaches; I) students who attend the game not to watch but to be seen. Your proverbial mileage may vary, depending on the school. My observations have generally been that it varies based on how small-town or suburban the school is. The more small-town your school, the more engaged the fans. The more suburban the school, the more likely you are to see disengaged fans, especially students who are at the game purely as a social event, with no interest in what’s actually happening on the field. And nasty fans who think it’s acceptable to talk sh** to teenagers and/or underpaid coaches and officials need to go live under a bridge like the veritable trolls that they are.

If you’re keeping score (and since it’s about high school football, you probably should be), you may notice that I have 7 things listed under The Good and only 4 things listed under The Bad. But the word count is 862 for The Good and 1,038 for The Bad. So clearly, I like more things about Friday Night Lights than I dislike, but I have over 150 more words to say about what I dislike. And that, friends, is why my answer to the question, “Is Texas high school football…really that great of an experience?” is a clear “Yes And No.” The next time you attend a game, cheer for your team, try your best to soak in everything you enjoy about the experience, ignore what you don’t like, and fight your way through any disinterested or dysfunctional fans on your way home. Make sure the time you spend there is time well-spent.

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40 Years of “The Marching Band Without Football” – Part 2

Yesterday, I posted Part 1 about the UTA Maverick Marching Band, including a history of the successes and ultimate demise of UTA football, and how UTA’s marching band managed to continue without a football team to play for. READ THAT POST HERE.

TLDR: UTA football was a once-proud program that slowly crumbled due to stadium issues and poor win-loss records, which led to faltering attendance and financial losses until the program was cancelled on November 25, 1985. But the UTA Marching Band survived as an academic pursuit thanks to the vision of Ray C. Lichtenwalter and the support of President Wendell Nedderman and his administration.

Year 1, 1986 – the UTA Marching Band, “New Direction.” That was literally the name the band used on promotional materials and in the announcement script. The official band t-shirts given out during summer band camp were changed from “UTA Maverick Band” to simply “UTA Marching Band.” Maverick (Movin’ Mav) football was gone. Not only was the very act of fielding a marching band without a football team audacious, but the 1986 band performed a musically bold show: H. Owen Reed’s La Fiesta Mexicana. The subtitle of this piece is “A Mexican Folk Song Symphony for Concert Band.” Assistant Director of Bands John Carnahan arranged the music and wrote all the drill. Percussion Coordinator Michael Varner arranged the percussion. Colorguard legend Karl Lowe choreographed the guard. For the era, it was ambitious and forward-thinking, in keeping with the UTA Band’s usual approach. For a band that was used to doing body waves as the team ran onto the field and performing college football halftimes, it was, at times, too much. The show itself lasted over 12 minutes, far more than a college band was used to. The show was approaching the level of a drum corps production for the era, but without daily rehearsals to perfect it. The 1986 performance tour was also ambitious, because the band needed to prove itself to University officials that first year and show just how this thing could work. There were two different postgame performances at high school football games. There was a Saturday where the band played after Prelims at the Plano East Marching Festival before returning to Arlington to play after Finals at the UTA Band Alumni Marching Contest. The highlight of the season was a trip to Austin for the Westlake Marching Festival, where the band performed to the pressbox side, then turned around and performed again to the visitors’ side, since that’s where all the high school band members (and prospective UTA students) were sitting. One exhibition, two performances. That first year was monumental and exhausting, but it showed that the UTA Marching Band meant business and wanted to accomplish something special, something unique.

1987 saw the UTA Band perform Gustav Holst’s The Planets. Another musically ambitious production developed by the same staff, but the show wasn’t quite as long and the tour wasn’t quite as demanding. In 1988, John Carnahan departed, as did Karl Lowe. UTA hired Bobby Francis as Assistant Director of Bands, but instead of moving forward with the planned production of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade, UTA instead performed selections by Aaron Copland, including Rodeo, Billy the Kid, and Appalachian Spring. There was a noticeable drop-off in performance. It was becoming clear that some of the stalwart students hanging on from the days of football were getting a little tired of band by itself. 1989 was a critical year for the band, as the goal was simply to recapture a higher performance level in a show that featured an eclectic mix of music from Jerry Goldsmith and Sandi Patty. (You read that correctly.) 1989 also featured the final shows wearing the uniforms UTA first wore in 1978, and after 12 seasons, they were showing their age, both dated and worn-out.

1990 was my fifth and final year as drum major (as a solo Drum Major, at that). More importantly, the season ushered in new uniforms – a significant investment by the University – and the genesis of the student advisory committee, which helped decide the music and general programming for the show. “A Fantastic Journey,” featuring Krypton Fanfare from John Williams’ score for Superman, along with music from Back to the Future, The Boy Who Could Fly, and The Last Starfighter, was not as high-brow as Reed, Holst, or Copland, but definitely accessible music with a connecting theme. The staff added Denise Williamson (now Armstrong) as the guard director, and the band’s personnel had cycled through to include students who really wanted to be in the UTA Marching Band not for the novelty, but because they wanted a chance to perform in college at the highest possible level. The powerful sound was back. The visual performance was elevating. Indeed, a fantastic year, and I was privileged to lead the ensemble as 1990 proved that the proverbial experiment from only 5 years prior had emerged as a legitimate program.

The remainder of the 1990s retained a similar pattern – music from The Rocketeer and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991), Jesus Christ Superstar (1992) – including an exhibition at the UIL State Marching Contest, and Cats (1993). Bobby Francis departed in 1993 to become Director of Bands at East Texas State University (now East Texas A&M), and UTA hired Phillip Clements (now the Executive Director of the Texas Bandmasters Association) as Assistant Director of Bands. Phil came in from the University of North Texas with DCI experience, and his expertise allowed the band to ascend even further. The music of Blood, Sweat, and Tears, the Who’s Tommy, and more…shows that combined musical excellence with exciting themes that the band could easily portray and audiences could really enjoy. In 1998, Dr. Jack Gibson, the band’s P.A. Announcer since 1978, decided to “retire” from the job, and I was invited by Mr. Clements to take over. I felt privileged yet again to associate directly with this ensemble and showcase their performances with my voice to conclude the 20th century with “Arabia!” (1998), Stan Kenton’s Adventures in Time (1999), and “Peace, Love, and Revolution!” (2000).

2001 was another watershed year in the history of the UTA Marching Band, as they traveled to Indianapolis to perform an exhibition at the Bands of America Grand Nationals Championships. The other BOA exhibition band that year? The University of Massachusetts Minuteman Marching Band, under the direction of the legendary George Parks. UTA’s show was called “Passion!” and opened with a rendition of Ravel’s Bolero, featured an assortment of Latin music, and concluded with Ginastera’s Danza Final. The most ambitious program since 1986, clocking in at 11 minutes, because, well…Grand Nationals, buddy. I will never forget watching the band rehearse inside the old RCA Dome at 1:00am on Saturday morning in preparation for an exhibition later that day. I will also never forget their epic performance, or enjoying a rather satisfying dinner with the entire staff at The Eagle’s Nest after the show. That momentum carried over into 2002 as the University financed another set of new uniforms for the band’s production of Moulin Rouge, featuring music from the Baz Luhrmann film.

Then came 2003, which was, in my humble estimation, the pinnacle of the UTA Marching Band’s performances since the end of football. By this time, the band had become a veritable machine. The members were all really mature and businesslike. If the buses were to be loaded by 3:45pm, everyone was seated and ready to go by 3:30. That kind of group. The show was called “Colors” and featured Samuel Hazo’s Ride, Van Morrison’s “Moondance,” and music from the Cirque du Soleil show La Nouba. The show had everything, and Moondance was the closest I’ve ever heard a marching band get to drum-corps-level energy. CHECK OUT THE SHOW HERE.

In the spring of 2004, Ray C. Lichtenwalter retired. He received many accolades and a David Maslanka work commissioned in his honor, all deservedly so after 37 years at UTA and 30 years as Director of Bands. Phil Clements was named Interim Director of Bands with UTA alum David Clemmer as Interim Assistant Director of Bands. The Clements/Clemmer team oversaw  “A Show You Can’t Refuse” in 2004, featuring music from The Godfather, and while it wasn’t quite the level of “Colors,” the band was still incredible. But come 2005, the University named Dr. Douglas Stotter as Director of Bands, and the marching band staff cleared out. No more Phil Clements, David Clemmer, or Denise Armstrong. Dr. Stotter hired an Assistant Director for the 2005 season who seemed promising, but he alienated students and eventually resigned literally one week before the 2006 summer band camp (what a lovely guy). Dr. Stotter ended up having to hire a different Assistant for 2006, then another one for 2007. The instability (along with certain decisions by the University) hurt the band’s numbers over these years and all but gutted the colorguard. The band still performed well enough, but for those who followed the UTA Marching Band since the end of football, “What happened?” was a common refrain.

In 2015, the University financed uniforms once again that were more traditional and featured the latest “A” logo of the school. The Assistant Director of Bands was John Zastoupil (now Director of Bands at the University of Tennessee), and his intent was essentially to rebuild and work toward what the band used to be. The band was now referenced as the “Maverick Marching Band,” or MMB, as UTA sought to rebrand slightly and emphasize the Maverick mascot again. Dr. Zastoupil departed for a promotion in 2017, and Dr. Christopher Evans (no, not the Captain America actor) signed on as Assistant Director of Bands, where he still presently serves. 

Dr. Evans, quite honestly, is someone who “gets it” and has sought to honor the legacy that the UTA Band has built since 1986. He’s previously worked with top-tier high school bands in Texas and is familiar with the demands of a unique college marching program like UTA’s, both as a performing ensemble and as a teaching lab for prospective band directors. He also understands the need for stability and is acutely aware of how even only a few shaky years can decimate a program. Dr. Evans has guided the band toward steady growth each year, even navigating all the unusual protocols of the 2020 season to accomplish a “virtual” exhibition season. The colorguard is still unusually small these days, but the band’s numbers and performance level have risen over the past decade. The MMB is now receiving additional funding from the Department of Student Affairs, and new uniforms are also on the horizon for 2026. In spite of Dr. Stotter’s untimely passing in April 2025, Dr. Evans has maintained a rock-solid foundation for the students, and I hope he gets a fair shot to continue at UTA as Director of Bands. It’s my privilege to showcase the MMB at each performance, and I look forward to many more years in that role as the band progresses further toward 50 years and more without UTA football. Here’s to a continued fun and rewarding journey.

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Modern Marching Band: The Magical, the Mundane, and the Remarkable – Part 2

Yesterday, I posted Part 1 on this topic and attempted to scratch the surface of what goes into a given marching band season and why it’s awesome, why it’s magical. Read that post here. TLDR: When you consider everything that goes into learning to play an instrument, spin a flag, march, dance, execute drill design, perfect it, and do it all together…you will find few things that are more satisfying and personally fulfilling.

But guess what? Marching band can also be rather mundane. Consider the following:

  • There’s a football game every week, and at least half of those (more for some schools) involve travel. Riding a bus back to school at 11:00pm on a Friday night when you’re exhausted is not exactly anyone’s definition of fun.
  • There’s a drill team song to learn and perform every week. Don’t get me wrong – there’s nothing wrong with drill team, per se; they work hard just like bands and accomplish impressive things. But that stop-down every Thursday to rehearse with them plus the Friday performance also gets tedious over 10 weeks.
  • Stand tunes can be cool, but they can also wear mighty thin. Seriously, how many times can anyone play “The ‘Hey’ Song” and “Seven Nation Army” without going a little bit crazy? (Although to be fair, “Land of 1,000 Dances” never gets old, IMO.)
  • There are times during the marching season that become an enormous grind. Look at the calendar – we are literally in one of those times today, 9/17/25. When I taught drum major camps, I used to teach everyone this: The DM’s leadership isn’t that essential on the first day of band camp, or at the first performance, or at any contest. Everybody’s pumped for those times. It’s easy. No, the DM is most critical in mid-September, when the temperature is still in the 90s, the band hasn’t performed at any contests yet, the show is mostly learned by now but you’re working on all the parts where the ensemble is struggling, tempers are on-edge, and enthusiasm is low. THAT is when the drum major needs to be at their best, helping the group power through those grinding times.
  • If you have a good football team, marching season can seem to last forever because the season then goes more than 10 weeks.
  • Contests are cool, but they can also be a grind. It’s an entire Saturday gone, and you might have important assignments to complete for classes. Imagine working on homework in the stands while other bands perform because otherwise, it won’t get done. Plus, it might still be warm outside, so you’re sweating almost the entire day. Now imagine doing that every weekend for an entire month.
  • October often features weather that is windy and possibly rainy. This poses many challenges as you’re trying to perfect your show and losing rehearsal time to rain and possibly lightning, or simply struggling in high winds.
  • In all honesty, sometimes the shows themselves are really mundane. Marching band often relies heavily on imitation; everybody wants to do stuff that’s popular in DCI or among the top-tier bands at UIL and BOA competitions. The activity is beholden to trends, sometimes to its detriment. There was a period several years ago, for instance, where it seemed like every show was “Title: Subtitle, in four movements – I. Noun II. Noun III. Noun IV. Noun and Noun.” I would joke that I could simply announce everyone with “Please welcome the Average Suburban High School Marching Band,” and no one would even notice. Thankfully, we’ve moved beyond that phase, and the shows are a bit more imaginative these days.

I could delve into a bit of an old-man rant from this point forward because there are certainly other things that are frustrating about the activity: People often question whether marching band is valuable as music education because so much time is spent working on a limited amount of music rather than expanding students’ repertoire. (There’s an old adage that marching band could be called “Learning to Hate Music, Three Songs at a Time.”) Sometimes what judges reward is more style and less substance, which incentivizes schools to spend more resources on props and other extraneous aspects of the show. There are definitely socioeconomic disparities in marching band. By and large, you will find a strong correlation between the wealthiest schools and the bands that score highest at UIL and non-UIL contests alike. Marching band is awesome, but the activity is far from perfect.

But here’s the thing: In this activity, perfection, in the end, is a goal but not actually an objective. Every band will strive to perfect what they’re performing. None of them will achieve it at a 100% level for 100% of the time. And that’s OK. The act of striving for perfection in a safe and healthy environment, with people you grow to love, in service to music and a product that requires everyone’s involvement, IS the point. Each ensemble begins its season at a certain beginning place and works toward “the perfect place” for 3-4 months, and then it’s over. The journey and the work involved matters more than any result. Some groups will need a new trophy case to hold all their hardware. Good for them. Some groups will just be happy to advance to finals at an invitational, or to UIL Area, or to UIL State. Good for them. Some groups will expect trophies but be unable to capture them, or expect to advance to State and finish as alternates, or not make Area Finals. All for reasons they may not grasp because the judging system is inherently subjective, and their show didn’t receive sufficient points in the right places. It is not the same as losing an athletic contest, because you cannot necessarily watch the film or examine the stats and say “we would’ve won if only…” It’s the nature of competition in competitive marching band, and sometimes it leaves ensembles wondering what-if. There is no shame in that as long as they can look back at how their performance progressed through the season and how the members connected with one another – if you can look back at those things with satisfaction, then the scores do not matter. Sure, it’s disappointing; everyone likes to achieve high scores and win. But years from now you’ll think about the joy of the experience, not tab sheets or trophies.

And the experience should be joyful, because it is remarkable. Regardless of what anyone in their 40s or older may think about the music, the choreography, the props, the amplification, the costumes, or any other aspect of a modern marching band production, what the students accomplish is astounding. I’m in my 50s and marched in the 1980s and 90s. In high school, we primarily marching symmetrical drill on a fairly rudimentary level. In college, the drill was more advanced, and we added basic choreography in places, but none of it was like what you see today. The music, drill, and choreography an audience member will witness at a typical marching band contest these days should boggle their minds. I knew guys 40 years ago who would’ve gotten physically injured trying to do what bands do today. Who couldn’t produce a sound on their instrument marching modern drill. Who would cramp up, seize up, or fold up trying to play the music of the caliber that students perform today.

Music education has advanced, to its credit. The “marching arts,” as many like to call the activity, have also advanced. These are good things. Students get an opportunity to do amazing things and perform on an elite level. “But it’s not like it used to be.” Okay. Whatever. People used to teach band members to “pound the ground” when marking time. “Kill the grass!” They used to teach techniques that are now suspect. They used to haze new members and make them feel terrible and unwanted. Does anyone really think it would be productive or educational to return to those days? And while there are people who live for old-school military bands marching 6-to-5 from end zone to end zone and despise props and microphones and speakers and dance movements, a person’s preference for the kind of show should not detract from the remarkable work the students are accomplishing. Modern military bands are also great. Bands that perform HBCU-style shows are also amazing. Those styles have advanced, as well. Honestly, no matter the particular style of show, the challenge of any marching show from the 20th century pales in comparison to the demands of a modern show, where students might be flying across 40 different spots on the field while doing choreography and maintaining sufficient body control to play with incredible musicality. Complain about the shows, if you want. Respect the performers. Celebrate them. Band students are awesome. Band is still awesome. It’s remarkable.