By Carol Xu, AVT Page Editor
It was 8:30 AM, and one could hardly hear oneself think in Holt 218. Students streamed across the room, backpacks and instrument cases strewn about the floor. They could hear one another–cacophonies of whiplash scales and tone exercises and lively chatter–but they couldn't see each other. Not beyond the masks on all their faces anyway.
They are among the select high school students who won admission to the Northern California Band Association's annual honor band camp. Out of the 89 total musicians accepted, Amador claimed nearly one quarter of the available spots. It's also the highest number of students from the school ever accepted in one year.
The Amador kids had ensconced themselves near the top half of the steps. They came, one by one, grinning in relief once they spotted their friends. Abhiram Rajendran (‘22), climbing up the steps, thought to himself it was cool to see familiar classmates in an entirely different setting.
For some, like Megan Tu (‘25), this was their first time there. For others, it was their second, third, or, in the case of Eric Tandean (‘22), fourth time.
Last year, NCBA's in-person recital had been canceled due to COVID restrictions. This year, the Amador kids knew, was their musical comeback to performing live once more, stronger than ever.
They traveled to San Joaquin Delta College in Stockton, California in different vehicles, lugging different instrument cases, but hearts beating in tandem with the same rush of excitement.
Dario Marchi (‘22) didn’t know what to expect. The shock of making it into NCBA still hadn’t worn off by the time he walked into Holt 218. And now he would have to prove himself again in a live, chair-seating audition.
This procedure would determine where every musician ranks and sits in their section. Anticipation and anxiety percolated through the atmosphere.
Students were led out for testing, one at a time.
“GOOD SKILL!” The chant ripped through the room for each Amador player heading off.
That phrase is one of the oldest traditions in the Amador marching band. Instead of wishing each other the conventional “good luck,” the band members say “good skill.” For them, it’s a better testament to the hard work and dedication they’ve each put in to get to where they are now.
Only with skill, can one have luck. For the Amador clan, all their prior practice certainly paid off. Amador students bagged first-chair positions in five major instrument categories: bassoon, clarinet, oboe, alto saxophone, and tenor saxophone.
At 1 PM, they were back, flocking into the dark Tillie Lewis theater. All wore thick, black playing masks. Slitted holes had been cut out to shove instrument mouth-pieces into. The larger instruments, like tubas and euphoniums, had bell covers clasped over their bells.
These were some of the measures mandated by the California State Department of Education to limit the spread of COVID. Use of playing masks and bell covers intended to minimize airborne transmission of the virus.
In band classes across the nation, including NCBA rehearsals, this had become the new normal. Looking across the stage, all one could see was a sea of black. Only the students' eyes peeped out above the masks.
Professor Matthew Morse greeted the band as their conductor, with brisk efficiency. He exuded “let’s get down to business” energy. A reputable force in the music world, his conducting career whisked him all across the country, from the U.S. Military Band to California State University, where he teaches today.
Dr. Morse had selected four pieces to perform. There was “Downey Overture,” a rapid whirlwind of clashing melodies; there was “The Corcoran Cadets,” a brisk, exuberant march; there was “Fantasia,” an adaptation of the English folk song “Black is the color of my true love’s hair,” and then was “Celebrations,” a joyful tune that hit close to home for some Amador musicians in the band.
Tandean had played the same piece on flute with the Amador Wind Ensemble I at the 2019 Midwest Clinic in Chicago, mere weeks before COVID hit and forced live music into a halt.
As for Marchi, he had watched, with admiration, his older sister in the very same performance. Now, following a weary year-and-a-half of Zoom-ridden band classes, Marchi would be retracing his sister’s steps and playing the same piece as her. He felt a tinge of satisfaction at the thought.
Each composition proved to be uniquely challenging, not to mention the added pressure of sight-reading–an art in itself. It requires a multitude of multi-tasking and mental gymnastics: sticking to the right time and key signatures, pressing down the right instrument keys, and actively listening to the band's balance.
“Man, you should have played flute in NCBA [instead of saxophone] so you could pretend you’re a genius at sight-reading ‘Celebrations,’” joked Kang to Tandean.
Vedanth Veer Phaninukla (‘22) went out for dinner with a few friends from Amador to the local Subway. Their stomachs rumbled. Then, while waiting for his food, Phaninukla’s phone pinged. His breath hitched. A notification announced his application result for Purdue University was ready–his first major college decision to come out.
Nerves flared up. He opened the college portal with rising trepidation.
“YES!” he pumped a fist in the air. “Accepted!”
He screamed the news to his friends. The others shrieked in excitement, clapping him on the back, hi-fiving him, congratulating him.
They were as overjoyed for him as if it had been themselves–that unconditional support is what the Amador band community’s all about. And for that one, glorious moment, it was like COVID never existed.
“I’m in a hella good mood,” Phaninukla declared, digging into his food.
It was 9 PM, and Tu's feet ached from standing all day. Rajendran had badly cut his lips. Clarinet player Alayna Chen (‘25)’s thumb was sore from supporting her instrument for six hours. Fellow clarinetist William Zhai (‘23) felt “demoralized” after struggling to sight-read the pieces.
Finally, they were dismissed.
"Guys, we just spent a whole day playing music. Congrats," said Nguyen. "And rip to our embouchures."
They shuffled out the theater, exhausted, yet faces lined with a strange, grim satisfaction.
"It’s really exhausting, [and] it’s pretty hard, but I think that’s part of why people like it," said Chen afterwards. "You feel accomplished when you actually do something right."
They carried the fatigue of the day before, muscles strained from the intense practice. Kids fidgeted and shifted positions on chairs, cracking knuckles or rolling necks or twisting backs. But on they played, despite it all.
Pages rustled; pencils clinked on stands. Players scribbled notes on the music, following any comment from Dr. Morse, the conductor–emphasize an accent here, exaggerate a crescendo there.
Dr. Morse nodded approvingly.
“You know, it makes me so happy to hear the sound of pencils writing, because it means that you’re listening to what I’m saying, so thank you all for being receptive to my instructions,” he praised. “It’s a credit to all the band programs you’ve come out of.”
Music is like a dance–it takes two to tango. The conductor leads, with swift flicks and whips of the baton, glinting silver like a needle under the light, and the musicians all follow.
The Amador students each have their own favourite piece. Nguyen loves "Fantasia," a folk song-inspired composition with an overarching simple but elegant melody, and raw flute and saxophone solos.
Chen can't decide between "Downey Overture" and "The Concordan Cadets," but leans more towards the latter because she finds it easier to play, the piece being a march.
During the ten to fifteen-minute breaks, students leapt up to stretch their tired limbs. The Amador kids abandoned their seats and congregated near the clarinet section. The masks stayed on. Wearing them outside had become almost second-nature–playing with them, though, was another thing altogether.
“Look,” Tandean thrusted a red, calloused thumb out.
“Oh no, same, look at mine,” Nguyen laughed and flashed her own.
The conversation flowed easily, students full of praise for each other’s musical artistry. They, more than anyone, know first-hand the long hours of practice it takes to play music not just accurately, but beautifully. Even in this smaller group, sincerity and appreciation continued to foster the Amador band's strong community.
“Eric, your solo is so good, it’s like, weirdly seductive,” said Nolan Smith (‘23), concert bassoonist.
As break time trickled away, students returned back to their seats, re-energized and ready to play. Fingers twiddled on keys, whole-notes drifted around, and Dr. Morse stepped back into the center, baton up.
He lifted his hands, a cue to get instruments ready at the right embouchures. A slight delay followed, as students tussled with their masks, shoving mouth-pieces into the slits. Then, silence, all eyes trained on the baton. A quick raise of his arms elicits a collective breath from the entire band.
And the dance of music continued, resounding in the large auditorium even after the band was dismissed at 5 PM. No one listening would have known they had all been playing with masks.
"If you guys aren't too uncomfortable with doing so, you can take off your masks," the photographer bellowed from above.
At the dress rehearsal and sound-check, which had gone off without a hitch, there was nothing left to do before the concert but take a commemorative group photo.
The students glanced at each other nervously, waiting for someone to make the first move. Cautiously, one by one, they pulled down their masks. From a birds-eye view, it must have looked like a large tide sending ripples across the group, washing away specks of black, and leaving the surfaces below exposed–
"Wow, I see faces!" someone called. Similar exclamations arose all around.
Players sent each other sheepish grins, taking in all the people around them, finally putting full faces to names. It was their first time seeing each other's whole faces, but it still felt somehow familiar. After all, they had spent nearly three days playing and training and bonding with each other.
This would be the first, last, and only time they saw everyone beyond the masks, beyond names and instruments. They all knew that. And so hung in the air a silent, uniform resolve to make this one, precious photograph count. They readied themselves, and stared straight at the camera overhead.
***
On the last day after the sound-check, the Amador clan decided to stuff their stomachs together for lunch.
They made straight for Target, all dressed in black concert attire. Several of them donned their marching band wind-breaker jackets. Each jacket had the Amador music program logo and the owner's initials embroidered across the front. As they walked, the jackets were like an insignia of school pride and honor.
After quick rounds at the Target Cafe and Starbucks, the students left, balancing boxes of pretzels and mini pizzas, bushels of popcorn, and drinks. By the time they finished eating, it was 12:20 PM, and they had forty minutes before call-time.
Nguyen’s eyes lit up. “Petco!” she said.
“Yes, I really want to go to Petco,” said Hong.
“I want to see the orange tabby,” Smith chimed in.
That settled it. They bursted into Petco, circled the animals in giddy excitement (“They’re so cute!” gasped Chen), and bursted back out for the concert.
“Good skill guys,” Tanmayee Chalamalasetti (‘22) called as they set up their instruments. A responding chorus of “good skill” spilled out from all sides.
Before the performance, four Amador students were awarded music camp scholarships for musical excellence and dedication: Tandean, Smith, Nguyen, and oboe player William Light (‘23). The Amador clan whooped and clapped with delight for their friends.
Under the bright lights, the band began to play. Perhaps because it was the first in-person recital after COVID, or because it was their last time playing together as a group, but trombonist Jayden Sano ('24) thought the band played their best performance that afternoon. Their audience sat, transfixed by each piece. (Carol Xu)
Rajendran would never forget the final sounds of “Celebrations.” He savored the last, swelling chord, the rings of sound resonating through the subsequent stillness, and the resounding applause.
“Yo, that was so good,” he remembered telling someone. “That last chord, I got goosebumps.”
As the last sounds of the band faded away, it was as if something had finally awakened within all those present. The entire band rose, radiant, as the audience stood too and clapped until their hands hurt.
“You guys were great! I loved the music!” Jonathan Grantham, the Amador band director, said. Hearing “Celebrations” again, after having conducted the piece himself before COVID, really struck a chord.
The Amador clan wanted to gather for one last photo to celebrate their shared journey through NCBA. Those present craned their necks in search of their absent comrades.
Masks obscured their faces and smiles, but no matter. Their eyes beamed, twinkling merrily.
"Going to NCBA was definitely one of the best decisions I ever had," said Phaninukla.
For the students who went, those three days of NCBA unexpectedly became therapeutic and comforting–it reminded them that, even during a global pandemic, music won't be muffled, not even by playing masks. For as long as there's faith, trust, and passion, like in Amador's band program, music won't just survive, but thrive.
Credits:
Created with an image by schuetz-mediendesign - "saxophone instrument music"