"The President's Own"

After a few months of venturing into the Washington, DC concert realm, our Friday venture to the United States Marine Band rehearsal was a harsh awakening to the contextualization, presentation, and execution of music. I’ve been to the Verizon Center to see huge pop and rock stars, to the Kennedy Center for more vernacular and educational performances, and to small night clubs for intimate jazz, blues and laid back shows. I’ve passed countless street performers and heard anti-war songs booming from peace rallies. I have even been involved with late-night jamming sessions with my friends at GWU—creating music as the spirit moved us. I would say I have gotten a good taste for much of the more commercial aimed music throughout Washington, but seeing the Marine Band made me redefine my concept of music in Washington.

The Marine Band is a music ensemble that helps form “The President’s Own,” which also includes the Marine Chamber Orchestra and Marine Chamber Ensembles. On July 11, 1798, The United States Marine Band was created via an Act of Congress, thereby establishing it as the oldest professional musical organization in the history of the United States. Its rich history is scattered with famous names, such as John Philip Sousa, and important duties during war and peace time, but the one unifying thread for the history of “The President’s Own” is its dedication to excellence in musical technique and performance. Members of the United States Marine Band hold advanced degrees, Ph.D.s, and teach their craft. They come from some of the most selective schools and conservatories in the world. Virtuosity is basically considered a given with any member of the Marine Band. Being in the presence of such accomplished musicians is certainly awe-inspiring, if not slightly intimidating.

It was noon on Friday, and our class processed into the very larger rehearsal room. Immediately, we were met with about eighty musicians milling about, talking to one another, laughing, and tuning instruments. They all were dressed in normal, pedestrian clothes, which greatly contrasted with the pomp and circumstance of the United States Marine Band uniform. Also, everyone seemed to be fairly relaxed and laid-back. I almost didn’t believe that this group of people could be considered some of the finest band musicians in the world—where were the long, black dresses and beautifully tailored dinner jackets? Or rather, where were their uniforms, with the gorgeous gold buttons, black and white ornaments and rich red coats? The lights were all lit, thereby neglecting to bring attention to the performers. It all seemed a bit sacrilegious—we were witnessing the inner workings of one of the most highly respected ensembles in American music history without being able to pay proper homage to their ability and virtuosity. After each piece they finished, we didn’t know whether to applaud or stay silent, so the most prudent response seemed to be to stay quiet. But, shouldn’t be showing our appreciation for their musical gift?

One of the most impressive parts of the Marine Band is their transcription of classical pieces into a band setting. There are no violins, violas, or cellos in the Band, which therefore presents an interesting observation and question. One is so used to seeing the violins, violas and cellos sit closest to the audience and circling the conductor, so does the removal of these instruments juxtaposed with the presentation of the same music decrease the legitimacy of the United States Marine Band? Does simply recontextualizing the music into a band setting decrease its effectiveness, beauty, and authenticity? At first I would have answered with a “probably,” but after seeing the rehearsal I would answer with a resounding “No!” From the first few notes of Debussy’s “Premiere Rhapsodie,” to the commanding movements of Borodin’s “Polovetsian Dances from Prince Igor” and finally to the sweet melody and beautiful backdrop of Strauss’ “Allerseelen” and “Zueignung,” the United States Marine Band provided the same aesthetic of a full-fledged orchestra. There were quiet moments full of introspection and prudence, wild timpani-led movements, brilliant arpeggios, honeyed melody lines, carefully executed harmonies, luminous counter-melodies, and amazing climaxes. I felt the same gamut of emotions that one experiences at a concert of Tchaikovsky, Brahms, and Copeland.

So, what was the real effect of witnessing a rehearsal, rather than a full performance? For one, much of the pomp and circumstance of the band’s physicality and stage presence was lost. Also, much of the standard performance conventions for this type of music were not adhered to, such as lowered lighting, usher staff, and an intent and quiet audience. We witnessed multiple times when Assistant Conductor Captain Michelle A. Rakers stopped the band to work out the kinks in certain passages, which would never have happened during a performance. Also, at one point soprano soloist Staff Sergeant Sara Dell’Omo (the first featured female soloist for the United States Marine Band) remarked on how “nervous” we made her, thereby creating a concrete and weighted relationship between us as audience and her as performer. However, these minor distractions and technicalities did not at all detract from the performance, and the reason for this lies in the virtuosity and sheer skill of the musicians. The music stood on its own and provided the legitimacy for the performance. I really didn’t feel it was a rehearsal as much, simply because everyone knew their part so well that they didn’t need to stop to work out difficult sections too often. It was a mind-blowing experience—not only because we were so close to one of the most important and the oldest professional musical organization in American history, but also because it was a band rather than an orchestra. This rehearsal definitely taught me a very important lesson for musical expression: forget the pomp and circumstance and just listen. You may be pleasantly surprised.