Legacy

The sound of more than 300 shining instruments replaces the noise caused by squeaking breaks, honking horns and the occasional diesel engine on Highland Road. Students, along with their instructor, fill the grass field on Aster Street. And today, on the eve of the Florida game, members of the LSU Tiger Marching Band stand and warm up for practice. The noise generated from the brass, woodwind and percussion instruments gets louder and louder. Then, without warning, it stops.

With a simple hand gesture from drum major Rob Dowie, members of the Tiger Band stand at attention. Trumpets, tubas, mellophones, piccolos and clarinets are held high in the air. Their owners march onto the field with stoic faces, held in time by the drum line’s cadence.

It’s hot today. Nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year, but that’s about to change. In a matter of seconds, the humidity in the air seems to condense as an afternoon shower starts to drench the band. This doesn’t deter them. In fact, they play louder and with more gusto as the rain intensifies. The music is soon replaced with cheers and excitement from the band.

“Don’t get distracted. It’s going to rain tomorrow, too,” Dowie shouts from his post above the field. “This is what makes us the best band in the country.

Many agree with him. The Tiger Band was unanimously voted the best band in the Southeastern Conference by SEC band directors in 1997. They won the Sudler Trophy just five years later, which proclaimed the Tiger Band to be the nation’s best collegiate marching band. After winning ESPN’s Battle of the Bands in 2009, the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame officially inducted the band at a Sept. 11 press conference at Lod Cook Alumni Center and again during halftime of the Sept. 12 football game against Vanderbilt.

Maintaining this standard of excellence is hard work. The band meets four to five times a week on the field where they practice for an hour and a half, gaining a one-hour class credit in return. Jordan Robelot, a tuba-playing freshman, says the exhilaration of Saturday night performances is worth every moment of practice.

“[It’s] like a rush,” she says. “Scary, exciting — like every emotion you can think of.”

The hard work is about to pay off and the band will feel the rush as game day arrives.

The musicians meet on the football team’s indoor practice field at 12:30 p.m., just hours before LSU is squared to take on Florida. They are a swelling mass of athletic shorts, gold Tiger Band t-shirts, black socks and plain white marching shoes.

Director of Bands Frank Wickes, who has been with the band for more than 30 years, watches them carefully during the two-and-a-half-hour practice. With two granddaughters holding small stuffed tigers by his side Wickes encourages the players.

“Today, when we are on display, representing everything this school is, I want you to show Florida what this thing is all about,” he says.

Then, as the music fills the metal walls of the practice facility, Wickes walks toward a line of trumpets. He beckons forth their music with calm, yet deliberate hand gestures.

Beyond the confines of this facility, University students and visitors are tailgating. The smell of grilled burgers fills the air as tailgaters laugh and forecast the evening’s game. Band members, however, don’t usually get to share this tradition.

The band gets a two-hour break after practice. They must cart their instruments and uniforms to the band hall across campus. It’s here where the 300-plus hungry musicians enter and scatter their cases on the ground. Instrument cases, their owners and an excess of chairs clutter the floor as a football game plays noiselessly on a large screen and uniforms are hung all over the room. A line of hungry band members ready to eat stretches out the door. It extends past tables supporting heavy trays of catered chicken pasta, veggies and purple and gold iced cake.

After a quick lunch, the band members dress in purple overalls, golden jackets and plumed hats. They lovingly polish away fingerprints and raindrops from their instruments before warming up with their respective sections. As they rush to line up for the march down “Victory Hill,” they still find time to Tiger Bait passing Florida fans.

“Sometimes it sucks, [people tailgating] look like they’re having a good time,” says trombone player and business management sophomore Philip Taylor. “[But] being a part of the entire pulse that makes the game alive is awesome.”

As the band marches from the band hall, on-lookers attempt to make them — as straight-faced as soldiers at Buckingham Palace — smile or laugh as they head to the Pete Maravich Assembly Center to put on a private performance for the Tiger Athletic Foundation.

Maddie Svoren, clarinet player and general studies freshman, says that it’s hard not to appear happy with all of the people around you.

“I don’t know what would happen [if we did smile], but I don’t want to know,” she says with a smirk.

The march is a brief glance at the talents of these musicians. Dowie, dressed in sequined white suit, leads the band, Color Guard and Golden Girls to the PMAC. They enter to shouting and clapping from their supporters. Smiling, excited, often intoxicated faces bear down on the group. The noise increases during the first four notes of the “Geaux Tigers” chant — perhaps the most recognizable in all of Baton Rouge.

Marching down the hill is one of the most electrifying parts of game day for Tajji Abney, clarinet player and psychology freshman.

“I love the hill,” Abney says. “I’ve never tailgated before … [so] before I went to LSU, I watched YouTube videos and was like, ‘Oh! I want to do that!’”

As the band marches onto the field for pre-game and half time shows, 93,129 people — the largest crowd in this history of Tiger Stadium — yell and cheer. The band emerges from the stadium’s ramps and through a dark tunnel leading onto the brightly lit field. What was once a sea of friends and foes is now a wall of purple, gold, blue and orange. The size is daunting, yet incomprehensible. The only intimidation is the noise that reverberates through the night demanding more.

And that’s just what the band does: playing throughout the night and leading cheers as the Tigers fall to the Gators, 13-3.

After singing the alma matter, the sweaty, exhausted and dedicated musicians make their way back to the band hall a little before 11 p.m. After their hurried march back, they undress and eat the last pieces of leftover cake. Linda Moorhouse, the Associate Director of Bands, plays a tape of the night’s performance. Moorhouse rewinds the tape to show mistakes several times over, silently highlighting her point. The tapes are punctuated by nervous laughter.

While the remaining members study the day’s film, Death Valley — which not long ago was filled with the sounds of Florida and LSU’s bands — is a desolate island of green grass, metal bleachers and eight spotlights shinning on the field. The melodic roar of the Golden Band from Tiger Land is lost, but they will be back.

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