The Founding Roots of Music Community at Concordia: 
The Prestigious Concordia College Band…couches.

When one thinks of music students, it is easy to experience thoughts of
the brutal competition occurring within a conservatory, and musicians 
pounding notes out in practice rooms into the wee hours of the morning. Some people may claim to know a musician as soon as they see one. Why? Is it some aura that musicians have, or is it perhaps their personality? From what I’ve seen, I feel that musicians, especially those studying at liberal arts colleges, are recognizable because of the way they perceive the world, and the way they communicate with the world. I’m not just talking about the pleasure a musician gets from walking behind a woman down a side walk; that is; the pleasure of hearing her high-heels tapping the ground but actually hearing a rhythm in groove. I’m talking about the fact that musicians seem to know the exact time to put in a word in a conversation, but still know how to cherish silence. In fact, discussions among musicians are some of the most comical, yet brilliant examples of group activity one can observe.
I am a musician, but I do not fit well into these “group discussions” that occur around the couches in the Hvidsten music hall lobby. The only reasons I go to Hvidsten are to attend rehearsals, practice, or to go to music theory class. Besides, when I first came to Concordia I would’ve rather spent time mingling with other majors, such as pre-meds or political science students. I didn’t dig the idea of hangin’ out with other musicians for the sake of my own sanity; for the sake of not having to listen to those corny jokes over and over - jokes such as this: “If a band member can’t play music, give him two sticks and put him in the percussion section. If he still can’t make music as a percussionist, take away one stick, put him on the podium, and make him the conductor.” Another reason for the destruction of my sanity would result from having to listen to other musicians gossiping with venomous words about how “whoever made it into whichever ensemble and WE didn’t!” No, I would’ve much rather spent my time discussing politics with the smokers that gather outside the front door at Livedalen Hall, or debating what Nietzsche meant when he said: God is dead and we are his eternal murderers. To me, musicians seemed better off plucking their strings or blowing air through a reed than talking. 
The horror (I felt) - horror involved with actually immersing myself in one of the conversations on the lobby couches in the music hall - died the day I willed myself into actually trying it. I walked to the couches and was not greeted. The first few minutes of sitting there were a complete bore. The room around the couches is beautifully decorated with fake plants and display cases containing visual representations of the music ensembles. For some reason the display case dedicated to the Concordia choir was located on the wall next to what music students automatically assume are the “band couches.” To enforce the irony of this observation, I also noticed that there is a display case for the Concordia Orchestra above the “choir couches.” There are apparently no couches for orchestra members (you have to wonder why). They tend to mingle to and fro between the band couches and the choir couches. Up until about a month into the Fall 2007 semester, there was no display case for the band. 
It seems that the band is somewhat underrated compared to the other major music ensembles at Concordia. Even though most students who spend time in Hvidsten, whether they’re practicing, or conversing, or sleeping, are band members, and the fact that the Concordia Band was the originally founded music ensemble at Concordia, it still did not yet have a display case until a matter of years after cases devoted to other ensembles were hanging on the limestone-brick walls. Other musicians’ frustrations about the Concordia Band’s position in relation to other ensembles can easily be summarized by the golden words of one of my fellow clarinet players, Colin Brashear: “It really pisses me off how I’m a senior and just because I’m not in the orchestra, I can’t perform in the Christmas Concerts…AFTER FOUR FUCKING YEARS!! The Choir and Orchestra get all the glory and band members are just slaves. The Concordia band was the first freakin’ music group that even existed at Concordia, and yet band members don’t get the privilege of performing in the most renowned event Concordia has going for it; no, instead we get to USHER the concert for those choir bastards!” (As he finished spitting these words out of his melodic, high pitched voice-box, he reminded himself that he was telling this to a freshman singer standing next to me and quickly mumbled, “No offense.”) You must understand that Colin was one of my favorite people at Concordia, but he’s a beast when he gets angry. He definitely has the voice, pride, and confidence to compensate for what he lacks in height. He’s is the only clarinet player I know who should’ve been a trumpet player. 
But this is true isn’t it – the irony of band members gathering on couches below a poster that bears the name, “Concordia Choir?” Anyways, as I was sitting there, I noticed that the reason the room was so beautiful was because of the rays of sunlight, beaming in through the windows above my head, down onto the couches. It was when I noticed this - as well as a musician napping on the couch across from me, another two conversing quietly between two chairs, and another studying out of a textbook titled with the words Harmony in Context, while at the same time using it to block the very sunlight which made the room picturesque – indeed, as I noticed these things, I realized that this area was special. That is the right word to describe it too: special. My epiphany was interrupted by the words of the man who shielded himself from the sunlight: “I’m trying to resolve the leading tone up and the seventh tone down and it isn’t working!” Others sat around the couches remained silent before the frustration was restated: “Why can’t I do this?” Again, I thought, the right word is “special.”
I was continuing my observations of these strange people on the band couches when shock suddenly struck me as a Frisbee flew past my head and into the lap of one of the “quiet conversers,” specifically a clarinet player, Marin. 
“Kohei, why don’t you start throwing this thing at an actual human being before you break something in here,” she exclaimed as she tossed the disc back at the hyper saxophone player. Kohei received, and then flung the Frisbee at his saxophone teacher, Russ Peterson, who missed the catch but soon picked up the object and threw it back. - - - Was this normal behavior? This sort of activity surely couldn’t occur every day, indoors. I mean, this thing is a toy, people - an OUTDOOR TOY! As Kyle, a percussionist, accidentally chucked the (outdoor) toy into one of the windows, Dr. Knutson, the trumpet professor, walked by casually and assured the Frisbee players that he wouldn’t tell anybody. A trumpet player expressed his observation, “Hey guys, I can see the dent in the window!” Another trumpet player responded, “Dent…in the window,” dropping the pitch of his voice at the end of the phrase, as if he wasn’t asking a question at all. “What are you talking about?” I wondered if the conversations between trumpet players were always of this nature.
I realized that this was indeed NORMAL behavior for these people, and over the next few days I realized that it was also EVERYDAY behavior. The game continued religiously every afternoon. Frisbee was on the minds of these confused musicians, and ironically, the band musicians. Posters were stapled on the band bulletin board telling bandies to join the Frisbee team; announcements at the end of band rehearsal consisted of the results of the last Frisbee game and when the next one was to take place; the band-bonding picnic that took place in the soccer fields by Christenson Stadium attracted band members who came prepared with not a soccer ball, or a football, but a Frisbee. Band geeks do not waste their free time looking on Facebook or talking on the phone; band geeks play Frisbee.
On one later occasion, during yet another (and perhaps, final) indoor Frisbee game, Dr. Jones, the conductor of the Concordia College Band, shouted from across the room with his usual smile on his face (he is perennially happy), “Hey young athletes, do ya’ think y’all could take the tossing outside to the beautiful day?” As Kohei began to migrate towards the doors, a member of the Concordia Choir, who was seated, explained that he had suggested that earlier, and to this Dr. Jones replied, “It must be the tie that gives me more influence.” 
“It must be,” replied the singer, smiling.
“Yeah, either that or the respect,” commented Kohei as he began to carry the Frisbee outside.
Of course, Frisbee wasn’t the only thing I observed around the band couches. In fact, what I observed wasn’t nearly as interesting as what I heard. Yes, conversation topics were interesting in of themselves. I heard discussion topics ranging from the drinking habits of certain students (and how they “drunk-dialed” certain members of the music faculty,) to philosophical discussions with deep meanings that had nothing to do with music. Don’t get me wrong, many discussions dealt with music, but I never heard anybody mention a word about competition within the band, or about any hierarchy. Perhaps this is because Dr. Jones does not “seat” people in any specific order based on auditions. He has musicians rotate parts within a section, giving each musician a chance to learn how to play all parts, and of course, avoid the drama involved with chair competition. He seems to do a good job, seeing as how the subject is never mentioned in the couch discussions.
Observing these discussions changed my view of other musicians completely. The more I think about the behavior of these musicians, the more I realize that this is how musicians should behave. Music-making is not about competition and seriousness; it’s about playfulness – about worthfulness, through the carefully placed comments and interjections in the conversations that occur around the couches in the lobby, just as the parts of a Scherzo(musical joke) are perfectly placed - not to prove anything, but to simply express itself in a truly artistic fashion. One could call it “brilliance through genuineness,” as silly as that genuineness could be.
I interviewed Kohei when I first began observing the couches. He had a particularly frequent presence at the couches – meaning he practically lived there – and he would leave humongous piles of crap all over and walk around barefoot. You see, Kohei is Japanese, which would explain the shoe thing, though he didn’t leave his shoes at the doorway; they were conglomerated into his other stacks of personal items. He once said something that meant nothing to me at the time, but stuck out in my mind the more I spent time observing, and conversing with, the couch group (as I am now a regular member): “There’s a lot of hierarchy here (in the band). You can tell who’s a senior and who’s a freshman just by how they act. There’s a lot of drama, but we don’t talk about that here…” This may sound contradictory of my point that conversations at the couches don’t involve competition, but what Kohei actually meant was that the reason members of the band gather in the lobby at the couches below the “Concordia Choir” poster is that it is a way of destroying that whole idea of hierarchy within the band, because it does exist, and it does destroy the experience for many members. 
Kohei also stated that “if you’re a freshman, you haven’t got a whole lot to say here.” He didn’t mean upperclassmen don’t listen to freshman. He meant, freshman are afraid to talk because they don’t know the nature of the behavior of the band members, when put together outside of rehearsal, and the truth is, the nature of that behavior is just like the nature of the music which is played in rehearsal, not the hierarchy or the competition that occurs in rehearsal.
The prestigious Concordia Band is not prestigious enough to honor the privilege of being featured in the Concordia Christmas Concerts. This may be because bandies don’t share the tender-loving perfectionism and seriousness involved with music-making that choir and orchestra members have. They are the enjoyers of playfulness and pride, but the music is just as good , if not better, nevertheless. I’m convinced that this is because band members share a sense of community outside of rehearsal – the sense of love for gathering on the couches and throwing comments back and forth in an amazingly rhythmic conversation, sleeping as if the lounge were their home-sweet-home, or just playing Frisbee, hoping to someday hit and shatter the glass sheltering the Concordia Choir display case.