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As a child, I sustained absolutely zero musical interest. None. I had no sense of rhythm nor could I sing. I didn't grow up around a virtuosic piano-playing grandma, an uncle who reminisced about his glory days playing trumpet in a drum corps, or a particularly cool cousin who carried an acoustic guitar at all times. It was only when I found myself eating lunch alone one day in middle school, absent of all my friends who were on a band trip at the time, that I decided I wanted to join band.
(The real kicker, I think, was that I picked trombone because it looked easy.)
I wouldn't have changed a thing. Despite the laughable start to my music career, it's since propelled me through the happiest moments of my life and cultivated a fire that will stick with me for as long as I'm alive.
My first year in band was a wash -- the music programs at Queen Creek Middle School had been collapsed to make room for huge, districtwide changes. Regardless, we held our one concert, and of my seven-person band, only three of us continued to the next year. It was this next year where I fell under the mentorship of Mr. Davenport and Mr. Wilson at Newell Barney Middle School. I was hooked immediately. While we did still have to make adjustments to get by, like combining bands across the district to have a shot at being competitive, I had fun. We still had less-than-ideal circumstances; the difference being that this time, my educators really cared.
By some miracle, I still had Mr. Davenport when I reached my freshman year, and I finally felt a sense of culture as longer-standing programs tend to have. I quickly fell into a groove with my peers and with the activity, and upon the end of my first marching season, Simple Gifts, I found myself hungry. That year, I elected to be a part of the pit orchestra for our production of Thoroughly Modern Millie, joined jazz band as one of few freshmen in the program, and had so much of a wild hair as to run for band council historian. (I even made a cute little wrap up video linked here.) Emboldened by the glory of my first season, I decided to audition for trombone section leader for my second, Sounds of Light. I had thought nothing could top Simple Gifts, but I was dead wrong, and Sounds was my second-favorite season of all time. As for first place, I'll get there.
I was a sophomore in March of 2020, which is a context that needs little explaining. My first ever indoor percussion season playing bass guitar had been interrupted, among many other things. The following fall season, Tyranny of Time, threw a lot of curveballs my way - not only was I having to manage a half-legitimate COVID-ridden year, but I was also suddenly on the upper echelon of seniority. A lot of responsibility fell on my shoulders, but our band had finally reached a level of maturity that pushed us through a truly wild year. I was incredibly fortunate to have been surrounded by people who had that level of dedication.
I had also elected to take AP Music Theory in 2020. I had heard horror stories from upperclassmen above me about the rigor of the course, and personally knew people who had flunked it entirely. Regardless, I went into the class open-minded and left it every day with a dogged curiosity about music. Personally, it was the perfect crossroads of music and science; learning the rules to break them. I loved music theory not only for its content but for the people I experienced it with, and it ignited a real passion for creating my own music that led me to writing Sunsick.
In hindsight, I made the most of what was offered to me junior year. In a sort of mid-highschool crisis and realizing how little time I had left, I decided, on a whim, to sign up to audition for ABODA All-State Jazz. Through much stress about audition material and two COVID scares, I ended up making the group as fourth chair trombone in Jazz I. To say I was elated would be an understatement -- while the event was hosted entirely through Zoom, I got the opportunity to talk to some really amazing bigwigs in the jazz word, among which was Gordon Goodwin. The experience had solidified a mantra that I heard all throughout high school; it's about the process, not the product. Participating in the All-State Jazz event was incredible and receiving the Louis Armstrong award was humbling, but the audition taught me most.
Along came senior year. I was honored to have been selected as drum major along with Decker Fife, and we had a whirlwind of a season called Out There. The responsibilities of a drum major hit me like a truck for the first few weeks, but I found that Decker and I molded to the spots perfectly. Whatever one of us lacked, the other made up for; we were perfect complements. Combined with an amazing SLT team and a band that was hungry for a real season, Out There was the best season I could have asked for as a senior.
We had been burned when we placed unexpectedly low at ABODA state semis; most of us weren't as upset by 11th place as we were by the fact that our season was suddenly one week shorter. That last week, however, was the perfect cap on the season, and while I was so "in business mode" that I didn't mourn our last handful of lasts, I absolutely lost it while marching off field from our final performance at AzMBA state championship. It was over, and I could not have been more proud. Naturally, it wasn't perfect, but I was so fulfilled by those six long months that I wouldn't go back to change a thing.
I've since done other things; writing this in January, I have another All-State Jazz festival on the horizon, a speedy winter season with shows coming way too soon, a kickin' Queen Creek jazz band to look forward to every morning, and a regional festival in February. While all of these events I care about deeply, none I will keep as close to my heart as I do Out There. Every senior says it; this program has changed my life, and I wouldn't be half the person I am now without it.
Thus, Sunsick captures a lot of things I felt throughout high school; it's fun, it's amateur, it's written with love. And with it, I'm able to satisfy a lot of end-game goals of mine: I got to write a piece for concert band, used much of what I already knew and still learned much from it; I got to teach in class, and work with people who really care; most importantly, I get to stand in front of my band, whom my love for words can't describe, and conduct for one last performance.
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