TIME: Almanac 1990/1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso/time/091889/09188900.056

Text File | 1990-09-17 | 7KB | 123 lines

AMERICAN SCENE, Page 14

Tallahassee, Florida

The Funkiest Half-Time Show

For FAMU's Marching 100, every move obeys "the Law"

By Don Winbush


    In the faint light of predawn, on a freshly mowed football
field, a grueling preseason practice session is under way. A band
of panting young men and women are running laps and doing push-ups,
sit-ups and jumping jacks. A coach stands by, barking through a
bullhorn, "You need to get accustomed to perspiration, people."

    Despite the setting and sweating, this is neither a football
drill nor Marine boot camp. It is basic training for Florida A&M
University's famed Marching 100, perhaps the world's greatest --
and without a doubt its funkiest -- college marching band. At FAMU,
priorities that prevail at most campuses are reversed: it is the
football team that travels with the band, not the other way around.
Many marching bands seem content to strut their stuff to the
martial strains of John Philip Sousa. The Marching 100 boogies down
with the Moonwalk, the California Worm and the Mashed Potato, to
the rhythm and blues of James Brown and the sound of Motown. In a
word, the Marching 100 has soul.

    To make the squad takes stamina. Draconian auditions are staged
at "the Patch," a former potato field in the heart of the
Tallahassee campus. Many an aspiring musical career has been
scuttled by the physical demands of trying to learn, then hone to
perfection, the band's exaggerated-action marching style, with its
accent on joint-snapping knee lifts, breakneck cadences (as fast
as six steps a second, 360 a minute) and whirlybird twirls. "I
seriously thought about quitting the first day," says senior
saxophonist Natasha Griffin, who was nearly immobilized by aching
muscles. Out at the Patch, the three most dreaded and oft-repeated
words are "Take it back," a command to start over, to give the
routine tack-sharp precision and snap.

    During the drills, it is not hard to pick out the offspring of
FAMU alumni. Forewarned by their parents, they usually report to
camp with muscles already toned and a granite can-do expression.
Not so the unwary newcomers, who stand out because they are huffing
and puffing. This year initiation day was barely two hours old when
one overweight freshman sidled up to associate band director Julian
E. White, surveying training from midfield.

    "A problem?" White prompted.

    "I'm not prepared," the rookie muttered.

    "What's wrong?"

    "I just didn't prepare myself for this. I'm not ready. I'm not
in shape."

    White buoyed the young man's spirits with a word of
encouragement and an invitation to stick with it a while longer.
But later that day the recruit called it quits.

    The band's nickname dates to 1946, when assembling a first-rate
unit 100 strong became a passion for the college's new musical
director, William P. Foster. Today Foster, at 70, is an icon at
FAMU and in the world of marching bands. His book Band Pageantry
is a bible. He claims a long list of innovations, among them the
use of a silent count by drum majors to move the band and the
"death cadence," a stunning slow-motion marching style with one
step taken every three seconds.

    Foster has mellowed since the days of students making siren
noises when they saw him coming. Band members secretly called him
"the Law," in deference to his strict rules and dignified manner.
Now Foster, whose nickname is "Doc," has a more avuncular approach.
But he still makes unremitting demands. The band's half-time
routines are studiously crafted on a theme, such as "A Paris
Review" or "A Kaleidoscope of Soul." Its motto is an unwieldy
pledge to "highest quality of character, achievement in academics,
attainment of leadership, perfection in musicianship, precision in
marching and dedication to service." And by the way, all music will
be memorized.

    The 100 are as attentive to musicality as they are to
showstopping drills. Note by note, phrase by painstaking phrase,
whether rehearsing their signature march, In Storm and Sunshine,
or a riff from a Top 40 selection, Foster is constantly bidding for
better dynamics, "more resonance," "more sonority," "more
articulation." Band-room practice sessions are punctuated with
spiels on positive thinking and personal bearing and decorum.
Otherwise it is the usual application of meticulousness. "There's
just no easy way to do this," Foster, associate band director White
and band arranger Lindsey B. Sargeant take turns preaching.

    For a band of such remarkable skill, the Marching 100 is little
known. It is most appreciated by fans who pack the stands when FAMU
squares off against rival teams from traditionally black
institutions like Bethune-Cookman College and Tennessee State
University. But this year France invited the band to perform in the
parade celebrating the 200th anniversary of the French Revolution.
It was the only American organization to participate. There it was,
sashaying down the Champs Elysees, belting out a medley of James
Brown tunes. After that, says Foster, "this band will never be the
same again."

    Esprit de corps, a strong sense of tradition and a self-imposed
get-it-right work ethic permeate the rank and file. Says head drum
major Julius Wilson: "We have a certain amount of class, and it
shows." Or, as a senior band member put it to a freshman he thought
was slow to get into the perfectionist mode, "We don't put no
doo-doo on the field."

    Any outfit worth its salt is champing at the mouthpiece to
outfunk the 100, which makes for some high-stakes Saturday-
afternoon "battle of the bands" showdowns. At FAMU students
choreograph the dance routines, and the temptation to create a
sensation by slipping in a few blatant bumps and grinds is strong.
But that runs up against a classic Foster homily: "The concept of
creating simply for the purpose of eliciting crowd approval is
foreign to me." Placated for the time being, the students respond
with a customary chorus of "Hubba, Doc! Hubba, Doc!"

    When you've got it, it's hard not to flaunt it, though band
members are encouraged to let their performances do the bragging
and to avoid being drawn into debates about who's the greatest. "We
never get into that kind of discussion," is the official party
line. True to tradition, somebody came up with a precise way to
reconcile the mandate to show modesty and the urge to swagger. It's
in a T-shirt message that reads WHO'S BETTER THAN FAMU'S 100? DON'T
EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.