Two Corps That Go Great Together: What Drum Corps Taught Me Without Ever Marching

My father kept me out of drum corps.

Growing up on Long Island, I was the high-note trumpet player—the soloist, the kid who could deliver. The Cadets came calling every year, asking me to audition. And every year, my dad said no.

Mind you, back in the day, he played horn at Michigan under Revelli.

“Learning three songs all summer is not music education,” he told me. “If you want to do things during the summer—camps, clinics, whatever—I’ll pay for those.”

And he did.

I went to the Jamey Aebersold jazz camp. I studied. I played. I developed in ways that mattered deeply to him—and that I didn’t fully understand at the time. It turned out that not marching drum corps was exactly what made me useful once I got there.

Getting on the Plane

So when Scott Koter from the Cavaliers called me around Thanksgiving 2012—I was at Gwen’s parents’ house in Northwest Arkansas—I had real trepidation. I didn’t do drum corps. I never had.

I asked Scott, "Shouldn't you be able to name all the corps?" He replied that it might be better that way.

Scott explained the situation. He and Drew Shanefield couldn’t cover everything as they were building their summer schedule. They needed someone to run rehearsals, handle the big picture, bridge the gaps.

Before I said yes, I called W. Dale Warren. At that point, I hadn’t been directly with kids in several years; I was the Fine Arts Director in Irving, working at the systems level. I wanted his perspective.

He laughed.“It’s all the same thing. You’re gonna be just fine. Get on the plane.”

So I did.

The Green Machine

The Cavaliers’ camps in Rosemont were easy in and out from DFW. Once we hit the road, that’s where Mike McIntosh and I really connected. Mike was the percussion lead. You had a choice on tour: sleep on the floor with the kids in a middle school, or do what we did—find the best Super 8 within driving distance and split the cost.

I already knew Mike from his Carmel High School days. Years earlier, I’d judged them at the St. Louis Super Regional during their suspended cymbals show. They had created this massive sonic landscape—but never moved it horizontally across the field.

I told them exactly that.

Later, they fixed it. And they beat L.D. Bell at Grand Nationals—for the last time for a while.

Still would’ve told the truth either way.

That instinct—to hear the whole system, not just the parts—is what followed me into drum corps.

What I remember most from those Cavalier days wasn’t rehearsal efficiency or design tweaks. It was the kids singing to me as I left one night. Scott Koter said, “That means they’ve accepted you.”

I was still learning their traditions, running ensemble rehearsal about eight times faster than they were used to—because that’s how I go. But acceptance like that matters. Especially when you’re the outsider.

Gwen and Kierstyn came down to San Antonio for the Alamodome show. Kierstyn was four years old, taking pictures with the Cavalier brass, collecting moments with people who were suddenly part of our family story.

When I told Gwen I was essentially being traded from the Cavaliers to Phantom Regiment, she almost teared up. She loved that organization—the people, the culture.

I said, “This is like the NFL at the end of the season. These things happen. And we’re going to have a lot of fun with Phantom.”

Kierstyn in the Alamodome lot with The Cavaliers brass, 2012.

Swan Lake

Coming off the 2013 season, the Cavaliers were making major changes. Drum corps is a small world—everyone knows what’s happening, whether they admit it or not.

I got a call from Dan Farrell, corps director for Phantom Regiment. Bret Kuhn and Don Hill—both of whom had been my arrangers at L.D. Bell, and together again at Broken Arrow—had independently told him the same thing: you have to get this guy on board. Not as a courtesy. As a necessity.

Dan called me and said, “I’ve got these people telling me I need to hire you. What do you do?”

I told him the truth. I listen. Anyone can listen, but I listen holistically. What mood are we going for, and what cuts best represent the concept and group? I think about how percussion density affects emotional pacing. I hear how to phrase. How best to use the entire space sonically. Whether electronics are serving the music or just existing because they can. How all of it works together—or doesn’t.

A month later, we were in a Chicago hotel I hope never to see again. Dan, Don, and Brett. Jamey Thompson on drill. Adam Spaeth on visual. We had to come up with a show.

After listening for a long while, I finally said it.

“Swan Lake. That’s what I’m hearing, given everything we’ve discussed and listened to.”

It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t obvious. But it was right.

And that’s what we did.

Kierstyn in the Alamodome lot with the Phantomettes, 2014.

The Fullest Years

I stayed on as Music Coordinator for three seasons—the happiest and most frenetic years of my life.

Gwen and Kierstyn as a family. Arlington ISD Fine Arts at work—implementing a bond package that allowed for programming we’d never seen before. Consulting with Broken Arrow every few weeks. And then, for the rest of the time, being with my other family—Phantom Regiment.

Kierstyn, Gwen & Jeremy at a DCI show in Belonton, TX - Part of a 2016 Phour Show TX Tour.

By the end, I was bringing in my own people. Folks you trusted. Folks who trusted you. You could walk into a California camp, listen for five minutes, and know exactly what needed to happen next.

Professionally and personally, there were no parallel tracks. It was the same trip.

Those summers, Gwen and Kierstyn followed Phantom across Texas. Hampton Inns. Weird Al’s album Mandatory Fun on repeat in the car—his first number-one release. Kierstyn growing up with that as the soundtrack to summer, collecting photos with Phantom kids at every stop.

It doesn’t get better than that.

Jeremy testing out the new mics/amplification that Dan finally let us use!!

Still Phamily

After I left Music for All, I made a few calls. One to a person I had connected with on a high level at Phantom—Tony Hall. How can I help?

I showed up at a Phantom audition camp in Rockford earlier this year as the shuttle driver. That was it. That was the job.

The same person who had called Swan Lake years earlier was now driving kids from point A to point B—because that’s what was needed, and I wanted to be there.

Tony hired me for a Phantom show at NIU that I couldn’t reach due to a DFW ground stop. But he also brought me in for an FMBC event in Florida later that fall, where I worked with groups and had an absolute blast helping them get better.

That relationship will continue. These things usually do.

The Mattress

I bought an inflatable mattress for those middle school floors.

I never actually slept on it—Mike and I were splitting Super 8 rooms—but it’s hosted other people. Connor Nugent stayed on it during DCI Finals week years ago, while he was with Carolina Crown. Recently, Kierstyn used it when she and Gwen visited me in Denton.

The drum corps world I wasn’t supposed to be part of keeps leaving traces in my house.

And my dad wasn’t entirely wrong.

What made me valuable in that world wasn’t that I’d marched. It was everything else—the ear, the systems thinking, the ability to walk in and make things better. The things he did invest in.

Learning three songs all summer isn’t music education.

But sometimes, you still end up in the room calling the show.