Concert Review/Photos: MarchFourth Marching Band
Please note: This article is published as an archive copy from Philadelphia City Paper. My City Paper is not affiliated with Philadelphia City Paper. Philadelphia City Paper was an alternative weekly newspaper in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The last edition was published on October 8, 2015.
"They will twirl fire batons on your soul."
Full, expository disclosure: I was, in my teen years, a proud member of the nearly 300-strong Alexis I. DuPont Tiger Marching Band from Hockessin, Del. I faked my way through four years of flute so I could be part of this band, one that thrived in a warped school-community atmosphere in which patrons attended football games to sneer at the lameness of the football team but whoop and cheer at the showmanship of the band nerds.
Every year, the most popular senior guy was the drum major, and his girlfriend was typically the leader of the baton twirlers — who wore glittery bathing suits and twirled fire — or the “poms,” dancers who wore ass-hugging hot pants. We burst onto the field at halftime, knocking over children in our wake, to play renditions of “Freebird,” “Hey Jude” and “Thriller.” We did a routine on the field called a “trumpet guillotine” that involved a very real risk of skull fractures. We traveled all over the world — the band played at President Obama’s inauguration, for the Pope at The Vatican on New Year’s Day, at the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade in Ireland, and still marches each year in the Philly Thanksgiving Day Parade — to show off and compete in competitions that strategically pitted us against smaller, much less ostentatious bands because we liked to collect trophies.
We had a special group called the “Tiger Team” that ran, shirtless and maniacal, around the track at games to blast trombones and crash symbols in the faces of the opposing school's band. We were loud, brash assholes having an amazing time. We were, if any marching band could be personified in such a manner, the band who would rip a line of coke and then screw your girlfriend.
All that’s to say that along with the movie “Drumline,” I love the MarchFourth Marching Band.
Last night at World Café Live, I found kinship in these talented Portland-based musicians, who are also elaborate, ostentatious and having a ball. They, however, up the ante in presentation and, well, skill (again, I couldn’t play a full scale on my flute, and I wasn’t the only one).
They wear costumes — repurposed, Sgt. Pepper-style marching band uniforms replete with glitter or accompanying star-spangled leggings, Wonder Woman-themed knee socks, Viking hats and Egyptian-pharaoh headwear — they don’t twirl fire, but they have acrobats in fishnets on stilts, and they play contemporary stuff: Last night they closed the show (as they did when I first saw them, at Sierra Nevada Beer Camp in Fishtown) with “No Diggity,” and we also got a sensational rendition of “Dayman” from “It’s Always Sunny,” as well as Paul Simon’s “Late in the Evening.”
The Marching Tigers have also played “Late in the Evening,” during a field show. I nearly died.
MarchFourth’s show is mostly a lineup of original, non-lyrical (but outrageously catchy and dance-y) tunes that heavily feature chest-thumping percussion and blaring, ball-busting horns. The soloists are untouchable, the energy is rafter-shattering and — this isn’t just my simpatico inner Tiger talking — they will burst onto the football field of your heart, trumpet guillotine their way into your brain and twirl fire batons on your soul.
I imagine a few in the band would also be more than willing to rip a line of coke and screw your girlfriend.
