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CAVALIERS - "Where You'll Find Me"

The Cavaliers' 2023 design team had no excuse for walking blindly into the typical anniversary show glue traps. They should have learned what worked from the Blue Devil's Metamorph, which dazzled audiences with a correct balance of retrospective nostalgia and forward-looking innovation. The Cavaliers design team, on the other hand, were cockroaches blindly meandering, last-minute, onto sticky shards of music, biting off their own limbs to escape from the mismatched melodies, crowded with incongruent drill sets from decades past. The show lacked even a hint of forward branding.

It's clear from the pre-season Tim Hinton interview with Cavaliers' David Starnes that the design team was well aware of the anniversary show kill jar. "We're not doing a 'best of' show, here." Sadly, that's exactly what happened. The enormous number of prior show references caused a dementia-like soup-- an overlapping Protools byte vertigo, with no clarity, focus or backbone. The interview also revealed that by June 16th, they still had not completed the drill or arrangement for the closer-- a clear sign of a last-minute scramble. When you don't have an ending, you haven't even developed a pattern that heightens and resolves at the end. That's when you call Starnes.

It's important to look at the design process for this show, which suffered from a variety of typical anniversary design team flaws.

1) The Cavaliers' show lacked a clear subject and theme. "Our Anniversary" doesn't suffice as a show subject. They needed more. Blue Devils' Metamorph relied on layered meaning-- direct visual symbolism, action set pieces, transforming stage sets, and distinct musical movements (each with a different style), ending with a series of virtuoso soloists of color-- a statement of elevation and forward momentum for the enlightened organization.

2) The Cavaliers' design team relied too heavily on Rick Saucedo's jukebox-style arrangement to magically create the impossible-- a singular, cohesive musical statement with a clear overall arc. That's a thankless task, and a minefield for any arranger, regardless of prowess. A montage of clipped melodies ends up sounding like an overture, not the main act. That leaves the visual team in a blender of mismatched old drill sets, ultimately unsatisfying like a series of Instagram reels at 2AM.

3) The feather props were shockingly amateurish push and pose rolling stock, without any transformation or "dual purpose" other than to transform into phallic symbols by the use of a rotating lever at the base of the feather to make it appear penis-like at a certain angle. Alas, the design team "pulled out" of the phallic imagery as finals neared, sheepishly returning the feathers to a safe "face front" angle, and abandoning the expensive lever-pull design technology they used all season. The phallic symbol was the only intention in the design of the rolling stock, an amateurish design decision considering that any public discussion of the planned phallic imagery would be awkward-- they'd have to explain the pubescent "why" behind their use, and reveal that the imagery had no depth or merit beyond a macho erection symbol. That's a clear indication of a lack of depth in the visual design.

4) Starnes claimed that the design was a puzzle, with the use of "Easter Eggs". Easter eggs would be an entertaining addition if there were a central theme to the show, but there wasn't. Easter eggs ended up being a whimsical expression to cleverly hide the truth-- there was no "there" there-- no main visual arc.

5) As it turns out, the Easter eggs included the phallic levers (later abandoned), and an ACT II reveal of an undershirt on the color guard with shading to make the men appear to have fully formed feminine breasts, an intentional Cesario right wing button-pusher, that had no thematic purpose, other than a random rogue statement on gender identity. You can't blame Cesario's hubris in adding the random gender identity element-- there was no other thematic backbone in the entire show. (Not that he would have restrained himself from gender-bending costume elements regardless of theme or time period, anyway. Cesario seems to be throwing caution to the wind in his later years, causing concern even a Gladiator-themed show would result in a brazen costume design of high heels and bustles for the Iron Age warriors.)

6) Starnes reveals that the "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" was a corps tradition, but sidetracked any discussion of the symbol, or what it means to the corps, specifically, and no mention of the rainbow's current social meaning, an awkward, unspoken tie-in to the membership's slowly emerging relaxation of sexual identity. (Did the Cavaliers ever really come out? No statement has ever been made, even after the clumsy "Gays are Mentally Ill" show featuring Rufus Wainwright's lyrics and gay men in cages opposite rainbow colored Rorschach blotters and John Nash's schizophrenic images as drill sets.) In 2023, Starnes claimed that the lyric "Where you'll find me" was somehow meaningful to alumni, but the vague phrase raised more questions for audiences than it answered.

7) Old set pieces have become stale and dated. The iconic "stepover" move, for example, pales in comparison to today's maneuvers. Its original form in 1981 dazzled audiences who threw babies and checkbooks when the horn line narrowly missed stomping on WGI-winning rifles who laid down before them. To top the original, this year's horn line would have had to form a 30 foot tall gymnastic pyramid to step over them in order to gain any applause.

8) Royalties become expensive for an anniversary show with twelve recognizable tunes. What to do? Why only play two measures of everything and avoid the royalties and clearance issues, that's what. But two measures of everything is hard on the ears and ends up sounding like a Hooked on Classics mash-up. "Oh, sir, MGM is on line one-- something about royalties."

9) The Cavaliers' drill lacked defined stage pictures, where the audience understood the intended "game" in any given musical moment.

Drum corps designers need to stop pretending that they work for months or years on their premises. It's becoming obvious that show design is a seat-of-the-pants, last-minute, too-many-cooks operation. Last-minute productions lack depth, lack clever visual devices, and lack a clarity of artistic purpose.

David Starnes also came to the last-minute aid of Rick Subel in his 2017 hairball "It Is", a strange collection of unrelated tunes that Starnes wrapped up with a thread of "deconstruction." (What Wicked's "For Good" has to do with deconstruction, don't ask.) Starnes seems to be the "fixer" you hire when things aren't coalescing. But Pulp Fiction proves that fixers can't fix everything.

The Cavaliers are desperate for an identity. And it will come in the form of a wise selection of a new symphonic composer, and a whip-smart visual designer that keeps the guard occupied with characters and narrative contexts, and prevents their posing and meaningless Las Vegas show-boy dance routines. The days of Cavaliers "Immortal" and "007" prove that characters are within reach for the Cavaliers' guard, and character complexity and would be a welcome respite from their shallow variety-show style of recent years, breasts or not.

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