War Hammer

2016 was my second year on staff at Music City Drum Corps. A lot of the staff was returning, and we’d all gotten pretty close the summer before. New staff members stood out in a small sea of familiar faces—none more than this cocky, boisterous macho-man. I distinctly remember turning to a buddy during my first ensemble block (I came in about a week and a half into move-ins that year) and saying, “Yo, who is this guy with the "Warhammer" tattooed on his back?”

The guy’s name was Paris. We hadn’t exchanged a word, and while I try not to judge books by their covers... I was pretty sure I didn’t like him. People can be intimidating, and we can be intimidated by people. In Paris’ case, those two possibilities were not mutually exclusive.

Over the course of that summer—and the next few years—I really got to know Paris. And while he did turn out to be exactly who I thought he was at first glance, he also turned out to be thoughtful, dedicated, and a fiercely loyal friend. He’s the kind of friend who can (and will without hesitation) challenge you—and we need friends like that in our lives.

I had just started composing around that time, so it would come up in conversation (and if it didn’t, I’d make sure it did). I had a lot of lofty goals back then—many of which I still have—but Paris always encouraged me to look into writing educational music. A lot of times that would sound like, “Nobody cares about all your fancy ballet garbage. If you want to make money and get your music played, you should write music for middle school band.” But you learn to read into the nuance of statements like that.

Over the years, that group of friends stayed in touch. Even after many (and eventually all) of us had filtered through the organization where we’d met, we’d still get together for New Year’s Eves and Fourths of July. As I continued to study composition at the master’s and then doctoral level, Paris’ subtle encouragements took on increasingly challenging tones. Phrases like “you should” turned into “you can’t,” and “if you were as smart as you think you are, you could write a grade one band piece.” After a weekend of being goaded like this at a summer get-together in Biloxi, I drove the six hours home determined to shut him up.

It turns out he was right—I struggled with it. I thought I could do it in an hour. That kind of music sounds so simple, and as a “serious composer,” I had looked at it as pulp. I’d severely underestimated how difficult it is to wield such limited forces. You can only use a small handful of rhythmic values. The way you're forced to double lines strips away most of your textural options. Harmonically, you're pigeonholed into the pitches in your diatonic collection. Each instrument has such a limited range that you have to really pore over your counterpoint. It’s a very intricate puzzle to put together—and when you finally get it assembled, it just looks simple. As much as I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, Paris had now taught me twice: looks can be deceiving.

That first piece I finished is bold, determined, and steadfast. I decided to call it War Hammer—a nod to Paris: his friendship, his personality, and that back tattoo I’d found so jarring at first. A few years later, I arranged a version of it for the Huntsville Youth Symphony, and a few years after that, both versions were published by RWS Music. Just a few weeks ago, I found out that both the band and string versions were selected for the JW Pepper Editor’s Choice List for 2025.

And to think—it all started with a friend using his ego to bully me into getting over my ego... which then led to me using my ego to prove to him that I could do anything and that he needed to get over his ego... Let that be a lesson to us all.

Postscript: A few weeks ago, I was at move-ins for Memphis Blues Drum and Bugle Corps, where I now serve as the music designer and percussion arranger—and Paris is the Brass Caption Head. A former student was working as a percussion tech, and as we were talking, he said, “By the way, who is this dude with War Hammer tattooed on his back? What is that about?”

I said, “That's Paris. He's cool. Trust me.”