The Griz have somehow made playoffs, and that means an extended season for the real athletes of campus: The Grizzly Marching Band. It’s a non-stop party on their side of the stadium, and even when the football team is getting crunched, thunked and concussed, you can count on the band to be blasting Seven Nation Army straight into the student section. If you want in on the gig, but aren’t sure what to play, worry not: The stars are here to help.
SAGITTARIUS (NOV. 22-DEC. 21):
“The heavier the instrument, the sexier the player” is the mantra you pray to yourself every time you carry that big-ass sousaphone on your shoulders. Back pain be damned, you are hauling that wrap-around-tuba like the main character you are, honking every note of Imagine Dragons covers you can remember — which is like, half. Just try not to slip a disc.
CAPRICORN (DEC. 22-JAN. 19):
You’re too good for the marching band, but your major requires you to grace the stadium with your presence, so you suppose you’ll pick up the marching horn. It’s not as regal as your French horn back home, but it outplays the woodwinds and gets the harmony half the time. It will have to do.
AQUARIUS (JAN 20-FEB 18):
As the saxophone, you’re versatile and can jump between roles like you jump between boy toys. Melody? Harmony? A sound effect or a goofy chant? You’re on it and happy to be there. Just don’t let anyone ask you to stick to one spot. We all know you’re allergic to commitment.
PISCES (FEB. 19-MARCH 20):
Poor little piccolo, you are trying your best in a system built against you. How the hell are you supposed to make a tiny flute be heard 50 yards away? You have no choice but to play out of tune just to feel something. Have a little self-sabotage as a treat.
ARIES (MARCH 21-APRIL 19):
Your mother taught you the only way you can express yourself is through screaming, cursing and domination, and here you are squealing into a trumpet. Coping with insecurity by outplaying the band certainly is a strategy, but everyone’s ears are ringing too much to argue.
TAURUS (APRIL 20-MAY 20):
As the drumline, people say you’re the heartbeat of the band. You’re too blazed to really know what that means, but you notice that people speed up and slow down with you. That stability is cool and all, but you’re more interested in smacking an instrument for money.
GEMINI (MAY 21-JUNE 20):
You’re the bass guitarist who only shows up for indoor pep band games. When a blizzard hits and temperatures sink below zero, you’re content to watch the goofy little marchers try to make a sound with frozen instruments and slip around the field. Less pay, but less humiliation, you like to think.
CANCER (JUNE 21-JULY 22):
You’re an orchestra kid, but all your friends were joining the marching band, and you can’t stand being left out. Now you’re holding massive cymbals and dancing around like a clapping monkey toy. You say you’re miserable, but you’re the first to scream the Bill Nye the Science Guy chant every time. You have become what you feared the most: A huge nerd. Welcome to the club.
LEO (JULY 23-AUG. 22):
Trombone, we can hear you coming and you’re proud of that. You’re at the front of the parade and the top of the stands for a reason, and you think it’s because you need room to WAAA to your heart’s content. In reality, it’s because everyone needs a break from you.
VIRGO (AUG. 23-SEP. 22):
You love to think of yourself as the mom friend who cleans up other people’s messes, and that’s why you tried out for drum major: Leader of the band. You failed to consider that you’re too disorganized for anyone to follow. At least you got a cool uniform out of it.
LIBRA (SEP. 23-OCT. 22):
You played three notes on the piano and decided you hated it. However, you lacked a clique in middle school and decided, as strange as the band kids were, they could provide a sense of community. When you got to college, you became the baton twirler to keep your people. If they get too weird, you can always “accidentally” swing your baton in their direction.
SCORPIO (OCT. 23-NOV. 21):
Other people cry when their personal lives dissolve, but you suck every tear back into its duct and play the funk out of your clarinet instead. It doesn’t matter if your grades are slipping and Chad doesn’t text you anymore. Emotional repression is your favorite song and you’ll play it until the pain goes away.