Everyone’s dancing like they’re lifting caskets at a New Orleans funeral. This is a 20-piece marching band, which just bumped into me, so I grabbed the soft arm of a young woman. It was nice. The girls dance like swans, arching their necks. The last night at a The Warehouse, kids as usual slouching in the bunks against the wall. There’s a retro shade over the light in front of the stage. The band tears mad zigzags across college band music. But this is the kind of band music that would make the kids in the crowd dance on the field.