The Weight of Growth: Where Do We Go From Here?

By Joe Brady, Wake and District 

Pipe bands are getting bigger. In some corners of the world, massive.

The biggest bands in every grade are swelling — more pipers, more drummers, more presence, more sound. When those groups step onto the field, the air shifts. The music feels bigger, the visual tighter, the impact undeniable. Growth creates momentum, and momentum is contagious. It feeds confidence. It fuels performance. It wins championships.

But as the giants grow stronger, smaller bands start to shrink. Some begin to suffer. Some fade away entirely.

And that raises a hard question: is this fair? Fair to the smaller bands trying to build programs, train new players, or keep a community alive? Does it serve the larger bands to win in the moment if it comes at the expense of the ecosystem around them? More importantly — what does this trend do for the art of pipe band music?

The Allure of Winning

Everyone wants to win. Everyone wants to be part of something successful — a band that has energy, swagger, purpose. We all love an emotional, tearjerking medley and the pride of hearing our name called with the results. There’s nothing wrong with that desire.

But we’ve entered an era where image sometimes outpaces intent. The “winning” programs — or those that look like winners — often have the best players, the flashiest gear, the crispest uniforms, and the strongest social media game. They’re aspirational. They draw people in.

Yet when that magnetism starts pulling players away from smaller bands — even within the same organization — something gets lost. We can tell ourselves it’s just competition, or opportunity, or progression, but we have to ask: at what cost?

Recruiting is one thing. Poaching is another. When players leave a smaller band to join a larger one, the large band might grow stronger, but the smaller band’s foundation weakens. And with every fold, the overall health of our pipe band world takes a hit.

The Hardest Job: Leadership

Leadership in pipe bands has always been difficult — but it’s getting harder. It’s not just about running rehearsals or organizing travel. It’s about managing people, expectations, and priorities in a world where everyone’s plate is already full. Work. Family. Finances. Life.

Pipe bands are volunteer organizations — built on passion and spare time. Asking someone to take on extreme ownership of something not tied to their livelihood takes courage. It takes sacrifice. It can be draining — physically, intellectually, emotionally, and even spiritually.

And when leaders burn out, cultures change. People notice. The spark dims. Some members start to look elsewhere — not necessarily because the music is bad or the leadership is weak, but because they crave something lighter, easier, different.

Sometimes, it’s just easier being a follower than a leader. Easier to show up, play, and go home. And who can blame anyone for that? But when too many people take that path, the load becomes heavier on the few still willing to lead. That imbalance shapes everything — from tone and tuning to morale and mission.

Rules Won’t Fix Culture

There’s a lot of talk about how to “fix” these challenges — to even the playing field, to give smaller bands a better chance. Ideas like capping the number of players in a circle, reshuffling grades, or rebalancing prize lists.

I don’t believe any of those things truly solve the problem.

Limiting the number of players might change the optics, but it won’t change the culture. Large bands will always attract talent, and they’ll always find ways to optimize within the rules. Restructuring grades — adding one here or removing one there — may temporarily reshuffle results, but it only squeezes the balloon elsewhere. Someone will still win, someone will still lose, and the same questions about fairness, sustainability, and purpose will remain.

The challenge isn’t the rules — it’s how we, as bands and as people, choose to build, lead, and support one another.

Remembering Why We Do This

Somewhere along the line, we might be losing sight of why we do this. We play to make music. To share something ancient and powerful. To honor our fallen. To feel that rush when 30 hearts and 30 hands align on the same pulse.

Competition keeps us sharp — but community keeps us alive. If the chase for medals overshadows the joy of making music together, we risk turning an art form into an arms race.

The solution isn’t simple. Bigger bands will always exist. Talent will always migrate. Ambition will always burn. But the health of our community depends on how we manage those realities — how we support smaller bands, respect player development, and choose collaboration over competition when we can.

The Season Ahead

As bands worldwide head into the off-season, this is the time to pause. To reset. To remind ourselves what matters before the rush of 2026 begins.

Growth is good. Excellence is worth chasing. But we have to build it together.

Let’s nurture leaders instead of exhausting them. Let’s celebrate the small wins, the rebuilding years, the quiet rehearsals that no one posts about. Let’s value the person learning their first two-part march as much as the veteran landing a top-tier solo. Because every note — every player — sustains this tradition.

Pipe bands are not just about winning. They’re about belonging. And when we remember that, when we focus on the music, the mission, and the people standing beside us — we all win.

Purpose

At the heart of every great pipe band lies purpose. Purpose gives meaning to every practice, every parade, every competition. It’s what keeps us grounded when success feels distant, and what binds us together when challenges mount.

We should play for something — not just to play. Play for one another. Play for the ones who taught us, for the ones who stand beside us, and for the ones who can no longer march.

Do the right things for the right reasons — not for applause, or status, or numbers — but for the shared purpose of carrying this tradition forward with dignity. Because when we play with purpose, we find something deeper than winning. We find belonging. We find meaning.

And maybe that’s the real prize worth chasing.