Julian Raymond

I created the Google Calendar event for Battle of the Bands a week in advance. I bought two tickets, with some strategic maneuvering of the Yale Connect website’s one per person policy, so that I could show my friend Sam the “average” Yale weekend. Sam, a prospective advertising major at Boston University and longtime friend, had texted me to follow through on the plan we’d made over winter break, asking if she could take the Greyhound down on Friday night. 

In high school, the two of us were chronically late. We always thought we could stop for food before swim practice, always get an extra ten minutes in bed before driving to school or swap cowboy hats and take selfies for 30 minutes despite the missed calls and incessant buzzing from our phones telling us that Cate’s Country Western party was already underway. We constantly teetered on the line between fashionably late and despicably, chronically tardy. Despite the Battle of the Bands’ prominent position on our scheduled weekend, it was no exception.

We arrived at the Yale Farm 40 minutes late. I think we missed one band and showed up halfway through another playing “Them Changes” by Thundercat. I was glad we’d arrived when we did. Sam seemed impressed enough by the performance to forget that we’d mistakenly ditched the puffers for cute, bilayer outfits in the sub-freezing weather. I polished off the rest of my burrito from the food trucks as DJ Smacks played “Guess” by Charli XCX. I remember what song he played because I’d gotten to pull my signature move: lifting up the back of my shirt when the song references a brand new lower back tattoo, which began a discussion about how bad we’d want tramp stamps, that is, if they didn’t carry the eponymous stigma. It felt great to white-girl dance with Sam, like high school, minus the hometown faces we could do without.

As we settled into the crowd of bobbing barely-twenty-somethings, I introduced Sam to the mainstays. The scene is pretty consistent, with faces recognizable if you’ve been to any 17o1 concert, which is why I’ve decided to comment mostly on the bands my friend Sam remarked on. If I say something uncouth or critical, I’ll have to deal with the consequences for the next four years. As a celebrity guest star — queue the studio applause — Sam’s takes won’t come back to bite her in the dining hall, the library or in the crowd at Spring Fling (sorry Sam).

With Sam’s permission, I thought I’d start with Don’t Sell Me the Dog. As the all-male band sidled up to the mics, rubbing their hands together to fight back the numbing New England cold, Sam grinned. “If I see an all guy band, I automatically assume they’re sinister,” she laughed, half kidding, half wisdom from lived experience. I can’t comment on the content of their character, but I can on their performance. I was in the front row as they strummed the first few chords of “Take it Easy” by the Eagles. I was also the one obnoxiously scream-singing the lyrics before my friends gave me that get a hold of yourself glance — sorry guys. 

While Don’t Sell Me the Dog’s cover didn’t attempt a perfect imitation of the original’s West Coast twang, Hugo Lehrach ’26 introduced the band with a bit of Rhode Island edge, a flip of his middle part — great head of hair by the way — and a kick of his tawny cowboy boots. Kaj Litch was a standout from the bunch, and not just because of the near-neon orange puffer he wore. He handled the numbness from drizzly sub-freezing temperatures — classic for an outdoor Yale event, I told Sam — with grace and fingers so quick they almost blurred over the strings. His expertise reminded me a tad of Lindsey Buckingham, at least what I’d seen of him in the low frame rate recording of Fleetwood Mac’s 1982 live rendition of “The Chain.”

I’ll never like a version of “The Chain” more than I do the coked-up vocal battle between Lindsey and Stevie Nicks in Fleetwood Mac’s 1982 Mirage tour, but Flannel’s cover had me running out of the nearby porta-potty the moment I heard the first strum of the guitar. Sam knew what my reaction would be. She’d seen me sprint to the dance floor at our high school prom — one of the rare times I put some effort into not being late — and jump into the throng of upperclassmen who’d shrugged at the intro to “You Make Loving Fun.” 

We noticed a distinct lack of flannels on the band members, something Sam and I laughed about, but we remembered the band for another reason. Bassist Eleanor Ohm ’27 stood out from the first breath of Flannel’s set, and not just because of the roaring cheers at her introduction. I could feel each chord she struck for her solo in “The Chain” vibrating through the frozen mud beneath us. I have serious respect for any performer that doesn’t wimp out at the first sign of bad weather, especially considering the discussion Sam and I had halfway through the bitter intermission between bands: “Are you cold? “No, are you cold? Do you wanna leave?” “No! But if you want to leave, we can leave…” 

We were both glad we stayed. Despite her freezing hands, Eleanor delivered a killer performance which — Sam’s opinion, not mine — could only be rivaled by Free At Five. I mark a great performance by its ability to keep the audience jumping up and down and crushing each other’s toes. Free At Five delivered the crowd exactly that. By the end of their set, my toes were pulverized to a bloody paste in my Doc Martens. Sage Friedman ’25 belted out the band’s original song — whose title escapes me — with enough awe-inspiring power to shatter our bones and make us thank her for it. Trumpeted with enough flair and precision to keep the crowd screaming at every blast, Aiden Magley ’25 found his place alongside Friedman’s vocals to an electrifying, brassy result. 

Sage and Aiden — whose blue eyes seemed genuinely bioluminescent in New Haven’s all too familiar grey weather — kept the audience engaged from start to finish. Shouting out into the audience, applauding their band members after their respective nuclear solos, and talking with the front row like we were old friends, Free At Five had the crowd hypnotized by the time they told us to vote for them. I’ll break my no-comment commentary to say that their hypnosis worked on me. Free At Five’s victory in the Battle of the Bands has renewed my faith in the democratic process and Sam’s admiration for my school.

Sam won’t be able to go to Yale’s Spring Fling — unless I can find a way around the ticket debacle — but I promised her I’d record Free At Five’s set. I also promised her I’d get a recording of “Slut Me Out” performed live. Let’s hope Sam likes Ken Carson.