“It is easy to love your friend, but sometimes the hardest lesson to learn is to love your enemy.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Staving off the cold March air with beers, Fireball shooters and Twisted Teas, Santa Clara students piled into two Caltrain cars on their way to the Guild Theatre for the Battle of the Bands.

The conductor bellowed for all aboard to please, please buy a ticket–though none of us did. Once moving, chants of “Stanford sucks!” and “Johnny Maddocks!” resounded through the train as students chugged their drinks to join together in the type of camaraderie only boxed wine can endow.

Anxious to arrive in Menlo Park, students stood and flocked to the train doors multiple stops too early with even more chants–this time, “SCU!” Haggard old men at the Mountain View stop have not the slightest idea of the trouble we’re about to get into. They peer at us, outside in the dark as our degeneracy is spotlighted by the train’s overhead fluorescents.

A girl shouts, “does anyone have a bottle opener?!” I oblige. Is this a tailgate? Is live music the new Santa Clara football?

The debaucherous atmosphere of eclectically-clad attendees spilled out onto the street upon arrival, and multiple students took an alcohol-prompted piss behind the nearby 7/11 while others handed their fake IDs to an overwhelmed cashier in exchange for light blue American Spirits and horchata-flavored BuzzBalls.

As we stood outside of the Guild Theater after a meandering yet rambunctious walk with the CalTrain crowd, we were cut in line by even more squawking student attendees. We met a few drunken characters while waiting to enter: most notably a heartbroken nineteen-year-old young man with an amorous last name “in a midlife crisis” who passionately wished for us to understand how, “you know when, like, you like, love a girl, but you don’t like want…you know what I mean?” He went on to state how he aimed to have a good time, soak in the music (x2), have a couple of nice drinks (and maybe a J) and discover who he is at the Battle of the Bands.

Other striking fans included girls lining up to sign posters thanking 3PM Oats for their service and a group of people who we can only presume were band members’ parents, ducking their heads to avoid any possible interaction with the vodka-breathed young adults clamoring around them.

The event’s judging system was based on both the quality of the performance and the audience’s participation. Clearly keeping this in mind, Santa Clara students put effort into avoiding even well-deserved head nodding, though occasionally conceding as the opening band, Stanford’s Banana Bred, started their set with a vibrant cover of The Backseat Lovers’ hit “Kilby Girl.”

With an energetic and well-dressed bassist jumping around the stage to the sweet peals of saxophone, the band was sure to delight.

A few presumably Stanfordian girls in the front row were singing along and waving their arms wildly to get The Blond One (Matt Reed, guitar player) to notice them. Multiple women came up to us after the show, lining up to speak about how cute they thought he was.

Channeling their female-validation-fed energy, Banana Bred unabashedly pandered to the judges, shouting compliments at the two middle-aged men sitting in the mezzanine.

The band put a post-adolescent, almost angsty spin on “Yellow,” striking a reminiscent chord with the audience. Despite their best efforts, even the Santa Clara students couldn’t help but to sing along. Maybe it was Reed’s cutoff Nicki Minaj tank top or his slight scream of “it was all yellow,” but in terms of the Battle, Banana Bred couldn’t have picked a better song.

But Banana Bred was met by a chorus of offended boos accompanied by the night’s only patriotic–yet wimpy nonetheless–chants of “Stanford!” as they ended their 20-minute set by unfurling an inflammatory hand-painted banner depicting the Stanford Tree standing over a beheaded Bucky Bronco and wielding a guitar like an ax.

Following the not-quite-breakfast theme, 3PM Oats performed their first-ever show of all original songs and did not disappoint their rabid fans, who put their hands up in hearts for the band as Jack Domagala crooned to the front row with the confidence of a pop star. Practiced on the Santa Clara circuit, a strong opening from the singer’s sweet soprano voice allowed the Oats’ universally appealing sound to wash over the crowd.

“Let’s get fucking rowdy!” Domagala screamed. “On the count of four, everyone is gonna go fucking crazy!”

Unsurprisingly, the Santa Clara-majority crowd did just that. A Puppy-Bowl-like mosh pit opened up in the center of the Guild Theatre as Johnny Maddocks shredded solo.

At any point in the set, crowd favorite Maddocks had multiple phone cameras trained on him. The Santa Clara love for the Oats’ bassist was reaffirmed constantly throughout the night as fans and friends alike broke into chants of his name at random intervals–not just as he was playing, but from the CalTrain platform to the sidewalk outside of the venue as the last few attendees filtered out of the theater, passing the band as they loaded amps and instruments into their cars.

Though they sing with disenchantment, “she just likes missionary,” 3PM Oats give off the impression that they’ve been around the block a few times. They’re Santa Clara icons–sex symbols, even.

Newer, younger and perhaps not quite holding the same status, Santa Clara’s Pluie followed the Oats, opening with their original “Cigarette.” Though the song had a slow start, an impressive mosh pit opened as the band delivered a raucous, screeching chorus so intense that guitarist Gonzalo Chun broke a string, prompting him to borrow an instrument from a musician in the wing for the remainder of the set.

A few fans came star-struck and religiously prepared with a sign drawn on the back of a pizza box, complete with Phineas and Ferb iconography and text that read “PLUIE! 4 Guyz 15 Asianz. PRE-SAVE MOM 3/27.”

Their set, composed fully of originals with snappy names like “Bathroom,” “Mom” and “Chamomile,” didn’t involve explicitly asking the audience to get rowdy–and didn’t need to. This was clear by the chorus of “I Hate You,” which prompted stage-swarming and crowd-surfing.

The band has a distinct, nostalgic, garage-y sound, like you’re back in high school and you lied to your parents about where you were–you’re really smoking weed at a house show instead of seeing Kung Fu Panda 3 with your friend Cindy.

While we didn’t have a chance to get to know Stanford band Bitch Cup after the show, their impressive cover of Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker” prompted a spunky sing-along from students and parents alike. Singer Arabella Walley (great name, by the way) delivered punchy vocals while drummer Alison Cabanday kept impressive time on the drums.

It was quite refreshing to see Walley and Cabanday holding attention on the stage, as the night had been previously dominated by all-male bands. The two women emancipated us from the patriarchal battle, and we will be forever grateful.

Stanford artist Easha explained that she had chosen her opening song based on what she thought the audiences of each school would want to hear. The screenaged singer chose a song that had been trending on TikTok–and while the audience sang the chorus for her, in true fashion of Gen Z, it was only those fifteen seconds that stirred up the crowd.

She didn’t need the Battle to prove her success, with over 250,000 monthly Spotify listeners and impressive followings on Instagram and TikTok. However, she tries to shake off the fame, stating that in order to “make work that's worthwhile, you kind of have to have an ignorance in the way that you're consumed.” She conceded a bit to her celebrity status, though, unpocketing her phone to take her BeReal on-stage.

For her selfie-perfect look, Easha channeled early-aughts Britney Spears, pairing a basic white collared shirt and black miniskirt with high-heeled boots.

Her songs, while beautifully executed, were unable to elicit the electricity that other bands brought to the stage and to the audience due to their slower tempo, most likely losing participation points for Stanford. But the toned-down energy of her songs did work in her favor as she closed her set with audience members scrambling to find a slow-dance partner (or, if unsuccessful, waving their phone flashlights in time with the ballad).

Once Easha had left the stage, replaced by Santa Clara’s Vudu Caravan, rock energy ensued once again.

“You all look fucking sexy tonight!” shouted lead singer Kailyn Pedersen, though at that point in the night most attendees were too sweaty, plastered and disheveled to fit the description.

The band’s fashion filled the stage just as much as their energy, with Pedersen in an all-white 90s-esque pantsuit and knock-off Balenciaga sunglasses, lead guitarist Will Ferguson sporting a shimmering collared shirt, Kyle Burroughs behind the kit in patterned crimson and black pants with a vest to match and Raul “Perro” Murillo rocking a neon pink kimono top to match his buzzcut and bass (though lost it one song into the set in a tried-and-true move for the musician).

For a cover of The Doors’ “Backdoor Man,” Murillo traded his instrument for Pedersen’s mic in a practiced exchange that came off as both corny and endearing. The bassist was not afraid to lean into his rocker persona as he stage-dived and addressed the crowd as “sexy bastards.” Thank you, Vudu Caravan! We do our best.

“How can I top myself?” El Perro later asked. “Fucking surf on top of the crowd, you know, scream, fucking scream.”

For their final song, the angsty crowd favorite “Hope It Hurts,” the singer relinquished the blindingly pink bass so Murillo could bring the song to life with its catchy bassline.

The theater was left wanting more, and wasn’t afraid to vocalize it. Unable to ignore the chants demanding “ONE MORE SONG,” emcee Kyle Dimick gave Vudu permission to keep playing–and the encore became easily the most energetic song of their performance, invigorating moshers and crowd-surfers alike.

After a brief pause, presumably as the judges were tallying their gridded score sheets of the incredibly close competition, Dimick, Master of Ceremonies, shut the 500 attendees up when he announced that he would declare to the eagerly enraptured crowd who won the Battle of the Bands.

“GIVE IT UP FOR VUDU CARAVAN!!” he screamed, as our tape recorder speakers were blown out by chants of “SCU! SCU!” The primarily Bronco audience was shrieking with delight as he bellowed that the band’s “heads should be high and ego inflated.”

“Give it up for vudu caravan!”

Dimick screamed, as our tape recorder speakers were blown out by chants of “SCU! SCU!”

The band was presented with a cash prize, a hand-painted banner far less offensive than the last and, perhaps most importantly, bragging rights certificates before all bands were brought out on stage for one last look at the crowd.

While the large majority of contestants and attendees were happy to have witnessed the impressive finale to the night, the encore was mildly controversial among a few miffed competitors.

In a post-show interview outside of the venue, Pluie, some members drunk on vitriol and/or vodka, openly engaged in semi-disgruntled banter in front of us:

“Battle of the Bands can easily inspire a lot of anger and negativity,” said drummer Byron Hansen, half-jokingly. “Like, after this, I'm going to kill every other band.”

San José State University DJ and Vecino Lemonade volunteer Sydney Freemyer relayed in a later interview that this sentiment was not uncommon, exclaiming that “there was a lot of shit-talking! In the green room, dude, it went down. It’s the Battle of the fucking Bands.”

“I didn't know Santa Clara was a school until tonight,” said Dhruv Sumathi, Banana Bred’s saxophonist, trying (and succeeding) to get a rise out of his interviewers. “I thought it was Santa Claus, bro.”

But despite the lighthearted homicidal wisecracks, the competitors conceded that, deep down beneath the rockstar facades, the Battle was a unifying production after all.

“I mean, yeah, it was very wholesome,” said Matt Reed, guitarist for Banana Bred. “All the bands were like, ‘yo, you killed it.’ We were like, ‘yo, you guys killed it.’ Everyone's very talented, very cool.”

3PM Oats felt the post-show emotional catharsis, emanating tenderness and mushy sentiments.

“At the end of the day, we're lovers,” said 3PM Oats guitarist Carter Clees. “We just want love. That's all we want. We want to be happy, we want to be happy with our friends, our relationships. Our songs are about how to have fun. With the people that you love.”

The band’s warmth soon turned inwards, making us flies on the wall to an outpouring of affection and well-earned admiration.

“I get a lot of nerves,” said Maddocks. “But I know I'm playing with some of the most talented people I've ever met. And that soothes me a lot because I know even if I'm not at my most confident, people are still gonna love it because the people around me are doing some really cool stuff. I have grown so much as a musician because of you guys. It’s insane.”

The silly-turned-serious-turned-silly-again rivalry stuck with many students, whether they were looking for a good time or to pick a fight.

“It was so much fun bonding with Stanford students, honestly,” said Gabby Mangano, a 3PM Oats enthusiast. “We’ve never had a little bonding session with Stanford before. It was special! It was fun! I had a great time!”

“I think a lot of the students that showed up were very determined to win,” said Freemyer, who was volunteering with Vecino Lemonade. “It was great energy both ways. I think it was a fun rivalry.”

The competition and its results stuck a little longer for Pluie, with one member quipping: “If they're a judge, if they're so good at judging, then why aren't they on the Supreme Court?”

But the honorable David Tuzman (who, to his credit, refused to give us the slightest hint as to his opinions on the night’s competitors) saw more to the competition than his role in designating Vudu Caravan the Battle’s winning band.

“I think it's been really awesome,” said the judge. “It's sold out and there's so many people here listening to live music made by their friends and community. That was my hope. And it’s already happening. It's pretty amazing.”

Though Santa Clara succeeded in securing the title, the true success of the night was the kindness and support fostered by the powers of rock and roll.

“We're doing it for the whole community, but at the same time I think that competitiveness breeds stronger results in creativity,” said Dimick. “It was fucking awesome, I’m not gonna lie. At the end of the day, I hope it has connected the bands in a way that will allow them to collaborate and create their own shows and their own community in the future.”

Maybe the real Battle of the Bands was the friends we made along the way…

Corrections

An earlier version of this article misspelled Jack Domagala’s name as Jack Domagla and Carter Clees’s name as Carter Cleese. (March 14, 2023)