Oakland’s Judgement Day Invites The Verdict
I shoveled the last of my Best Wurst bratwurst into my face and walked to the corner where a large crowd had gathered to watch a band that had set up shop on the sidewalk. This was SXSW, so it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary–until they started playing. Deep, guttural tones from a cello rang through the noisy crowd while blistering violin tones followed close behind. A drummer was hunched over an orange bucket and pounded out the rhythms–staying in line with the song’s changes. A white poster board sign with black marker writing rested behind a violin case that was ajar. “Judgement Day,” it read. Their bows flew from side to side as their heads violently thrashed, and all the while a flutter of photos captured the moment.
Every once in a while, a band comes along that redefines the way that we think about how music can be played. Our stereotypes are shattered, and we become intrigued by this strange anomaly for a brief period of time until our attention is stolen yet again by something else that sparks our interests. In short, we write it off as a novelty because it‘s not what we‘re accustomed to seeing or hearing. Judgement Day is not one of these novelty bands. Their music isn’t cute; it’s intelligent. They don’t just “get it done,” they fucking smash on their instruments like the best of them and the result is great music. Music that is brave in its attempt to create something innovative while still kicking so much ass. Oh yeah, and there’s no singer. It’s one thing to be a metal band with strings and no guitars, but then to also tackle the music world as an instrumental band is no easy undertaking. When you don’t have a vocalist, the ceiling for success is usually a whole lot lower than it is for a band with one, and critics don’t take kindly to reviews, as Anton Patzner, Judgement Day violinist, points out.
“It has been somewhat of a struggle to convince critics to write about us, because critics are writers and they like words,” he says.
As discouraging as the media’s reluctance might seem, it has only added fuel to their fire. In the face of all this, they say “bring it on.”
“I’m excited to tackle this challenge,” says Anton. “I want to do something totally different and I welcome the challenge of winning over an audience of press. We’re two brothers doing something completely different with completely different instruments, and I think it’s a great story.”
Anton, a classically trained violinist, and his brother Lewis Patzner, a classically trained cellist, are the founding members of Judgement Day. In the beginning, Anton was hitting the streets by himself, playing his violin and earning a little pocket change. This was working out all right until one day his mom said, “Anton, take Lewis out.” And he did and they made a lot of money.
“We kept doing it, and we realized that it was a pretty good response, so we decided to turn it into a band,” recalls Anton.
The “metal” part wasn’t necessarily the direction that the Patzner boys were aiming for at first. It was merely what worked.
“We were just playing hard and fast; because the harder and faster we played the more money we’d make,” says Anton.
“And the louder we played the more people could hear us,” adds Lewis.
Lewis’ early inspirations weren’t metal at all, but rather movie soundtracks. Scores like John Williams’ Star Wars as well as others by this highly influential composer were what got Lewis’ creative juices flowing. Later on, hardcore bands like Refused helped spice up the cello with a little edge. Judgement Day isn’t to be pigeonholed in the metal category, although, and a little sense of humor really punctuates this fact.
“When we play with metal bands, it’s these very masculine dudes and when they get excited about [our music], it makes you feel like a man, you know?” jokes Lewis.
Judgement Day seeks to appeal to a much broader audience than just metal fans. They aim to speak to music fans. Take their recent trip to Austin, Texas, for SXSW. Although littered with performances, exposure to industry hot shots and the wildfire heat of video and camera footage, it was the fans who made the trek like Muslims to Mecca that made it all worth it.
“I really felt like we reached a lot of music fans by what we were doing. And in the end, I think they’re almost as powerful as the music industry is,” says Anton.
With their new album, Peacocks/Pink Monsters, a work of art in and of itself, their message is loud and clear. The creative boundaries that were pushed during the studio sessions were a leap of faith brought about by disagreement. Each member of the band, including newly added drummer Jon Bush, had completely different ideas of how the record should sound. With the time ticking and not much progress being made, they decided to head into the studio. What followed was the birth of an album through improvisation and experimentation. A beautifully mixed record that seamlessly integrates the drums and showcases how this band can sound like a huge rock band to the point where the liner notes read, “There are no guitars on this record.”
During that same performance in Austin that I had the pleasure of witnessing, Anton put down his violin and addressed and the crowd.
“I think that this is a really exciting time for music that we’re going into right now,” he bellowed to the crowd. “More and more it’s a time when we don’t hear about the cool new bands from the radio or from MTV; more and more we hear about it from our friends. When we like something, we can share it with all of our friends by just clicking a button on our Facebook page or our Twitter,” continued Anton.
The crowd stood silent, listening to what this frizzy-haired violin player standing on a corner had to say.
“I think as music fans we have never had more of a voice then we have today. We have this great power. And when we do that, when we share, we give independent art a stronger voice than it’s ever had before,” concluded Anton to a now mesmerized audience.
Applause followed and the boys sparked up the band, shredding another track for their new fans.
Judgement Day will play Luigi’s Fungarden on April 25, 2010. Prepare to get your face melted in the most sophisticated manner possible.
A look at the Sacramento scene shake-up in 2009
It was a difficult year for the local musician as at least eight bands met their demise. Swansong shows were played, vans were crashed and relationships collapsed in bittersweet endings. The silver lining in the shambles of bands lost? As we transition into a new decade, we’ll be greeted by fresh and lovely new bands.
That’s how this thing works. Take last year’s demise of The Evening Episode. Had they not called it quits, Terra Lopez would not have gone on to create our beloved Sister Crayon and fill that indie-pop gap in our lives. For now, it’s the breakup that is fresh for these fallen bands. Only last month, Buildings Breeding unplugged from the scene, citing a lapse in dedication as its reason for departure. Vocalist and guitarist Chris Larsen said Buildings Breeding hit a rut after founding guitarist Evan Hart moved to Oakland.
“I can’t really pinpoint what it was that made the decision,” he said. “It seemed the better we’d get, the less people would care.”
Fresh off a May tour, the band experienced a transformation from its lo-fi roots into a polished songwriting style that would become its Kite Fire EP. A man down, the group brought in Kevin Dockter on guitar and Justin Titsworth on drums. “It made the band feel brand new; finally it felt like we had something,” he said. “Even our oldest songs were fresh again. It definitely gave us a second wind.”
Buildings Breeding booked an extensive tour for November to promote the EP, only to learn that three of its six members weren’t available to travel. The band attempted to have friends fill in as best it could, but Larsen said it was apparent from those reluctant moments the band was kaput. “Chris [Vogel] and I would speak every night,” Larsen said. “When we kept coming to the same decision, we knew we had to end it. We decided to honor what local shows we had and add two farewell shows.”
The farewell show happened so frequently this year it could have been considered a fad. Bright Light Fever played its final show at Harlow’s on Sept. 10. The group had a six-year run eulogized by a can of soda.
“We bought a six pack of Sunkist orange soda before we started pre-production on our first record,” Matt Ferro, Bright Light Fever’s guitarist, said. “We drank them all but one can and kept that can in our practice room as sort of a good luck charm for the whole time we were together. When we were loading up for our last show, we looked at it and—no joke—the expiration date was Sept. 10, 2009. Same day as our last show. Poured it out in the back parking lot of Harlow’s.”
It was to Bright Light Fever’s benefit they did not share the newly expired soda. The band’s lifespan was marred by unfortunate events the members wore like an honor badge sash. Within a month of its debut’s release in Oct. 2006 on Stolen Transmission (an offspring label of Island/Def Jam), Bright Light Fever lost its distribution. By July 2007, Bright Light Fever was dropped from Stolen Transmission. The group wrecked two vans in Wyoming on two separate tours. BLF self-recorded and self-released its second record, eventually putting it on the Internet for free download due to “months wasted on empty promises and overall snakery by outside parties.”
The band finally toured without losing money last November. Alas, its follow-up summer tour led to law enforcement issues in Arizona, hitting a deer in Omaha, eight of 12 shows paying nothing and its newest member quitting. “We all genuinely loved the band, so we did it for as long as we could keep our sanity,” Ferro said. “Honestly, all the bad luck inspired us to work harder at what we were doing.”
Punk band Blame Betty attempted to bear the brunt for four years. Lead singer Brooke Sobol said being in a band exposed her to a potential she never understood, but when your band is in a constant shuffle of members, the lack of dedication wanes the drive. The band burned through four drummers, four bassists and two lead guitarists. “The more we accomplished, the more I wanted to accomplish,” she said. “When the dust settled, we had a good, solid group for a long time.”
Blame Betty broke up in September. Sobol said she was exploring a business opportunity that monopolized her time. The stability of Blame Betty suffered. “I just couldn’t do both,” she said. “The pressure of being the front person got to be more than I wanted. I actually have stage fright. There’s a lot of pressure on the front person.” Sobol said she wants to be the girl standing next to the lead now—drinking a beer and playing her guitar like a crazy woman.
Buildings Breeding split without its inner-band relationship suffering. Larsen and drummer Melanie Glover are still together. “Being able to share music with my true love Melanie, it was at times difficult, but so incredible to see her grow as a musician,” Larsen said. This is the exception.
David Mohr found out the hard way when he split with Meg Larkin just before the summer, leaving Sacramento without its premiere dance duo, 20,000. “I tell people now not to be in a band with your significant other,” Mohr said. “People warned me. I should have taken their advice.”
When Mohr ended his six-year run with previous band Didley Squat, he said it felt like an actual breakup, the intimate kind; but losing his band and girlfriend in a breakup was a crushing blow to his psyche. To make matters worse, the laptop they used to make their music was Meg’s computer. Mohr tried to record on his old four-track, but found the process frustrating.
20,000 never had an official last show. The breakup happened amidst scheduled dates around Midtown, each of which drove the nail deeper into the coffin. Mohr remembers one show in particular at Luigi’s Fungarden. “I was dreading that show,” he said. “It was right after we broke up and the plan was to keep the band going. It was just too weird to get on stage with your ex-girlfriend and pretend to have a good time, pretend to be into the songs when really you’re done with it.”
So why is this happening? Mohr said he is concerned by an influx of negative energy. In Bright Light Fever’s bassist Don Suave, he astutely wrote in the band’s obituary, “it has been frustrating to see our fan base consistently waning while, from my point of view, the quality of our work has been consistently waxing. What I’m saying is, ‘It’s all your fault.'” Similarly, Larsen expressed a frustration with the abandonment that came with his band exploring hi-fi aesthetics.
“I think [the band] was let down by that fact because we were all extremely proud of the stuff we were creating together. Add the hopes of being signed to a new label and having them leaving you dead in the dirt, that is sure to shake any band up.”
Blame Betty spent two years convincing a club to let them play and brought 75 paying attendees out on a Thursday night, only to have the rest of the bill spot four people and split the door money. “[The club] didn’t return any of my calls to get another show booked there,” Sobol said. “But, the other band still does shows there.”
Let’s not forget the silver lining. With the dissolution of such great bands, an absence is left within the artist. As Ferro put it, “playing in a rock ‘n’ roll band makes you cool. Like smoking cigarettes. So right now, I’m lacking cool.”
He and his brother Evan immediately continued writing music under the moniker Roman Funeral. The duo hopes to record an album by the spring and tour in 2010. Larsen is doing a “solo-y thing,” while his ex- bandmates have taken to other local acts like bands with ex-The Matches members and playing with Chelsea Wolfe.
Mohr obtained a laptop and has released two free digital records as Favors. His new venture retains the 20,000 sound, but with a lot more heartbreak. He is currently practicing with Ben and Chris of Impotent Ninja, as well as Chris’s girlfriend, which made Mohr wary at first. “I definitely spoke to Chris about it, but I think they might be stronger than Meg and I,” he said. He hopes to do Favors shows by the summer.
Through all the bullshit, each band had no problem expressing its gratitude for the little moments shared among bandmates and fans. For Ferro of Bright Light Fever, it was traveling in a van across the country with brothers and close friends and taking a piss while your bandmates all meet Iggy Pop on a street in Texas. Larsen recalls the feeling after Buildings Breeding’s last show as he thought, “If this many people came to our shows all the time, I would never quit. I could just play Sacramento and Davis the rest of my life.” Sobol recently caught a show with her bandmates. They still flirt with the idea of reforming again, pending a lead singer shows up. Mohr is doing his best to remain friends with Larkin. As of this week, he hopes he can give his friends one last 20,000 record. The two finished, but never released, an album before the breakup. “Up until about a week ago, I didn’t want to get it out,” he said.
Best Fwends, WHATEVAWHATEVAWHATEVA, Loch Lomand
Luigi’s Fungarden “¢ Nov. 11-13, 2009
Words by Vincent Girimonte
Last week, I ended up at Luigi’s Slice three consecutive nights, and it has culminated into the following article which will hopefully explain why a grown man is still frequenting pizza parlors by himself.
Wednesday
Exactly one other person and I went to Luigi’s to see Texas electro-punks Best Fwends. Two people still don’t make a crowd, apparently, and the show was cancelled, officially ruining an otherwise great laundry day. The Fwends gave me their drink tickets, though, and Luigi’s gave me a free slice of pie, which incidentally explains why I was so confused about paying on Thursday.
Thursday
I sauntered over to the Press Club to watch the fighting Singletarys not lose to the Bears. Jay Cutler hit more 49ers than did Alex Smith, but for some reason the outcome was close enough to merit a few yelps—a terrible game, by any measure. There I met two acquaintances from high school and three hours later we were asking why our Luigi’s slices actually cost money—like physical money—and why so much of it. Upon leaving, a couple of 300-pound men gave us a shoulder-charge. Retaliation was postponed.
Friday
Loch Lomond is a folk group from Portland, Ore. and they look and sound like a folk group from Portland, despite songwriter/frontman Ritchie Young, a dainty firecracker of a folksinger who wore a cherry-red shirt and a slick haircut. Being the symbolism junkie that I am, this image more or less reflects how I feel about Loch Lomond: one bright spot.
At certain points, I was willing to describe the sextet as perfectly adequate folk/pop, which is usually about as far as I go into admitting boredom. Long-winded meandering tunes, most off their new Night Bats EP, left me craving either a larger venue or fewer musicians. Triple harmonies, melodies tickling all over, “tuning parties” in between songs—Loch Lomond is no doubt a band of seasoned musicians but perhaps it doesn’t need to be, at least for my taste. The catchier numbers, such as “Blue Lead Fences” and “Field Report” seemed to be more brass tacks, mariner songs, and the ones that ultimately kept me awake.
It was a splendid effort, though, all passive-aggression aside. And Young—a diminutive, Annie Lennox-type with all the chops and panache you might expect from such a creature—can sell the symphonic nature of his band even if his songs sometimes do not. Each number seemed to require a different tone; he was as capable in providing the tiniest falsetto, as he was the stormy, operatic boom. As he became anecdotal between tracks, nobody was surprised to learn he was a precocious little shit in his childhood, which made him all the more endearing and explained so much regarding Loch Lomond’s overly ambitious set.
Dan Deacon
Luigi’s Fungarden, Sacramento, California
Monday, Oct. 19, 2009
Words by Vincent Girimonte
Photos by Samantha Saturday
Dan Deacon’s set at Luigi’s Fungarden on Oct. 19 reminded me of that saying, “Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.” Manifesting this was a state worker boogying next to some teenage princess probably 20 years his junior; and Deacon himself, pleading with us to imagine a “sky of hair” above the dance floor. Suffice to say nobody was caring.
The Baltimore-bred electronic artist owns one of the more egalitarian live spectacles you’ll come across, and it’s anything but gimmicky, despite the merch peddler performing interpretative dance (which was a little gimmicky). Dancing around isn’t compulsory, just highly encouraged. If that’s not enough to get you moving, peer pressure eventually kicks in to where anybody not sweating through his or her shirt may as well be the chaperone. The result was a Fungarden smelling “like a farm,” as one hooligan put it.
Deacon set up on the floor, caved in with lights, amps and a throng of impatient youths savagely bouncing around near his board, which looks like it was made on Sesame Street. This preferred dynamic may be his referendum on the typical live performance hierarchy (the artist being up there, and everybody else down here, having all the fun); or, perhaps being among his crowd he can more easily organize dance-offs and the ubiquitous “human tunnel”—each making an appearance at Luigi’s. There’s an element of wedding MC in Deacon’s shtick, the one that comes free with the venue and wants everyone to be happy while waiting for the buffet. Sometimes you need that guy.
I would hesitate to call Bromst, Deacon’s second full-length release and the primary source material for Monday’s set, “experimental” if he himself didn’t sometimes classify it as such. Admittedly, this is probably out of my own misinterpretation of the word “experimental,” as in you can’t shake your ass to it. Live, the tone is surging and rich, bringing to mind that “noise in tune” adage—but this is also pop music, implying some accessibility. Deacon plants playful, trippy melodies on the grinding rhythms and manic live-drum samples, and from there it just goes up and up at a breakneck tempo. It’s the music of frolicking optimists, and resonated well within the snug confines of the Fungarden.
He grabbed the mic every now and then for some cathartic chanting—not that he can sing, really, but nobody seemed to mind. By the end of the show he was Uncle Dan, commiserating with the Sacramento audience as a Baltimorean knowing what it’s like to live in a city consistently ignored by the hotshot indie tours. Though if this reputation is what brought Deacon here in the first place, it is one we can surely live with for a little while longer, at least until Uncle Dan returns.
Lead vocalist Leighton Antelman of Lydia speaks humbly of his band’s success as though it’s a misnomered description. Lydia can be described as soaring indie rock adrift in desperation. Yet, as without creed as Antelman tries to write, his band continues to develop a loyal following ready to sacrifice their bodies for the band.
Originally conceived by high school friends in Tempe, Ariz., Lydia suffered the same lack of reward most bands face in that first year. Antelman said once they began playing shows outside of Arizona it felt more official. “We were pretty much your standard local band,” he said. “Playing shows every weekend and hammering through it.”
Lydia underwent a multitude of lineup changes before establishing its current roster comprised of lead vocalist/guitarist Antelman, keyboardist/backup vocalist Mindy White, guitarists Steve McGraw and Ethan Koozer, bassist Jed Dunning and drummer Craig Taylor.
With that first year of malaise behind Lydia, the band caught a break winning a contest sponsored by Atticus Clothing. The Drag The Lake, Volume 3 compilation featured Lydia’s song “Your Taste is My Attention.” Antelman said after the feature, the stages got larger and the recognition became more frequent, but this merely meant Lydia had locked in an opening spot on tour with Saves the Day.
Amid its touring schedule, the group self-released its debut, This December: It’s One More and I’m Free. Still, Lydia lingered in the wings of indie rock discovery until it befriended Copeland frontman Aaron Marsh and released Illuminate. “The band really never had an ‘all of a sudden moment,'” Antelman said, but it does not hurt to get the stamp of approval from Copeland and get their producer Matt Malpass to work the boards on your record.
Once Marsh heard Lydia’s Illuminate demos, he insisted on being part of the record, passing the word along to Malpass. Antelman said after the first week of uneasiness, as everyone felt each other out, the recording process hit a strong stride. “I wouldn’t say it was awkward,” Antelman said. “Luckily, our personalities are very similar. It went so well that I’m 80 percent sure we’ll do another record with Matt Malpass.”
Listening to Illuminate, Malpass’ touch is present, but Lydia manages to distinguish itself from an expected Copeland carbon copy. This staple of independence is owed to Antelman and McGraw—two strong songwriters whose demos needed little guidance from Malpass.
Antelman spoke sincerely of his appreciation of Malpass allowing Lydia to shape its sound. “We pretty much had the songs done when we went into the studio,” he said. “Not to say that we didn’t obviously take advice, but we knew what we wanted going in.”
Illuminate, in its tightly woven structure, often leads to the question, “is it a concept record?” Some songs share melodies and lyrics, but Antelman insists the sophomore record is more fluid than conceptual. “It’s meant to be heard from start to finish,” Antelman said. “There are three songs that are a small piece, but the whole record has no full concept.”
Antelman said he is resistant toward concepts or messages that tag the band or his songwriting with an agenda. Lydia might motivate fans to tattoo lyrics or the album art to their bodies, but it is not pushing a logo or dogma. “I’ve never [written] lyrics to convey a specific meaning,” he said. “Some bands are Christian and they’re trying to do whatever Christian music is trying to do, but I try to write lyrics open to interpretation without being too generic.” If Antelman has one major pet peeve with songwriters it’s generic postcard lyrics.
In striving for lyrics beyond the common song, yet open to decipherment, Lydia has won a loyal fan base. It’s not worship, but it’s dangerously close. When asked if a mention of fans with Lydia tattoos was a controlled case or an epidemic, Antelman cited five cases that happened just on the last tour. “It’s flattering to me,” he said.
After Lydia’s release of Illuminate, Antelman said the fan base doubled in size. On a previous tour he said it really hit him when he was able to stop singing specific parts of songs because the crowd was singing it louder than he could muster. “I used to go to a lot of shows when I was 15,” he said. “I always thought it was cool when a singer would stop and let the crowd sing the lyrics. To actually be on the other side of that is pretty mind blowing.”
Lydia’s West Coast tour will hit Sacramento’s Luigi’s Fungarden on May 30, traveling up the Pacific Northwest. Come June they plan to be hermits for a few months. “We’re going to at least try to write for the new record,” Antelman said. “I don’t prescribe to the ‘we’re going to take a couple months off to record’ approach that some bands take. I don’t believe in writing in a set amount of time. If you do that, you’re forcing your music.”
This stop will be Lydia’s fourth in Sacramento; Antelman said each show has grown in size with each visit and he expects this to be Lydia’s biggest yet. Antelman is excited for this tour in particular as a fan of warm climates. “I like the East coast, but it’s way too cold,” he said. “I hate snow. Snow is not my thing.”
