Glass Candy, Kill Me Tomorrow, Dance Disaster Movement, Secret Puppets July 15, 2005

9PM, $5 @ the door

Glass Candy, Kill Me Tomorrow
Dance Disaster Movement
Secret Puppets

Glass Candy
Beneath a shroud of glitter and pancake makeup lies the heartless, treble-heavy dissonance that is Portland's Glass Candy and the Shattered Theatre. As the stubbornly uncompromising puppeteer behind the band's meticulous trademark, guitarist Johnny Jewel molds and manages every miniscule aspect of the Class Candy faÁade--from their gorgeously elaborate Kinko's-craft artwork, to the Aladdin Sane sheen of their live performance--with a perfect figurehead in frontwoman Ida No, the band's shriekingly larger-than-life vocalist. With their heavily appropriated... well... everything, Glass Candy is at worst a phenomenal cover band (from the Shangri- Las to Roxy Music, and with a little Josie Cotton thrown in for good measure), and at best an insular revivalist movement.

Kill Me Tomorrow
There are bands that are instantly accessible and can instantly be categorized. These bands usually gain a certain amount of popularity, based on their ability to predict trends, master musical styles, and write catchy songs. Then there are bands you'll probably never hear of that hang around the fringes of genres. These bands are hard to categorize, wildly experimental, and never attain much notoriety because, let's face it, their music is too harsh for most people to swallow. If these bands are ever noted, it's usually because they are credited by another band that cites them as an influence. Kill Me Tomorrow definitely falls into the latter of these groups.

Dance Disaster Movement
You go to a show but you didn't realize that you would be entering a dance party where all the people are moving harder than disco freaks in a B-52's music video. At the forefront is a two piece clad in white pumping out aggressive break beats and sultry rhythms. The sound comes at you like shotgun blasts with keyboards, guitar, percussions, and vocals. As you move closer to the stage, you see the singer in the middle of robotic seizures and steps that look as if you are watching Iggy Pop and Bugaloo Shrimp simultaneously on the same screen. They call themselves DDM, otherwise known as Dance Disaster Movement.