Candy Ass at Lee's Palace, February 22. Tickets: $7. Attendance: 500. Rating: NNNNNN
it can be difficult for women in the rock end of the music industry to avoid being slotted into the cliché categories of Earth Mother and Tough-ass Slut. If you wanna take your pussy on the road with you, it has to smell like either a garland of freshly cut wildflowers (Jewel, Sarah McLachlan) or a fifth of bourbon and a pack of Luckys (L7, the chick half of Nashville Pussy).
The latter is always infinitely more entertaining, as the those of the former persuasion rarely, if ever, invite people up onstage to kiss theirs. Galadriel, front babe of the all-girl pop-punk outfit Candy Ass, did exactly that Friday night at Vazaleen.
Despite the we're-either-gonna-fuck-you-or-fuck-you-up posturing, the four girls (ooh! three of them in matching red-and-black-striped outfits) rocked out a solid but short set of delightfully simple, super-girly, catchy tunes (unavoidable but obvious comparisons are the Go-Go's and the Runaways), demonstrating a smashing stage presence and great hairdos.
Galadriel is all spark, sex and moxie when throwing out the quintessential na-nas in a little-girl voice, a hot frontwoman even if she isn't a fantastic singer. (Wonder if she'll beat me up for writing that.) And guitarist Hopey Rock has some twists stashed in her bra, making me flash briefly on the likes of Mick Ronson and Tony Iommi.
I could have done without the naked guy jumping up on the stage to collect a free copy of their new EP. Out-of-context nudity just reeks of desperation.
But even his marring of my eye candy was just a small blip in what was otherwise a very decent rock show.
But, oh, sweet ladies of Candy Ass, when I hear you break into the early-Bowie-esque beginnings of Nothin' Pretty, then sing that there's Nothin' Pretty in your world, I have to ask -- wanna borrow my mirror?