Tomorrow, well after you’ve had the opportunity to sleep off umpteen cheap beers and the audiovisual assault of 4th of July fireworks, the Rendezvous is offering something else equally, quintessentially American—namely, free shit. The Belltown club’s serving up a stacked (and, yep, free!) show tomorrow night, with three wonderfully outside-the-box acts that’d each be worth real, honest-to-God admission in their own rights.
Seattle trio Hearts are Thugs start things with a guitar/synth/drum machine arsenal that stands out thanks to a winning combination of ragged homespun beats and cunning hooks. Their killer single “Gravity” sounds like The Gossip gone new wave, until singer Erin Bednarz’s voice shifts from a dance floor call-to-arms to an alien chirp and back again. The other two songs on the band’s 2014 ep, EP are just as strong: The tense, skittering “Drawin’ Blood” shows off Bednarz’s vocal versatility, while “Electricity” sounds like Garbage going stridently, fetchingly off the rails.
“I Am the President,” the first single from middle-slotters The Gods Themselves, is a single so swaggering, sexy, cool as shit, and addictive, I literally can’t stop listening to it (then again, the band shares lineage with local psychobilly garage rock titans Atomic Bride, so I shouldn’t be surprised). If the rest of the tracks joining the song on their forthcoming debut EP are 1/100th as good, I likely won’t listen to anything else for the rest of 2014. This marks TGT’s first live gig, and it’s a fair bet they won’t disappoint live.
Finally, headliners Partman Parthorse are a centaur of an entirely different color. They’ve been bashing out their brand of art-damaged punk music (or is it punk-damaged art music?) for about a decade now, and their live presentation’s gained nearly legendary status thanks to lead singer Gary Smith’s sweaty, sparsely-clad, wild onstage antics. Like some mutant Dionysian offspring of Eric Cartman, Nick Cave, and Iggy Pop, Smith garnishes his gothic croon with hilariously coarse and sex-obsessed lyrics. And best of all, Partman Parthorse’s jabbing, restless, corrosive music weds the silliness with a dark, whiplash-inducing post-punk snap. In its own freak-assed way, it’s a purer manifestation of freedom of expression than anything you’ll hear backing any Fourth of July fireworks tonight.
