Nashville Pussy

Nashville Pussy

with the Hate Bombs

Sapphire Supper Club, Orlando • 1.12.98

Nashville Pussy made a really big stink a coupla years back at Sleazefest — unfortunately they only had 7″‘s and not a real accessible CD to follow up the hype until now. But the fact remains: NASHVILLE PUSSY IS PURE SEX!!

The two man/two woman line up of Nashville Pussy has some real stage presence. You know you are gonna see somethin’ incredible. Drop-dead-gorgeous, yet highly-competent (!?!) guitarist Ruyter. Fire-breathing (really, fire breathing!!), “Eat Me,” 6’8″ bassist Corey. Substance over charm (heavy on the substance, light on the charm) Blaine Cartwright, formerly of Nine Pound Hammer. Watching Jeremy Thompson, you knew he was excellent for playing the drums and not much else, exactly what a great drummer should be! Their redneckish demeanor is quite refreshing in a world that is quick to dump on and deny the values of the Southern, white trash working class.

Go for the show but stay for the music. Maybe you’ll go see Nashville Pussy for the tits, ass, booze an’ fire, but they got the fuckin’ music to back the shit up. You’d think in order to hear some hard-rockin’ Mötörhead-meets-garage-punk shit — music guys like — you’d have to stand gawkin’ at a buncha dudes. It was killer to see some women play music as if they had more balls (figuratively speaking) than a big chunk of the male-dominated music industry. They’re more likely to take cues from Molly Hatchet or AC/DC than anything outta Seattle. And they’re not faking it — they’re truly bad ass!

The show had a real “anything goes/no holds barred” feeling to it. Dave of the Hate Bombs said it best by stating that it was freeing to be a man amongst female performers and be able get away and even encouraged to say words like “Pussy” and “Bitchrag” and not get any flack for it. Nashville Pussy worked the Sapphire up into a real froth, blew our fucking minds and then broke down into a big sweaty mess of what could be compared to a state of sexual frustration, leaving the crowd shriveled up with feelings of inadequacy. It was fuckin’ great!

I think I’m in love. If that waifish Fiona Apple or Alanis Morrisette thing really turns you on, you got the poster, an’ you got the CD. Go for it. I, on the other hand, am submitting all my rock ‘n’ roll fantasies to the more capable likes of Corey and Ruyter — women who aren’t afraid to kick the face and/or spit in the eye of groping, out-of-control front row fans.

P.S. It was really great to see the Hate Bombs again. (It’s been a while.) They’ve really come into their own. They just need more clubs like the Sapphire giving them great venues such as opening for Nashville Pussy to push’em into the forefront. With all the “Florida bands” forced down commercial radio’s throats these days, it would be refreshing to see something with a tad more authentic and untapped vision like the Bombs’ to represent a budding Central Florida music scene.

It was also good to see Bitchrag there as well, up to their own brand of hi-jinx and adding to the local flavor.

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