Mr. Quintron and Miss Pussycat
The Club Downunder, Tallahassee • September 9, 1998
Matthew Moyer
Wandering into the club, it was the music that hit first – ultra-smooth Holiday Inn organ and maracas producing a decadent airport lounge groove, but with a palpable insanity undercurrent. There were parallels: Jerry Lewis in the 68th hour of his telethon belting out a tear-jerker in honor of the generous donors at Harley Davidson, Jerry Lee Lewis saying “I Do,” Skin Graft’s death cabaret, John Spencer Tourrette’s, and a good ol’ Flannery O’Conner tent revival meeting. I think the music was all improvised, a further testament to the man’s genius. The man = Mr. Quintron. His partner tonight is the mysterious Miss Pussycat. Under those Ramada mood lights, I have never seen a duo look more seductive and slinky. All traces of objectivity go out the window when I notice that Quintron has a pair of stacked heel shoes on top of the organ that matches his powder blue leisure suit perfectly.
Quintron and Bobby Conn are the only showmen we have left working at this level of transcendent missionary cool. Mr. Quintron is preaching rebirth tonight, shouting about a new life in between ecstatic declarations of love to all of the ladies in the house. Meanwhile, the organ is becoming the most vital tool of the rock n’ roll devil tonight, and Quintron is coaxing out demons. Miss Pussycat never loses her impenetrable cool, and by God, she does have a tail sewn into the back of her dress. At one point Quintron stops the show to educate us on the wonders of the drum machine he just invented, the Drum Buddy. This particular drum machine also happens to give off strange lights and colors. Any sound parallels I gave earlier disappeared when Miss Pussycat and Quintron started war whooping during a song about Indians.
How about this one – Quintron is standing atop his organ beckoning out to the ladies and first goes the jacket, then the shirt, and then he starts undoing his pants. Oh baby! Bump and grind – dollar bills from the audience start homing in on the goods… Bang! He’s down again on the velvet seat, organ screeching, lights flashing. The evening ends with a puppet show put on by Miss Pussycat about two witches who live in the forest and start their own record label. Wake up everybody! These cats deserve the opening spot on the Depeche Mode tour! Arenas Now!! ◼
