The Most Talked-About Punkers On The Planet, Nashville Pussy, Blow Into Town.
By Ron Bally
WHAT HAS THE meaty, double-barreled guitar action of veteran
arena rocker Ted Nugent, the circus-in-hell stage pyrotechnics
of Kiss and the balls-out, ear-piercing speed metal fury of Motorhead?
That would be Nashville Pussy, of course. The band has been touring
non-stop, performing more than 200 live shows in the past year,
and they bring their riotous rock-and-roll sex romp to Club Congress
on Friday, May 22.
Any Nugent fan worth a damn should know the name "Nashville
Pussy" was swiped from the intro to "Wang Dang, Sweet
Poontang" from Double Live Gonzo. But the similarities
to Wild Man Ted end there. Nashville Pussy is the most talked-about
punk rock band on the planet right now.
Why, you ask? Maybe it has something to do with the explicit
cover art for its debut CD effort on Amphetamine Reptile, Let
Them Eat Pussy, which has sold 25,000 copies since late January,
despite being banned by several distributors and major record
store chains. On the cover art in question, two hot-looking babes
who make up one half of Nashville Pussy are in the throngs of
oral copulation from two faceless and beefy bruisers--and enjoying
every second of it.
Like this uninhibited and graphic display of lascivious behavior,
the Nashville Pussy aural stimulation centers on sex, booze, reefer
and porn. Nashville Pussy's music is all about energy; its live
show is just as dedicated to entertainment. Rabid fans and the
curious are flocking to shows (a recent gig in Boston attracted
600 lunatics looking for danger). Combining street-tough savvy
with sexually potent dynamism, Nashville Pussy leaves some listeners
drooling with the dismal prospect of going home alone to beat
off, and the rest cheering on two dominant and free-spirited female
forces in rock and roll today.
Let's face it: Sex sells. Just ask Monica Lewinsky. And Nashville
Pussy isn't shy about exploiting its sexuality. Bassist Corey
Parks sports an inviting Harley-Davidson "Eat Me" tattoo
just below her belly button. The fact that Parks, at the Amazonian
height of 6-foot-3, spits fire on stage like Gene Simmons and
allegedly worked as an escort for Heidi Fleiss adds fuel to sex-filled
innuendo and her notorious stage antics.
"Oh my God, no one's asked that question yet," exclaims
vocalist/guitarist Blaine Cartwright via a phone hook-up from
Cincinnati last week. "Wow. I don't know. That's the rumor
(regarding Parks' alleged connection to Madame Fleiss). I've never
asked her that."
Whatever the truth, there's no denying the potent physical presence
of Parks. She's tall, tough-looking and drop-dead gorgeous. Her
on-stage demeanor is just as raunchy, hard-nosed and lethal. She'd
sooner kick a guy in the balls than fuck him. The fire-belching
act incites even more peril. "Her old boyfriend taught her,"
Cartwright reveals nonchalantly.
Has Parks caused any fiery on-stage accidents? "Fuck yeah,"
he answers. "Nothing's caught on fire ever, but we've had
to make her stop from going out into the audience. We get too
many crazies at the show."
Anchoring the other side of the stage is Cartwright's wife, lead
guitarist Ruyter Suys--a coiled bundle of venomous energy who
strikes with deadly accuracy when she strokes her six-string instrument.
At a sparsely attended performance at Club Congress last June,
Suys, dressed in skin-tight leather "Stars-and-Stripes"
pants and leopard-skin bikini top, prowled the stage like a cross
between Angus Young and Ivy Rorschach of the Cramps. She taunted
and mocked the delirious males in the audience as she cranked
out screaming guitar leads from her '84 Gibson SG and Marshall
half-stack.
Parks, her legs spread wide apart in a classic rocker pose most
of the set, mashed her bass strings with such sexual ferocity
it would've made Joan Jett blush. Newest addition, drummer Jeremy
Thompson, banged his skins like a southern-fried Marky Ramone,
his tasty stick work was finger-lickin' good.
One of Nashville Pussy's biggest fans, who attended last year's
gig with 50 other inquisitive freaks, was Hollywood actor and
part-time Tucson resident Stephen Baldwin. During the show he
stood in front of Parks, drink in hand, snapping countless shots
on his cheap Instamatic. He was so enamored with the band, he
followed them to Los Angeles. Baldwin even put them up in some
ritzy, five-star hotel in Hollywood for five nights.
"It was pretty fucking nice," says an awe-struck Cartwright.
"It was really luxurious. He paid for everything." Cartwright
says the band hasn't seen him since a performance in New York
City last fall.
Cartwright, an 11-year member of hillbilly punk terrorists Nine
Pound Hammer, was described by one reviewer as "a dead-ringer
for Billy Bob Thornton in Sling Blade."
He chuckles good-naturedly at the comparison. "That's cool,"
he says. "I'm sure it was meant as a compliment. I guess
it (the comparison) was because of the lack of hair. People ask
me if I'm the roadie if they haven't seen the band yet because
of the way I look. There was a thing in Trouser Press (Rock
Guide) that said Nine Pound Hammer had a certain affinity for
life's losers--Nashville Pussy are the losers," he concludes
laughing. By any means necessary, catch a glimpse of luscious
Nashville Pussy this week.
Nashville Pussy performs Friday, May 22, at Club Congress,
311 E. Congress St. Doors open at 9 p.m., with raucous locals
Helldriver, The Fells and Gaunt. Cover is $6 at
the door. For more information, call 622-8848.
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