Nashville Pussy 

For a good time, and good music

WHO: Nashville Pussy

WHERE: Garfinkel’s

WHEN: Friday, Sept. 21

TICKETS: Available in advance from Best Sellers

It’s southern fried rock with a generous helping of punk. A greasy little number that rivals the busiest truck stop diners. And despite the politically incorrect heartburn, audiences are – ahem – eating Nashville Pussy.

It comes as little surprise that two women are at the front of this sexually-fuelled fury… a sound that is a return to the raw power of AC/DC and Ted Nugent. (Nugent fans will recognize the Nashville pussy reference.) Their live shows are writhing and sweaty, R-rated, if not pornographic. But, undeniably, it’s these bomb shells’ stage appeal and musicianship that has kept Nashville Pussy from being tossed out like leftovers, classified as little more than a tasteless, sleazy sideshow. Or has it?

"I’ve heard we were called that, but I don’t mind. I don’t think that’s a bad thing to be called at all," laughs lead guitarist, Ruyter Suys (pronounced Rider Sighs) in her huskiest I-just-rolled-out-of-bed voice. "There’s a circus element to what we’re doing ’cause it’s pretty crazy. It let’s people look inside rock. I don’t know, maybe we’re being perverse like a side show."

Like cowboy hats and ripped jeans, tits and ass are frequent stage accessories. Profanity and obscenity are so common at a Nashville Pussy show you’ll forget your mother’s lectures about four-letter words and you certainly won’t want to heed her warnings about sex, drugs and rock and roll. Head-banging, moshing and fire breathing aggressively take over passive dance floors, while sexuality and sweat drip from the rafters. Although these elements sound like something out of a XXX-flick for men, Nashville Pussy holds equal appeal for women with an almost empowering female image.

"I think sexuality is almost accidental. It’s just because of nature that we happen to be women," says Suys, a Vancouver-come-Atlanta transplant. "I like to poke fun of it. It’s funny to see the looks on people’s faces, like ‘Oh, my god!’ Like they’ve never seen boobs before. And a guitar! Boys are having a coronary out there. Big boys, too. I find that greatly amusing."

Also amusing is the fact that this bad girl is the good wife of Pussy vocalist/guitarist Blaine Cartwright, whose scratchy vocals and sinister looks are a stark contrast to his blonde, shapely bride. Sitting at the back of the stage is drummer Jeremy Thompson. Although the gentlemen – and we use that term loosely – are no less important to the band, they certainly take a backseat to Suys and bassist, Tracy Almazan. The men hang back to leave the women as the dominant force, free to roam the stage and interact with the audience in an up-close-and-personal manner.

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