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Concert reviews Music

Pure Pussy power

NASHVILLE PUSSY with MONEY MONEY at Lee’s Palace, October 6. Tickets: $17.50. Attendance: 300. Rating: NNNN Rating: NNNN


Even though the South may never rise again, it’s nice to know that remnants of the past, like bourbon and good manners, will probably be around for a while.

But the unapologetically crass, Atlanta-based Nashville Pussy couldn’t give a shit about manners, especially after asking the Lee’s Palace audience if they’d ever been “so drunk, did so much cocaine, fucked so many chicks that you didn’t care if you died?”

Having schlepped around playing shows for years, the Pussy have a hard-earned reputation under their belt-buckles for Southern punk ‘n’ roll full of raunchy sleaze and arena-worthy showmanship that includes some good ol’ Southern fire breathing.

Too bad that nobody bothered telling openers Money Money what kind of ass-kickin’, whiskey-drinkin’ show this was supposed to be. The tired and bored-looking band was about as exciting to watch as CPAC.

Singer Ryan Kennedy shuffled around the stage like he just got out of bed and couldn’t even pretend to look like he cared.

Even their minor MuchMusic hit We Are Money Money did nothing to rouse the very uninterested audience standing around drinking beer and talking.

Fortunately for the crowd, many of whom were decked out in cowboy hats and Confederate flags (a bit strange, no?), Money Money’s underwhelming show only made Nashville Pussy’s all the more, well, rocking.

What makes the Pussy so damn likeable (music and sailor talk aside) is their no-bullshit approach. They hit the stage, picked up their gear without saying a word, then ripped through four songs without breaking for air.

From there on in, lead singer Blaine Cartwright , looking like a balding trucker on uppers, and the band could do as they pleased cuz they had the place eating out of their hands.

Not to say it wasn’t deserved, though. Vancouver-born lead guitar shredder Ruyter Suys made herself one of the sexiest women in rock with an arsenal of leather-panted high kicks, some pretty rad dancing and a head of hair that would make Dee Snider proud – not to mention her mean-ass guitar playing that had more than a few eager admirers front and centre pumping their fists in awe.

The endlessly energetic Suys set the pace, but the rest of the band, including drummer Jeremy Thompson and new bassist Karen Cuda , were up for it.

They barrelled through their one-hour set, performing favourites Hate And Whiskey and Keep On Fuckin’, until it looked like they might keel over.

Nashville Pussy don’t have any pretensions about their music or how they play it. They’re one of those bands whose songs are all about sex, drugs or rock ‘n’ roll.

After their final song, Suys ripped out her guitar strings à la Patti Smith while the rest made their way off stage. There was no encore, but one wasn’t needed.

The Pussy did exactly what they’d set out to do: kick the shit out of everyone in the place and leave us all wanting more.

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