Would like to remind you all that “pussy” is not a dirty word.

That’s a full-length video of NP’s set, 34 minutes long, but the part I most wanted to highlight is near the beginning and should be obvious to anyone who knows me well. One of the YT commenters makes a very astute observation:

It might look anarchic but that is an extremely polished rock n roll performance. A total lesson in how rock n roll is done. One of the best live rock n roll bands of all time.

Indeed so, right down the line. As for the band’s sordid history, here’s the background.

Nashville Pussy is an American rock band from Atlanta, Georgia. The band’s lyrical themes mostly revolve around sex, drugs, drinking, fighting, and rock ‘n’ roll. Initially called Hell’s Half-Acre, the band’s name comes from Ted Nugent’s introduction to “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” on the Double Live Gonzo album.

Following the initial 1997 breakup of Kentucky cowpunk band Nine Pound Hammer, guitarist Blaine Cartwright formed Nashville Pussy where he would take up vocal duties in addition to guitar. The core lineup of Nashville Pussy consists of husband-and-wife duo Blaine Cartwright and Ruyter Suys (pronounced “Rider Sighs”), and drummer Jeremy Thompson, formerly of Texas band Phantom Creeps. Original drummer Adam Neal (Nine Pound Hammer) left to form the Hookers. Original bassist Corey Parks (sister of former basketball player Cherokee Parks) quit one month after the release of the album High as Hell, and later joined Die Hunns. Tracy Almazan a.k.a. Tracy Kickass formerly of New York City’s The Wives, and Helldorado was enlisted to replace Parks mid-tour.

Nashville Pussy recorded Say Something Nasty with Almazan on bass only to be replaced by Katielyn Campbell (of the band Famous Monsters). Katie Lynn’s image is on the album Say Something Nasty. Campbell was subsequently replaced by Karen Cuda for the album Get Some. Karen Cuda also appeared as bassist on the album “From Hell to Texas”, and in the live DVD Live in Hollywood.

Nashville Pussy have released seven full-length studio albums, one EP and two live DVDs.

The band has remained largely underground, but has been gaining a large cult following in the rock club scene, and in Europe, Australia, Japan, France, and the rest of the world. Grassroots promotion of the band has been aided by their taper-friendly show recording policy. Ruyter Suys was recently voted One of the Greatest Female Electric Guitarists in ELLE magazine. Nine Pound Hammer has since reunited and plays the introduction song for the Adult Swim cartoon 12 Oz. Mouse. Cartwright also had a cameo in the Mr. Show spinoff movie Run Ronnie Run as Duke’s Bar Owner. The band also played themselves in the Dutch Film ‘Wilde Mossels’ (Wild Mussels).

Nashville Pussy received a Best Metal Performance Grammy nomination for their song “Fried Chicken and Coffee” from their debut release, Let Them Eat Pussy (1998, The Enclave) 1999 Grammy. Between April 2 to May 7, 1999, the band toured as the opening act for the North American leg of Marilyn Manson’s Rock Is Dead Tour. Ruyter Suys was featured on National Enquirer TV along with Jennifer Lopez on the Grammy Red Carpet for her ‘revealing’ Evel Knievel meets Wonder Woman leather bustier in a feature titled ‘Too Much Too Little’ and their songs “Come On, Come On” and “Hate & Whisky” were featured in the video game Jackass: The Game. Additionally, “Snake Eyes” was for the end credits in the video game Rogue Trip: Vacation 2012 and both “Shoot First and Run Like Hell” and “Wrong Side of a Gun” were in the movie Super Troopers. The song ‘DRIVE’ with its Gary Glitter style drum beat was featured in the episode ‘Watching Too Much Television’ of the HBO series The Sopranos. HBO’S Entourage also featured Nashville Pussy’s ‘Hell Ain’t What It Used to Be’ in the episode ‘A Day in the Valley’. In 2012 Ruyter Suys has also played guitar and toured for Atlanta comedy metal band Dick Delicious and the Tasty Testicles.

Pretty strong credentials,  I’d say. Below the fold for the rest, so’s the punk-rock non-fans in my reading audience won’t be annoyed.

Another ripping Nashville Pussy ditty from their first blistering release—one of their absolute best, in my humble estimation.

The very first track on the CD, when I first heard this 1 minute 29 second blast of full-throttle punk/metal fury, I was forever hooked. It’s still by far my favorite NP song. And now for the usual rambling, interminable personal reminiscence.

As fate would have it, I got to be right friendly with Blaine, Ruyter, and Corey back in my ATL days; the three of ‘em made several visits to my and my GF du jour‘s cavernous loft apartment just to hang out, relax, and shoot the breeze after that night’s NP show/riot. Before we’d moved South’ards down I-85, the trio con brio had come over to our cramped little duplex pad after one of their early-days shows in CLT, can’t recall the venue. That was our first time meeting them in person. Nice, friendly Southern folk, they were—Blaine was kinda quiet, anything but talky as he flopped in our recliner with drink in hand. Me and Ruyter, on the other hand, stayed knee-to-knee on the couch nattering a mile a minute about all the killer Gibson guitars and Marshall amps we’d loved and lost over the years—a riveting (to us) conversation punctuated with the occasional light backhand-slap to a thigh or squeeze of a bicep, followed by loud guffaws and/or rolling around helplessly on the sofa.

Our group mellow was somewhat harshed, albeit not to any uncomfortable extent, when it became apparent that wild-woman Corey’s principle interest wasn’t so much in chillaxing with a fellow rock ’n’ roll road dog and his extremely fetching ol’ lady at their crib, but in the aforementioned extremely fetching ol’ lady herself. Being a fully paid up Wild Woman in her own right, Kat found Corey’s strenuous and relentless pitching of the femme-femme woo at her riotously funny, even a little flattering. She took it all in stride, with great good humor and aplomb. It wasn’t as if the girl hadn’t had to deal with unwanted advances plenty of times before. When you look that good, that hot…well, a certain amount of hassle comes with the territory, really. So why fight it? You’ll only die tired.

I was always rather proud of my girl for not taking offense or getting rattled, instead just rolling with the situation and getting on with her day. Oh, did somebody mention “extremely fetching” just now? Why yes; yes, I believe somebody did.

HOTCHA!! Also, YOWZA!!! Makes me feel kinda sorry for poor lovesick Corey Parks, now that I think on it.

Since my Nashville Pussy baptism of fire at my friend Jesse Malin’s late, much-lamented Coney Island High bar/club/music venue in NYC I’ve caught I don’t even know how many of their shows, up to and including the last one I saw, on their legendary extended tour of the solar system entire as support act for Motorhead here in CLT at the Fillmore East concert hall a few years back.

Now, the Fillmore is one of the worst venues I’ve ever had the misfortune of setting foot in, either as The Talent (harrumph-harrumph) or a lowly spectator. Sterile as a de-balled bull; admission, beer, and cocktails all so ludicrously overpriced as to constitute actual highway robbery; overpoliced by a small army of rude, aggressive muscleheads who interpret their job description as mainly to browbeat concertgoers who haven’t done a thing wrong; mediocre sound, at best; all in all, a cold, tight-assed, thoroughly unpleasant place to see a rock ’n roll show.

Oppressive, anal-retentive, obnoxious, officious—suffice it to say that the Fillmore is NOT the kind of hall in which Nashville Pussy’s anarchic slash, crash, and BURN sonic assault can be presented to best advantage. Or, hell, Motorhead either, for that matter. I shudder to imagine the constant barrage of rigid, pettifogging twat-wafflery both bands had thrown at them by the stagehands, sound crew, and staff from the moment they walked in the door all unawares for load-in and soundcheck.

So as I watched the tiny, blurred figures barely visible onstage from where I stood waaaaay in the back of this shit-palace, imagine my delight to see that NP flatly refused to let the noxious Fillmore ambience cramp their style one iota. To their everlasting credit, the band prowled the stage with their usual frenetic abandon, tearing through the set with no less intensity, no less energy, no less than their usual 110% commitment to their music and their show, than I’d come to expect from them. It was remarkable, that’s what.

It must be admitted that after the startling, no let-up musical melee of Let Them Eat Pussy, none of Nashville Pussy’s subsequent releases have come close to equalling its sheer, overwhelming power. Then again, though, how could they? Taut, minimalistic songwriting; funny if outré lyrics; spare but crisp production; note-perfect mixing and mastering; sure-handed, skillful studio performances: LTEP was one of those one-in-a-million strikes of perfect rock ’n roll lightning-in-a-likker-bottle, a surpassingly rare achievement very, very few bands can ever hope to attain.

No, Nashville Pussy certainly isn’t fit for every taste; Wikipedia refers to them as a “cult,” “underground” band, and that’s almost certainly what they’ll remain. Which is exactly as it should be, in my view. Bawdy, boozy, brawling creatures of the night can only blunt their razor-sharp edge by abandoning the underground haunt which nurtured their sleazy, greasy vision in favor of the blinding light of day. Such ill-advised emergences have been attempted again and again, but I can’t recall a single one that ended well, for anybody.