One of my fave live bands, Nashville Pussy, teach how to play guitar. Blaine and Ruyter teach all the secrets of the "no brown M&Ms" crowd.
Just to prove they can put their money where their NSFW mouths are:
Let the lessons commence. See you on stage.
Showing posts with label Nashville Pussy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nashville Pussy. Show all posts
Monday, February 02, 2009
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Nashville Pussy - A review
NASHVILLE PUSSY
What can I say?
Nuthin.
Oh well- yes I can.
Last year we walked in late to their opening set at that Horton Heat show. We vowed then & there that we'd see 'em again.
Parade magazine will never feature them. Wayne Cochran is your mother compared to them. Wait, Stiv Bators is your mother compared to them.
They will never be lying on their death beds asking themselves "What was that all about?"
Their show is a full-on 100% Screaming Mimi (or screaming Meemie) assault on the very existence of rock n' roll. If they worked in a grocery store, You'd be greeted at the door, every item would be exactly where it belonged with the right prices, the floors would be immaculate and the produce fresh, and you would zoom through checkout. That's how hard they work. Like hard workin' bastards, who are forestalling their executions by playing for the Governor.
The staging is flawless: they look at each other, and blast! things happen right on cue. The drama don't stop. It's intuitive but looks well thought out.
The last song, Ruyter tore the strings off her guitar - when I asked Blaine how she manages to do that, he replied, "Hey she's got great chops."
Amen.
Phonecam doesn't do it justice, obviously, & I lost 2 closeups while talking to band members (forgot to hit save) so I have adulterated, to give an impression. Maybe successful.
Special show treat: Blaine sings Ace of Spades with Reverend Horton Heat
Go.
What can I say?
Nuthin.
Oh well- yes I can.
Last year we walked in late to their opening set at that Horton Heat show. We vowed then & there that we'd see 'em again.
Parade magazine will never feature them. Wayne Cochran is your mother compared to them. Wait, Stiv Bators is your mother compared to them.
They will never be lying on their death beds asking themselves "What was that all about?"
Their show is a full-on 100% Screaming Mimi (or screaming Meemie) assault on the very existence of rock n' roll. If they worked in a grocery store, You'd be greeted at the door, every item would be exactly where it belonged with the right prices, the floors would be immaculate and the produce fresh, and you would zoom through checkout. That's how hard they work. Like hard workin' bastards, who are forestalling their executions by playing for the Governor.
The staging is flawless: they look at each other, and blast! things happen right on cue. The drama don't stop. It's intuitive but looks well thought out.
The last song, Ruyter tore the strings off her guitar - when I asked Blaine how she manages to do that, he replied, "Hey she's got great chops."
Amen.
Phonecam doesn't do it justice, obviously, & I lost 2 closeups while talking to band members (forgot to hit save) so I have adulterated, to give an impression. Maybe successful.
Special show treat: Blaine sings Ace of Spades with Reverend Horton Heat
Go.
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