Interviewed June 1, 1998
From Vol. 1 No. 5, 1999
When Nashville Pussy first came to town on June 1st, no one really knew much about them until a cover story by Cummins ran in the Mirror. We all got the gist that this was a band that meant to make rock’n roll mean what it used to mean: raunchy, un-pc and fucking loud. That was enough to pack the Cabaret for their show; that and the fact that it was the first of the month and everyone could afford it.
I was still broke from paying for Fish Piss #4 however, and never managed to get a ticket. I hoped there’d still be some at the door and that I could come up with the cash (seeing as some of my welfare friends owed me money.)
I was doing some pre-show drinking at Nat and Toni’s when they told me my roommate at the time, Rick Trembles, left a message saying I was on the list for Nashville Pussy. Huh? I hadn’t asked to be on the list or anything, and wondered who was nice enough to do that. I suspected members of the Spaceshits, and sure enough as I’m walking towards the Cabaret, a couple of the Spaceshits came up and led me to the band’s van.
We went in, sat down. Great van, it had a VCR and TV snuck in between the two front seats, with choice horror flicks like Dawn of the Dead laying around on the floor. I thought twice about it, then sat down on the TV, it looked like it could handle me sitting on it. Then I noticed my legs were in front of this square this girl sitting on the floor in the back of the van was watching—so I spread accordingly so’s she could see, then looked at who this was I just suddenly reacted to here. Looked like she woke up not that long ago, and coughed and sniffled cause she had a cold. I pulled out my mickey of Southern, had a swig, and offered it to her.
‘Sure I’ll have some Southern. Goddam. This’ll always go down.’
I wasn’t sure whether it was someone from the band or not, then didn’t care. What would that change? I’ve never even heard of these guys until Rick’s old girlfriend Kate called to tell us we couldn’t miss them.
Anyway, I think it was Scotty or someone else I thought was American or part of the band who asked about getting this underage girl in through backstage, cause she couldn’t get in through the front without getting carded. Corey said yeah, whatever, we’ll be going in there in ten minutes or so, so just stick around. I figured after my favours I’d have the right to wander in with her, ‘cause by then I’d figured she was in the band.
We sat smoking and drinking awhile while Corey put on makeup. Then Arish from the Spaceshits asked if it was true that they found pictures in a trunk in the house they just bought of scenes from a hundred-something years ago of black people hanging from the trees right in front. The same trees still stood in front of the house, and Arish couldn’t believe it.
‘Didn’t you feel like you should move?’ he said.
Corey said ‘Hey, you know, that went on there, it’s just part of what happened, it’s history man. You can’t deny it. You gotta move on and not do those things, obviously.’
She got back to putting on more makeup.
We made it into the show no problem, everyone stared at her on the way in. Hard not to, at six-foot something plus big boots and a tall hat. She didn’t know where backstage was so I led her in, then when I took a swig once back there this Greenland guy right away came up to me and said ‘I’ll have to confiscate that. You’re not supposed to be back here.’ ??? He took it so fast I couldn’t react. I walked out, fumed for awhile, then walked back in to tell her that she better make sure SHE drinks it, not him. She understood the situation after I explained it’s one of those bars where the beers are $4 and everybody sneaks stuff in.
He ended up giving it back to me later, after the show, when we were all hanging out and stuff. The show, the show was amazing. The pit was amazing, great mix of old and young folks thrashing around, Costa standing at the front of it vaguely keeping control while having a great time himself. Their show is by now semi-legendary, you can find out about it from zines and websites: wild motorheady-ramonesy rock’n roll with killer guitar playing by Ruyter including a guitar solo that actually comes off impressive in this day and age. I couldn’t believe Corey was the same person I’d just been with in the van when I saw her onstage. The attitude, the sweat dripping off her, spitting out onto the crowd, breathing fire, making out with Ruyter suddenly, violently while they both kept on playing. And Ruyter, no shortage of sexiness from her either. During her solo her husband, guitarist-singer Blaine took a swig of beer then jiggled it between her cleavage while it foamed up all over her, her leaning further and further back, then leaning forward to deep-throat the bottle. Now this, this was some fucking rock’n roll. Not just from the spectacle—hell no, from them doing it all while still playing a tight, fast, loud song.
We made fast friends after the show, I went off with Corey and Scotty on rumours that the Jailhouse was being kept open for us and kept on drinking there. It ended with a blur, and the next day we hooked up again for some smoked meat at Schwartz’s.
They breezed through town again the first of August. I’d just come back from Toronto, and one of the friends I stayed with mentioned that one of her best friends was going out with the drummer from Nashville Pussy, Jeremy. When I hooked up with Corey I told her about that, and said ‘Hey, I heard your drummer’s girlfriend in Toronto is waiting for him.’
‘Hey Scotty,’ she said right away, ‘Jeremy’s girl in Toronto is still waiting for him!’
‘I guess they’re not really boyfriend-girlfriend then, eh?’ I said.
‘Hell no,’ said Corey. ‘Jeremy’s always breaking hearts. What was her name again Scotty?’
I meant to interview them later that night, though I kept forgetting, seeing as it’s weird to think of them as anything other than some friends from out of town. When do you ever prepare questions to ask your friends?
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