Oh, look! Nashville Pussy’s back from their eight-year nap with a shiny new EP! 🍆💅 And before you ask, no, it’s not about gardening tips or knitting patterns. It’s called “10 Inches Of Pussy Season 1” — because apparently, subtlety is dead and buried somewhere between a Marshall stack and a whiskey bottle.
This glorious slab of audio filth is being unleashed on May 22 via Slinging Pig Records, which sounds like the kind of label that records albums in a barn while chugging moonshine. Recorded fully analog, because why embrace the future when you can pretend it’s still 1975 and your hearing is already halfway gone?
The lineup reads like a who’s who of “people who’ve probably broken at least three laws in different states.” We’ve got founder Blaine Cartwright (vocals, rhythm guitar) — the man who apparently looked at a hillbilly ice-cream truck and thought, “Yes, this is my origin story.” Then there’s Ruyter Suys (lead guitar), who picked up a guitar at age eight and immediately decided to channel her inner Hendrix while the other kids were playing with Barbies. Throw in Dusty Watson (THE SONICS, AGENT ORANGE, Dick Dale, Lita Ford) on drums, because when your band needs “hard-hitting” added to its bio, you call the guy who’s played with everyone who’s ever made your parents nervous. And rounding it out is Bonnie Buitrago on bass, keeping the low end rumbling like a bad decision at 2 AM.
The track listing is poetry in motion:
– KSFM – Probably not about public radio
– Jacking Off And Taking Names – A working title for half of rock’s greatest albums
– Gonna Do It Some More – The motto of anyone who’s ever survived a Nashville Pussy show
– Hard Road – Spoiler alert: it’s about sex, not hiking
These fine folks were raised on Marshall stacks, Gibson guitars, Jack Daniel’s, and weed — the four food groups of rock ‘n’ roll. They’re the bastard offspring of a foul-mouthed, demented hillbilly ice-cream man and a tractor-driving, nude art school model. If that doesn’t scream “America,” I don’t know what does.
Born in Kentucky’s Baptist Bible Belt, Blaine apparently used the RAMONES and THE NEW YORK DOLLS to maintain sanity, while young Ruyter in Canada was shredding along to LED ZEPPELIN and Jimi Hendrix. Because why practice scales when you can melt faces, right?
“We got married on a dare after dropping acid. Nashville Pussy is our baby,” says Suys. And truly, what better foundation for a marriage than psychedelic drugs and questionable life choices? That’s the kind of commitment that builds rock bands that last longer than your attention span.
The band quickly gained a reputation for being “AC/DC with a female Angus Young,” which is marketing gold if you think about it. Rowdy, unpretentious, and voted “best local band” in opposite ends of the country their first year — because when you’re that good, geography becomes irrelevant.
Their debut album, “Let Them Eat Pussy”, was recorded and mixed in five days for $3,000. It was then picked up by Mercury Records for a million-dollar contract during a signing freeze, because apparently, the music industry occasionally makes sense. Their track “Fried Chicken And Coffee” was nominated for a Grammy for “Best Metal Performance,” which is like being nominated for “Best Use of Profanity in a Commercial Setting.”
Since then, they’ve played in front of hundreds of thousands of fans in nearly forty countries, sharing stages with ZZ TOP, MARILYN MANSON, SLAYER, IRON MAIDEN, BLACK SABBATH, LYNYRD SKYNYRD, and MOTÖRHEAD. If there’s been a better band than Nashville Pussy to open for MOTÖRHEAD, Lemmy never heard them — and Lemmy heard everything, including the sound of your dignity leaving when you bought your first Motörhead shirt.
Their latest album, “Pleased To Eat You”, came out in 2018 via earMUSIC. Recorded with producer Daniel Rey (because when you’ve worked with the RAMONES, you’ve basically got a PhD in rock) and engineer David Barrick (who’s worked with everyone who’s ever worn a cowboy hat ironically).
“We are rock ‘n’ roll’s dirty little secret — blissfully outliving musical trends we never knew existed,” Suys said. Translation: “We’re still here, and we’re still louder than your problems.” Everyone needs to escape to a place where they can pretend they don’t give a shit, let their hair down, and get loud, sweaty, and dirty. Nashville Pussy provides that unpretentious refuge. Everyone is welcome — just don’t dress up because it’s gonna get messy.
So mark your calendars for May 22, because Nashville Pussy is back to remind us all that rock ‘n’ roll isn’t dead — it just smells funny and has questionable life choices. 🤘🍑🎸
Chord F. Discord, the Beethoven of Buffoonery, is a self-taught expert in music who once claimed he could “play the kazoo in four languages.”
Born in Crescendo, Indiana, Chord’s first brush with fame came when he accidentally entered a yodeling contest thinking it was a pie-eating competition—and won both categories.
Chord F. Discord: proving that laughter, much like a poorly tuned ukulele, is truly universal.
