photo © Lucky Lawler

Okay, I admit it, I was wrong. Gabba Gabba Hey, there's a first time for everything. A couple of months ago I predicted CBGB would be a Starbucks by now. But despite an eviction notice that was served on September 1, 2005, club owner Hilly Kristal has vowed to go down swinging and now with New York City Mayor Mike Bloomberg coming out in favor of the joint staying open, who knows how this will all play out. But for now at least the "House the Ramones Built" is still open for business – and that's a good thing, as jailhouse rocker Martha Stewart would say, especially on Nashville Pussy night.

Ruyter Suys of Nashville Pussy performing at CBGB, New York, NY. Sept 2005. Photo by Spyder Darling © 2005 NYRock.com

So it came to pass that on one hot as Hell September evening, Blaine Cartwright, the self proclaimed "President of the BBQ nation" brought Nashville Pussy, his caustic co-ed rock-n-roll road show to New York City. For those not in the know, NP is actually from Atlanta, not Nashville and takes its name from lyrics in Ted Nugent's "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" on the Double Live Gonzo album. But that's enough geography and history for one article. School's out as far as Nashville Pussy is concerned. Except for music class where Alice Cooper, AC/DC, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Motorhead are taught with extreme prejudice, a side of grits and a double shot of whiskey.

These incendiary and inebriated influences are clear as moonshine on Nashville Pussy's new CD Get Some (Spitfire Records), which Blaine and crew supported the heck out of at CBGB. Their performance was as lean and mean as the ruthless recording (two dirty thumbs up to producer Daniel Rey, whose resume includes the Ramones, White Zombie and Masters of Reality).

Not content to just kick butt and break eardrums, Nashville Pussy look the part as well, strutting on stage like escapees from a Rob Zombie movie. Cartwright's wife Ruyter Suys lays down the law on lead guitar and leopard skin bra; Karen Cuda, NP's latest chick bassist, has a mean low end and her bass playing ain't bad either. Usually one must go to a crystal meth lab to meet citizens as upstanding in appearance as good ol' Jeremy Thompson, whose drums sound like a fine-tuned Harley Davidson and Blaine C. himself on guitar, lead growls, trucker hat and Lemmy-style handlebar moustache. It ain't pretty, but since when has rock 'n' roll been a beauty contest?

Karen Cuda of Nashville Pussy performing at CBGB, New York, NY. Sept 2005. Photo by Spyder Darling © 2005 NYRock.com

From the opening cat-scratching call and response of "Pussy Time" to the knock-out closer of "Going Down Swinging," Nashville Pussy's set rarely let the pedal leave the metal. Good thing I brought two Budweisers with me to the stage so I wouldn't miss anything. I'd have brought three brews but then I couldn't have taken the pictures. Note to self: bring the beer hat next time. One surprise, to those who haven't heard the new CD, was a cool-ass cover of Ike and Tina Turner's funk classic "Nutbush City Limits," which connects directly to Blaine's philosophy of songwriting. "Listen to old soul records and steal everything."

And so it went, another crazy night on the ever gentrifying, formerly derelict Bowery, where for the time being at least, CBGB is still stamping hands, selling beer and letting bands like Nashville Pussy keep skyrocketing property values under control. And who knows, considering the crowds that have returned to the club of late and the Mayor's support, Hilly seems to have friends in high as well as low places. Hopefully the joint will still be open next time Nashville Pussy come joyriding into town. True, it's not as wild a show as earlier tours when the band breathed fire and the chicks made out with each other. But few things are as lowdown and dirty as they used to be, except for death, taxes and at the moment, CBGB.

Y'all come back now, and bring me a beer!