the Reverend Horton Heat, Nashville Pussy & Honky

The mood was set. Artificial logs gave off a warm, flickering, orange glow and a man-sized weather vane dominated the front and center of the stage - now if there had only been sawdust on the floor. Honky got the night rolling, speaking Texan and playing hick-friendly hard rock. Guitarist Bobby Rock churned out meaty riffs, which flowed into scathing fills and arena rock-worthy leads. Drummer Greg Main had the uncanny ability to keep his cigarette stuck firmly in his mouth no matter how much flailing he did behind his kit. They were pretty good, but their set did seem to get repetitious after a while. They had a penchant for outrageous song titles, "Your Bottom's At the Top of My List" for example - a trend that carried over to the next band.
Nashville Pussy raised the bar with songs titled "The Bitch Just Kicked Me Out" and "Gonna Hitchhike Down To Cincinati Just To Kick the Shit Out of Your Drunk Daddy." Pure genius. They also scored high on the decibel meter; amps turned up to 11, plowing their way through a set that became more like a cocaine pep rally. Frontman Blaine Cartwright's between-song rants on the merits of snortin' blow and fuckin' got pretty silly, and once the novelty of their big rock presence and party hard attitude wore off, I was left disappointed. Nashville Pussy was too excessive for my taste, I guess. The crowd was into it, though. Their music had a thundering rhythm, and Ruyter Suys tore it up on lead guitar - as well as tearing off her clothes down to her skivvies by the time they were done.
Opening with "Reverend Horton Heat's Big Blue Car" from their latest album, Lucky 7, Reverend Horton Heat took the stage and captured the packed crowd for around two hours with a mix of American roots rock 'n' roll and rockabilly thrown in a punk blender. The band played almost non-stop, pausing mid-set for an intermission of sorts that featured 1950s commercial jingles playing over the sound system. Jim "Rev. Horton" Heath's hollow-bodied guitar gave off tones ranging from a sharp twang to a chunky growl beneath his turbulent playing, which sparked the reckless, brash attitude of songs like "Wiggle Stick" and "400 Bucks." The rhythm section refused to fade unnoticed into the background. Jimbo Wallace slapped his upright bass to provide a slick, steady accompaniment for the Reverend's guitar antics, and drummer Scott Churilla, who never missed a beat despite the songs' many changes, was given his turn in the spotlight thanks to a furious solo during the encore.
As the band was finishing up a long jam of "The Devil's Chasing Me," Heath stood atop the railing at the front of the stage, raising himself just above the heads of the crowd on the dance floor, goading his already ecstatic followers to an even greater fervor. If church were anything like this, I would have gone more often.
- James Barone
- Photos by Alyssa Starkey

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