Nashville Pussy
Let Them Eat Pussy

How to combat human (moral) misery.

Upon waking, after the usual demonic night, I gaze and enjoy the landscape nobly whitened by a few cm of snow. This delightful sensation lasts very briefly because as soon as you step outside, the rabble awaits you with all its sadness and pettiness.

At half past six, there are already total no-gooders shoveling five cm of snow, dressed as if they were in Siberia in the middle of a blizzard.

“What the hell are you shoveling, Idiot, just walk over it, right?!!! Soon, unfortunately, it will rain, and it will all be gone in an instant!!!” No, I don't say it, obviously, because just talking to these people would immensely prolong the dismal course of the day.

I remember, several years back now, the last serious snowfall. I helped my father-in-law, really a decent person, shovel the snow. I saw little Countess looking at me from the window, went up to Her and said: “You see what daddy's doing?! You will never see it again... actually, Forget it!!!”

Breakfast at the bar; it would be another two minutes of relative tranquility... if two useless people were not discussing, even loudly and convinced to the max, about Italy having won big in Curling. Ahahahahahahah have you seen Curling, uncle beastie?! After the victory - or the medal, I'm not sure, pardon me - I catch, during a feverish channel surfing, the “athletic trainer” of these Curling folks. I stop to listen because I’m a sportsman, I’ve trained in many ways, I’m curious. He says they train every day, twice a day, one session dedicated to technique and one to physical preparation. So they basically do three hours a day of gym/running/climbing/etc. to play Curling… ok, let's try to swallow this one too. Oh, mind you, this “trainer” is phenomenal, the grind is tough, everyone knows that.

I know, one should laugh at all this, but unfortunately, I just can't. I tried, but nothing, zero, zilch. Unfortunately, one could dedicate chapters to the sad rabble that devastates my life, but let’s not go there.

Getting into the car after the devastating company at the bar, I absolutely need something truly badass, totally raw and filthy that represents my utmost disdain.

A delightful blend of Punk, HardRock, Glam, Metal. Potent, excessive rocchenrolle. Noble scents and flavors of alcohol, sex, sweat, and unidentified substances.

The best association between AcDc of the ever-missed Bon and the Motorhead of the old Lemmy or simply the worthy heirs of the adorable Motor City 5. Friends of Lemmy with whom they frequently toured to have fun.

Now let’s technically analyze the album and the technical features of the musicians...

Ahahahahahahah, the terrible tracbaitrac, belisim. And how fast and what kind of scales the guitarists play or how many octaves the singers have. Jeez, who the hell cares, I say?!!!

Here it’s pure enjoyment, boundless joviality, unrestrained exaltation of sex, drugs, and rock 'n’ roll in its most alluring and captivating form.

I could choose any of their albums, but I opted for the debut. I have an innate preference for debuts, where boldness and spontaneity, the desire to be known for who they truly are, often elevate and celebrate to the max.

This album features the Punk component and the adorable attitude in the foreground compared to the later ones where a component of Southern and of Blues makes its ever dirty and indecent visit.

Albums from which you probably won't remember a single piece but that implode within you. If you are happy and serene, they’ll be just a cheerful background for you, while if you are exhausted and pissed off, they save your life… at least for half an hour they are the perfect antidote to forget.

Happy listening, Noble ones. Bear with me because it's a period worse than the already disheartening usual. Love me because I love you even when I tell you to go to hell… actually, especially at that moment, savansadir.