This was taken right before Quintron pulled our photographer onstage
Quintron and Miss Pussycat
Santos Party House
Monday, November 13
photos by Rebecca Smeyne
If only one of those Caribbean donkey fuckers from the Vice Guide to Sex had been there, Santos Party House on Monday would’ve been an all-star VBS.tv spectacular. Soft Focus host Ian Svenonius was stationed up in the club’s turntable perch, slipping on freak-pop bangers like Vincent Price’s “Monster Mash”; Practice Space super Thomas Morton was down on the floor. Santos co-owner Andrew W.K., himself once a Soft Focus guest, played the evening’s sententious “host,” a duty that evidently required wearing pleated dress pants and a collared pinstripe shirt, consoling Depression-minded drinkers by endlessly shilling Santos’ $4 Budweiser bottles from the stage, and doling out such Wilkes-Krierian saws like, “Let’s enjoy this moment!” and “Keep a positive mental vibe going on!” and then raising his Bud.
But Monday’s main attraction was sexy cartoon lady Miss Pussycat, the hands behind VBS’s puppet “soap-opera” Trixie and the Tree Trunks, and her organ-taming, jam-skating life-partner Quintron. Two nights before, Pussycat opened an art show at Live With Animals in Williamsburg; Monday was the official release party for Too Thirsty 4 Love, Quintron’s month-old, 11-song bogland bonanza that features him on the cover with fangs, a python, and a grinning older woman in a see-through top. He and Andrew W.K. are apparently old pals–this was the New Orleans couple’s first local headlining performance in years–and neither one gave a shit that tomorrow the rest of us had to work. “Do you realize how many people around the world would give anything to be in Manhattan?” screamed Andrew, who these days uses shampoo and wears a wedding ring. “Let’s enjoy this moment!”
Mr. W.K. and his Bud
It was worth the one-a.m. wait. Pussycat’s puppet-show prologue starred Trixie, Marcia, Santa Claus, a witch called Christy Corn Pop; one character died, another was frozen, and a third went on an awesomely spectacular machine-gun rampage. Quintron, Fonzied out in a mechanic suit, also killed–hyperbole was invented for this man–pounding and waggling and spazzing from the front seat of his custom Hammond/Fender fake-car grill. Like an animal trainer, he took turns coaxing the smoke machine, the light man, and his Drum Buddy (his ingeniously patented drum machine/light/spinning toy invention that often sounds like either a laser or a wet fart). At approximately 2:35 in the morning–they played non-stop for more than 100 minutes–he and Miss Pussycat asked for song requests. We came up with the marsh-block pounder “Swamp Buggy Badass,” and they spent the next 15 minutes wading through the thinned crowd, shaking ice-cream-cone maracas in our faces, and telling every one of us, “You are a badass!” No mistaking here who were the biggest badasses of all.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on November 13, 2008