By Ella Rowan, Arts Contributor
On the street, Heather Rappard, Jenna Empey, Erin Allen and Jenny Gillespie look like four ordinary young women who lead ordinary lives. They do – during the day. But when night falls, the art student, the gardener, the baker and the street canvasser shed their sweet, everyday skins and slip into something a little more savoury. The awesome combination of their collective pussy power gives birth to the all-girl, all-punk sensation: Meat Curtains.
Ronnie RibRack (Empey) and Molly Meatloaf (Allen) sing/scream their hearts out while they beat the shit out of the drums, Patty Pastrami (Gillespie) shreds her guitbox to pieces and Betty Bologna (Rappard) mercilessly bitch slaps her bass. The result is a sound unlike any you’ve ever heard before, all recorded on a Fisher Price tape recorder. Don’t be fooled by what you read on their MySpace page: they sound nothing like “Maya Angelou fronting TLC”. Influenced by ‘60s girl groups The Crystals and The Birthday Party as well as ‘70s art-punk band The Fall, Molly Meatloaf eloquently summarizes their eccentric sound as “Steve Albini’s underpants”.
Their eclectic taste is evidenced by their answers to the crucial question: “what was the first album you ever bought?” Pastrami’s was The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. RibRack’s was One by Bryan Adams. Bologna bashfully admits her first as Mariah Carey’s Daydream – a classic. Meatloaf’s was Salt N’ Pepa.
Meat Curtains began by paying homage to their favourite bands, but now focuses on creating their own material.
“When we first started jamming together, we just picked covers we all liked to feel it out,” says RibRack, listing songs “He Hit Me” by The Crystals and “Jezebel” by Frankie Lane. “We’ve dropped those since.”
The band agrees that this change in repertoire was a good decision.
“It’s way easier to write your own songs than it is to try and mimic another band’s song while trying make it your own,” says Bologna
In the few months since the band’s summer inception, Meat Curtains has attacked the Halifax music scene blitzkrieg style: puncturing eardrums and satisfying the appetites of carnivorous punk lovers. The band members have played shows with the Stolen Minks, Dead Wife, ECT and Shearing Pinks – just to name a few. They’ve been working on a variety of projects that fans can look forward to hearing by January. And they’re just getting started.
“It’s a combination of novelty and timing, I guess,” says Ronnie RibRack when asked to spill the secret to Meat Curtains’ success. “Not that we’re like, super awesome supernovas … We sound different than what’s in town, and that seems to go over well.”
All-girl bands (good ones, at least) are hard to come by these days, but be sure to look out for Dream Couple, another local girl act and one of the Curtains’ faves. Rarely does a band fall in that sweet spot between Pussy Cat Doll girl pop, vapid as it is catchy, and femme rock a la Riot Grrrl, politically charged as it is crappy. Meat Curtains is hard to define, and they don’t want to be labelled as pissed off feminists with guitars.
“If four gentlemen got together to make music, would people say they sound like the Barenaked Ladies?” demands Meatloaf.
She makes a strong point.
Meat Curtains doesn’t want you to bare your breasts or burn your bra. They would rather you slap two slices of bologna over your nipples and dance around in sequined garb. They are amused by nicknames for female genitalia and share their favourites with me:
“Dick sandwich!”
“Wolf pelt!”
“Cold grilled cheese! We’re writing a song about this right now!”
Meat Curtains, in my opinion, takes the vaginal cake. To the band members, their name embodies “grease!” “filth!” and “sequins!”
“Cigarettes!” adds Pastrami emphatically. It all makes perfect sense. When I ask them about their upcoming show with Fresh Flesh and Jenocide at Gus’ Pub on Friday Nov. 13 (spooky), the excitement rises.
“It’s gonna be a cunt fortress!” promises Meatloaf.
The band muses on the idea of baking cupcakes for the show.
“We should just throw meat!” suggests Bologna. “I have a huge tub of mustard,” agrees Pastrami. “I’m waiting for the day when I can just throw it at people with a big wooden spoon.”
Maybe her opportunity has come at last. Gus’ Pub, next weekend. You’ll find me in the front row, covered in mustard.
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