Badass babes and drag beauties

Jun 21, 2000 at 12:00 am


Despite the fact that you now need to take out a loan or sell bodily fluids to pay the skyrocketing cost of gas, I managed to scrape together enough cash to fuel up and head to Clutch Cargo’s on Thursday to catch the rock ‘n’ roll triple threat of Nashville Pussy, The Supersuckers and Motorhead.

The crowd was rough, tough and burly – after getting knocked around like a pinball near the stage, I retreated to a safe distance and took refuge behind starving musician John Baker and his recent fiancee, starving artist Cynthia Stephens. However, the second I walked away I was subsequently bodychecked into a wall by a 350-pound behemoth and left with a nice, apple-sized bruise on my hip.

Fortunately, the calm and levelheaded Jennie Lawrence was on hand, and kept me from hurling any insults that could have resulted in a matching black eye.

I did manage to weasel my way backstage, where I chatted with the badass blond babe duo of Nashville Pussy, statuesque, fire-breathing bassist Corey Parks and wild-haired lead guitarist Ruyter Suys, who, despite her unbridled stage antics, has a sweet lil’ wisp of a Southern drawl and a surprisingly perky persona. She told me the band loves playing Detroit because we’re "tough as hell" and is looking forward to returning for the Tattoo the Earth Tour, a sort of Metalpalooza with on-site tattooing – which the press release describes as "daring to unleash the power of rock and bodyart."

Translation: Slayer, some neo-hair bands, and a whole lot of blurry roses and Tasmanian Devils. The tour rolls into Phoenix Plaza Amphitheater on July 30.


Now, what two things go together better than heavy black eyeliner and corporate America? "Corporate Goth" is an e-list devoted to those dark and dreary lovelies of the night who are forced to Abercrombie & Fitch it during daylight hours at their conservative workplaces.

Some of the Detroit members converged at the Labyrinth on Saturday to meet and greet, and share their woes of the fashion oppression they must suffer from 9 to 5.

List members included Krista Saint Andre, a Web designer and the undisputed queen of cuteness, and the chemist John Verburg of Chicago, who’s a scientist for NutraSweet. Coming all the way from Kalamazoo was customer service slave Toni Jones, whose elaborate hairstyle was accented by a swirl of those little silver curlicues used for gift wrapping.

After a bitch session in the bathroom with fab single mom Kate Sassak, I chatted with Bob Peyre of IPM – an Internet radio show that can be heard at – and paramedic Arthur Mize, who was accompanied by a gaggle of young vixens – the loyal, self-proclaimed members of the "Art Mize harem."

One such member was the ever-lovely photographer Monica Mitchell, who is searching for employment in Toronto. Mitchell was wearing a brand-new corset, and conducting a sociological study on the difference in male response received "when one’s boobs are squished up to one’s chin."

Behind the bar was the boo-tiful Michele Palfalvi, keyboardist for Shadows to Ashes and mistress of Carpemortem Records. This up-and-coming label, headed by Palfalvi and her bubbly assistant Michelle Kinyon, has already signed four bands, and recently produced a compilation CD of Detroit industrial, electronic and darkwave.


Seeing as I was the only person in Detroit who hadn’t yet made it out to Pure, I mustered my best "I’m so cool, I’m bored" face and sauntered down to the ultrahip club Sunday evening for a drag show. Entitled "Beautiful", the event hosted some of New Orleans’ finest drag queens from the infamous Oz night club on Bourbon Street.

This being my first visit, I was stoked to get passes to the elitist upper floor, where I bumped into one of the hosts of the party, the flamboyant Julia Parnish, a stylist at Red hair salon in Birmingham. Parnish, whose false eyelashes looked like they weighed more than her gown, was on the arm of her equally fabulous girlfriend Beth Friedlaender, an instructor of Pilates – the latest trendy fitness craze which involves balance training; I could tell she was particularly adept, as she tottered about effortlessly in 7-inch platform shoes.

I chatted with the most broad-shouldered Marilyn Monroe I’ve ever met, the very sweet-natured Stephanie Williams, who praised the value of curves, and even encouraged my slender friend to indulge in a few more cheeseburgers.

While shelling out eight bucks at the bar for an extra dirty martini (it went with the theme of my outfit), I spoke with twin babely bartenders Vincent and Scott Jesue – who were being admired from across the room by Barbra Streisand and Diana Ross, as envisioned by Nikki Rich and Terrelynn Foxx respectively.

Security and doorstaff consisted of a multitude of bare-chested, chiseled men coated in glitter. One particularly breathtaking bouncer nearly caused me to break my neck by slipping in a puddle of my own drool: the blond and buff Demo Tsatsanis. In fact, I briefly considered starting some sort of ruckus just so this Adonis could throw me out. Yowza.

Despite some tough competition, my best-dressed award of the night went to doorman Adnan Bazzy, who was decked out in a Pippi Longstocking wig, an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, polka-dot miniskirt and go-go boots. Call me crazy, but something about a bare-chested bodybuilder in red pigtails just catches my eye.

Sarah Klein writes here every other week. Call the Loose Lips tip line at 313-962-5281. Press * then dial