Ripping through the thick hot air of Hotel Vegas’s backyard on the steamy evening of Tuesday, April 27th, the most iconically named band in Austin rattles the ground with a nearly undefinable sound. Frontwoman Masani Negloria braves the heat in a glistening black leather outfit fitting the fuck you attitude Pussy Gillette's music drips with. On her left are co-founder and guitarist Nathan Calhoun, cigarette barely clinging to his lips, wearing bright red pants begging for attention. Yet his eyes are covered with shades blocking the completely set sun. The band's newest edition, Brent Prager, strikes the drums wildly, opting for a graphic banana t-shirt rather than his typical full fruit costume. 

In between songs, the leading woman, bass hanging from her petite frame, addresses the audience with the poise of a performer who has been in the game for countless years. What the crowd does not know is this is her first project. "I haven't played bass for very long. I started playing three years ago when we started Pussy Gillette. This is the only band I've ever been in," She confesses. "I've never even made music before."

The badass leather-clad persona on stage transforms into a bubbly giggling character offstage. Sat in the same backyard that can be made out from the grainy VHS footage of their second music video, the founding pair are lounging and soaking up the sounds of the pre-summer cicadas. The Austin Music Award-winning Best New Act play off each other like Statler and Waldorf. Their eight-year friendship oozes through in their exchanges. 

"Being so new, we are an entirely 'do it yourself machine. Everything like T-shirts, recording, we make everything ourselves and sell everything ourselves," the frontwoman muses. "That's why we're rich," inserts Calhoun lounging back far into his seat, launching Negloria into her first of many fits of giggles. "Shut up! That's why we still have jobs." 

The Austin-based three-piece consists of their newbie lead and bass player, a veteran guitar-playing sound producer, and a Texas native drummer, bringing the group to a new level. Upon first listening, Pussy Gillette seems like any run-of-the-mill garage rock/punk band, with a fast tempo and shouted music, but with three completely different perspectives backing the music, a truly unmatched and inimitable essence is born. 

The self-proclaimed genreless group has been categorized as punk in the media, even with their ranging sound on their self-titled debut. "Everything tends to have a genre-specific thing now, so we'll go with it. We like punk rock music," comments the 90s musical veteran.

Lone songwriter and lead singer chimes in, "A lot of the bands we have played with have been more punk, so we got grouped into that category. When people listen to us because we sound a little different or because we might look a little different, they say we are just straight-up punk. But really, when we write our music, we don't keep any genre in mind, it's just what comes out, and that's just the sound that we have."

Although musically, they want to remain undefined, aesthetically, they corner the market on the 90s. Recording their first album on a four-track cassette player and filming their music videos on VHS. Harkening back to the punk revival movement of the 90s. 

"The VHS film looks great, and you can't really imitate it with fake filters and shit. It has its own aesthetic. I like watching movies on a VCR because the 4K television and shit freak me out," Calhoun shutters. "I don't know [VHS] is just warmer. Also, you're limited by the focus, shots, and time. You know, they don't do a whole lot. You kind of just got to go with what the camera can do. But it helps you make something fast—the same thing with making the record on a four-track cassette machine. You get what you get, and you get it done. Maybe that's our punk ethos there. We like to get shit done." 

Calhoun moved to Austin in 1990 from Pennsylvania and met drummer Brent Prager while playing around town. The story of Pussy Gillette, however, wouldn't embark until almost 32 years later.

"I was riding my motorcycle in South Texas, down by Beeville," quips Calhoun. "Yeah, and I just got out of jail," the frontwoman adds. "Masani was hitchhiking, and I picked her up." 

"Oh man," Calhoun laughs. 

"I forgot the rest of the lie we had about it. We haven't used that story in a long time. No, but we had mutual friends. I did projects in the past, but one night we had the kind of jam sessions we do now to record, and it just clicked." These casual jam sessions turned into recording a debut. Their process for recording is as free and punk as their aura. 

"I write all the lyrics, and it's whatever flows for me. A lot of the time, we would already have a song, and I would go to the microphone, and it would be whatever would come out. A lot of it was freestyling, in a way." 

These free-flowing sessions created their self-titled debut. This 35-minute record was recorded in three short days and stretches to a whopping 19 tracks. Writing what the songstress feels in the moment creates an album with many different perspectives and moods. 

Negloria's attitude-filled voice opens the 2021 release with "210" chanting, "They took my life drained it out of me," in the most anti-establishment way possible. Switching from the punk edge they try to suppress, the third track, "Mala Noche," surprises being sung entirely in Spanish (along with track 14 Cabron), with heavy guitar riffs backing it. Then, in "Lucky," the afro goddess turns up the Texan charm to add a southern flourish to her tone, crooning, "I'm born to lose, yet I'm still alive," in the 10th track, reviving herself from the life-sucking opening track. 

The LP hits a turning point with "Walking Crime," a hate letter to police brutality and a response to the murder of George Floyd. Inspired by the death of a friend in similar circumstances, the biting track feels like a release of years of frustration, with the black songwriter crying, "You're just a pig to me."

The heavy track is balanced by the weightless satirical "Banana" that rhythmically declares, "I've got a problem with you stealing my banana," over a throaty, hard groove. "I always like to incorporate humor and sarcasm to just forget about the world for a second," the 36-year-old lyricist states. Ceremoniously followed by the final track, "Hot," a growly, repetitive tune that marks the longest on the album at just over three minutes, foreshadowing their future sophomore endeavor focused less on bite-sized two-minute tracks. 

A wacky, aesthetic-heavy, exploratory band formed by a group of misfits that have something to say about the world, whether critiques of complex societal topics or the theft of their favorite fruit, may have never existed if it wasn't for one fateful jam session. 

Calhoun confesses about Negloria's talent, "Anyone could see it if they had been in the room. They would have been like, 'Ohhh, yeah, that's it.' So it's not like I'm smart or anything."