Unlikely to be confused with the new Dido album, unless the millionaire angst-mothra is also rocking the Abraham Lincoln-style bearded lady look this season, Peaches is a different, now-wash-your-hands kind of pop star, and the sort of lady that would make parents worldwide go, “Crikey!”
Arriving with debut album The Teaches Of Peaches in 2000, the Berlin-based Canadian became vaguely tied up with the whole electroclash palaver – a movement that, courtesy of Fischerspooner, practically destroyed The Ministry Of Sound empire (so quite a good thing, no?) and consists mainly of kinky couples such as Adult and Crossover sounding bored in an “I’m wearing a rubber jockstrap underneath my duffle coat” kinda way over early Human League. Peaches walks a very unique path to the rest of that scene, and indeed, to the rest of music in general.
From her Def Leppard Y-fronts – with added penis, natch – to her cool/crap mullet, her look, and shall we say “approach”, has been adopted by drag queens and cute, if, unsavoury types the world over. She has even been asked to lecture at the Contemporary MusicAcademy in Berlin, and her lyrics are discussed aspart of the University Of Toronto’s Queer Studies program.
Sticking mainly with the minimalist noises of her groovebox again, this album is a fantastic electro-sex fest in thrall to the joy of rock. From the Hysteria lettering on the sleeve, to the Joan Jett sampling on the opening track, through to the team-up with Iggy Pop on Kick It (wherein the somewhat confused Ig rhymes “crotch” with, um, “fotch”), the spirit of punk rock runs throughout the sweaty backroom boogie, with the filth remaining in abundance.
I U She is a bare beat catchy mantra about threesomes, so good it makes Benny Benassi‘s Satisfaction look as racy as Westlife‘s entire works. Back It Up, Boy suggests the use of a dildo on your fella, which could make young couples a bit uncomfortable the next time they’re tucking into their microwaved Arabiattas when the talk turns to “toys”. Be careful, one of you might absent-mindedly start singing, “Sweet buns, let me be your gun,” next time you’re at the supermarket checkout. Shake Yer Dix encourages the boys to “oh come on“, and the girls to do similar with, well, something that rhymes.
Love her or hate her, Peaches has made it clear where she stands. If a 35 year old woman is happy singing while wearing beyond-surgically-tight pink panties with her downstairs showing, the least you could do is listen. A work of rude and dirty genius.