PEACHES/ HUMANZI/ TO MY BOY
The Forum, London 13/10/2006
To my boy are two white boys from Liverpool, who have come out
of their bedrooms for this evening, dressed in identical shirts and
short trousers and brandishing guitars and a laptop to wow the assembled
lesbians with some rather mediocre electronically-based tomfoolery.
Their sound fares better before the vocals began in the custom-made
fashion that says that they have grown up in the late 1980's and now
probably think Interpol are the nuts. I find the man in miniature pants
dancing out of time whilst being groped by the cross-dresser in the
green PVC minidress stage-left far more interesting. Instantly forgettable
and more than a little annoying, not least for the fact that they have
labelled themselves "neu rave". Yuk yuk.
Whereas Humanzi sound better than they look: four Irishmen thinking
they are dressed to kill in black leather jackets, one of which decides
that it is a good idea to first unzip his to the navel and then completely
remove it, revealing a small hairy torso. Not good. That aside, their
NME-sponsored guitar-driven disco beat rock, though done before on numerous
occasions, is enough to stop me running from the building at top speed.
I think the journey to the bar might have helped, but fans of svelte
Noo Yawk punk may well regardless enjoy them, though only really if
they don't remember it first time round.
Having said that, this gig was always going to be a near nightmare
for any support act. It is immediately apparent that Peaches
is just a bit of a formidable performer. My first glimpse of her, the
phrase "in the flesh" never being more appropriate, is at
an angle admittedly not overly becoming when looking up into the crotch
of a tiny silver jumpsuit, as its owner dryhumps the balcony and banister
she straddles. Trademark silver mask glinting like a huge mirrorball,
the crowd goes perhaps quite literally bonkers as she begins with a
little ditty about trouser tents ("Tent in your pants"), so
prompting a raunchy and raucous set undoubtedly not best viewed by anyone
without their tongue firmly in their cheek.
And, egged on tonight by her strangely androgenous but helplessly oestrogen-
fuelled all-girl supergroup, Herms, compiled of drummer Samantha Maloney
(who earnt her stripes in Hole and Motley Crue), ex-Courtney Love guitarist
Radio Sloan and JD Samson of Le Tigre notoriety on keytar and sequencing,
who, all wearing co-ordinating costume, make a wonderfully choreographed
addition to the unfolding mayhem, what follows is an entire back catalogue
massacre of riotous reaction, delivering a rock show one minute before
launching what can only be described as a hardcore assault on the ears
Screaming "I'd rather fuck who I want than kill who I'm told to"
in the subtle anti-Bush statement "Impeach my Bush" before
consequently instructing those assembled to shake their dix, promising
that there are two guys (for every girl) and climaxing with the sinister
sexuality of "Back it up, boys" and "Fuck the pain away",
simply put, Peaches means that it has never been so cool to be so different.
A refreshing and tantalising hybrid of Marc Bolan glam, testicle grabbing
sexuality and futuristic belly-dancing feminity, here is a one-woman-show
who is certainly never going to apologise for her, or anyone else's,
behaviour. A huge ball of energy, this Shirley Temple banshee commands
people to climb the sweaty walls enclosing them; enslaved to the death-defying
force atop the PA system, a couple of thousand bodies gyrate and lather
themselves in the sublimely perverse spectacle, willing participants
in the purely dirty electro rock and roll opera which is passing before
them in a collage of giant inflatable penises, kitsch medal ceremonies,
small pink bicycles and even smaller pink bra and panty sets. Iconic
feminist or downright barmy nymphomaniac? Regardless, Peaches is among
the most powerfully entertaining artists around. Don't miss her next
Peaches new album, Impeach My Bush, is available from all good record
shops this minute so I implore you to go and buy it!
Special hugs to Michael Cleary of Beggars for sorting
the evening out for us. I am forever indebted.
Fuck the pain away on our message boards here