Excited about a Peaches gig in Heaven
Maybe it’s because my last private erotic riot with a woman is now so far in the past that its nature is a matter of vague speculation even for the most wild-eyed palaeontologist… But I’m well excited now by the prospect of an upcoming Peaches gig (September 18th @ Heaven, Charing Cross, plus some dates in Nottingham and Brighton).
Peaches at 93ft East, March 2002. Photo by Richard Fontenoy.
The last time I saw her—apart from a relatively restrained appearance at Chilly Gonzales’ disappointing farewell revue—was at 93ft East last March at a Kitty-Yo label night. I’d just been introduced to the delights of Tarwater as well, but their appearance, along with everyone else’s, was blown into oblivion by Peaches’ bacchanalian frenzy. Cobra Killer, a pair of fearless women (Gina and Annika) who acted as Peaches’ audience agitators and chaos co-creators, added significantly to the show, so their being on the upcoming Heaven bill makes it even more of an essential event for me.
There’s a certain amount of hype, for sure, the self-generating buzz so easily slipping into the media’s sensationalist maw, or the inscrutable and ultimately stultifying grasp of London’s hipper-than-thou ‘underground’.
And I guess some people might not get it. "Aren’t you just going cos it’s loads of women in underwear?" asked my admittedly drunken friend Zali last night as I showed him the video to Peaches’ blinding new single, ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’. Obviously, yes and no. Yes, I stand up, somewhat abashed, still, even at this stage in life, and admit that women in lingerie turn me on. Shock horror. But I can pay less than the door price of this Peaches show to see much more aesthetically beautiful women any time I want. I give my money to Peaches and Cobra Killer because they’re energetically beautiful women. They please my eye, too (unlike a lot of New Lads who hear about this woman who sings about fucking and stuff and gets her kit off onstage and that, and turn up only to have their Photoshopped ideals of female flesh sorely disappointed). It’s just that raw erotic energy is their prime currency, not the seductive imagistic webs of fantasy that we channel that energy with.
My memories of the last gig are fragmented, like all true bacchanalia, unhooked from the orderly production line of spuriously ‘unified’ consciousness… a seething mass of jumping and dancing… a totally benevolent release of aggression that pitches you into the borders between control and chaos… flashes of Gina and Annika pouring red wine over their heads… Peaches whipping the audience into a frenzy with her mic and strap-on… support act Taylor Savvy brandishing a fire extinguisher on the audience, his and Peaches’ mouths frothing with fake blood… losing my glasses and having them handed straight back to me by someone in the moshpit… not caring, for once, that I’m surrounded by paired-off lovers enjoying each other…
Until recently, Peaches taught 3-6 year olds with her innovative drama/music programs.
"I learned so much from how kids are and with Peaches I try to find the five year old that we all have in us still somewhere…"
I read this after I came out of that gig consciously feeling that I had touched some deep childlike core of playful, impish abandon—and remembered that it is good—so all I can say is, Peaches does it for me.
