Scenestar

BY TRAVIS

So, I must admit: Prior to Peaches’ South Beach performance for the Art Basel show, I knew little about the electro-pop diva and college-radio staple, other than her borderline unhealthy obsession with her vagina and that my wife was a big fan. In fact, my first introduction to Peaches was one Saturday morning, at about 11 a.m., when my sleep was interrupted by a heavy bass thud accompanied by a girl’s voice imploring me to “Fuck the pain away … Fuck the pain away … Fuck the pain away.” Perhaps the CD was skipping. As I lumbered out of bed and asked what the hell that was all about, my wife happily informed me it was Peaches and that she’s “dirty.” I mumbled something under my breath and staggered back to bed. Perhaps that’s where Peaches and I got off on the wrong foot.

I’ve been trying to become more open-minded to the whole indie-pop genre, but from what I heard of Peaches on my wife’s mix CDs, which consist more or less of the singer’s “greatest hits,” I was unimpressed. So when she asked if we could go to Peaches’ free show on the beach, I was less than enthused. But having dragged her to several football games, not to mention having her patiently sit through my own band’s countless shows, I figured I owed her probably the equivalent of an entire Peaches tour. So off we went. Although I wasn’t expecting much musically, I was curious. What did the sultry, sex-crazed Peaches look like? I pictured something between Pink, Lil’ Kim and perhaps a touch of Joan Jett. But I could only laugh when I finally laid eyes on the infamous Peaches. She was Gene Simmons in drag. From the bushy wild hair to the Road Warrior face paint, right down to the outfit (short leather shorts, knee-high black stockings and boots, silver bikini-top with sleeveless leather vest), Peaches looked like she came right out of Gene’s closet, maybe leftover from some fleeting androgynous phase. That was Peaches? The wild sexpot? “Fantastic,” I thought. I found her instantly endearing.

As for the music—or should I say, the show—Peaches and her all-chick band of tough-looking but sexy post-modern rockers used an array of guitars, keyboards, synthesizers, a mix of drums and a drum machine. Although the beats and riffs were expectedly simplistic, the energy brought out by the band made the songs work much better than the album, which I find somewhat dull and lifeless. But what brought it all together was the energy of Ms. Peaches herself, who used everything from a pink bicycle to an endless supply of silver panties (stripped off throughout the set). There also were several platform dives, an oral sex simulation involving a theremin and even a faked head injury that required Peaches’ roadies to carry her off the stage in a makeshift stretcher before the finale. But she was really at her best with simply a guitar (an Ace Frehly-style Les Paul complete with lightning bolt strap, further confirming the KISS influence).

Another vibe I caught on to that I had missed from just listening to the music was Peaches’ female empowerment message. Early in the set, she performed fan favorite “Shake Your Dicks,” and the message was clear: Hip-hop and rock-and-roll cats can sing about tits, twats and sex of all kinds, so why not girls? It was cool. Not terribly original but cool.

Overall, it was an enjoyable show. Even the throng of super-cool Miami hipsters and the really cheap, skunky weed didn’t bother me. Despite my initial surprise at Peaches’ appearance, there is a sexy quality about her—in a sort of ’70s porn star way, which I think is what she is going for. It also was a repeat lesson for me in that you can never really judge a band until you see them play live. The live show really defines a band, and after all, that’s what rock and roll is all about. So I take back some of my initial criticisms of Peaches. She manages to pull together the metal, hip hop, punk, glam rock and electronica influences nicely with a high-energy live show. Am I a new Peaches fan? I’m not sure I’d go that far, but I have a new-found respect. So who knows? If you see me and my wife driving around, maybe you’ll hear us singing along to Peaches: “Licky licky, sucky, sucky. You can’t tell me anyone here don’t wanna fucky fucky.”