Peaches Left Grand Central Hot And Sticky
Canada-born, Berlin-based electro terrorizer Peaches has been traveling across the world's club scenes and freaking out the squares for over a decade. Her gender-bending costumes and over-the-top lascivious lyrics first exploded in a big way during the electroclash era at the turn of the millennium. But unlike many of her peers from that scene, Peaches has managed to stay relevant by changing her music -- though not her punk-style ethos -- with the times.
She remains one of the club circuit's most outrageous performers, a fact she proved this past Saturday, September 17 at downtown Miami's Grand Central. The gig was billed, technically as a "DJ/MC set" rather than a full-on show, but with the level at which she worked at least 500 fans into a lather, the effect was pretty much the same.
And it was clear that some serious Peaches fans were in the house. Though the crowd at Grand Central's Saturday Mr. X weekly is usually a mix of the buttoned-up and hanging loose, it skewed even further out. There were men in sequins, men in skirts, women in Mexican wrestling masks and body glitter, everyone in unseasonably hot pleather and vinyl, and those representing every nook and cranny of the pansexual spectrum. All got a dancefloor warmup courtesy of Jessica Who, whose mix of mostly vocal, poppy house -- Rihanna, Robyn -- was enough to loosen limbs.
When Peaches took the stage around 1:30 a.m., though, she went unabashedly hard from the first beat, opting for a pounding baile funk/house hybrid as her opening selection. She also, satisfyingly, looked as weird as ever, with her hair shaved up the sides, Blade Runner-style eyeshadow spreading across her face, and a football-style harness made of stuffed-satin breasts draped over her shoulders. "Who's gonna suck on these later?" she whooped into her microphone to shrieks of audience delight.
That was close to the last time Peaches would remain behind the decks. Just a few minutes later, she climbed over her rig with a mystery object between her legs which she stroked suggestively. As she began to twist and tug on it though, it turned out she was just opting for serious clubland decadence. It was the first of eight top-shelf bottles of bubbly she'd unleash on the front row of fans on the floor.
This kind of DJ/sing/pour champagne routine would repeat throughout the night as the crowd needed proper motivation. "This is a dance party, I wanna see you dance!" She urged into her microphone at one point. "I wanna see you freaking out, fondling each other!"
But if there were fans dying to hear her, you know, actually sing, she was glad to throw them a couple bones as well. About an hour into her set came the thumping, stadium-rock-style opening choruses of her own "Boys Wanna Be Her," to which she sang along after climbing atop her DJ rig. Later even came a cover of Tina Turner's "Private Dancer," and in between a number of vocal riffs, impromptu raps, and yes, more oceans of spilled champagne. In true Peaches style, the crowd left panting and sticky in the wee hours.
