Peaches was so fucking good that my friend let some acne-plagued teenager grind her from behind just because she was to focused on enjoying the last encore. That’s love.
I decided 5 seconds into Peaches’ set that it was too good to take notes, plus I drank moonshine for the first time, so I’m not sure how skewed my retrospective analysis is, but let me say this, a Peaches concert could easily inspire a city wide orgy and after attending Sunday’s show at the Commodore I would gladly marry her and/or adopt her as my Mom.

Peaches works with the primary agenda of being fucking awesome and putting on a rad show, but she also works in the context of addressing gender roles, made clear by her album “fatherfucker.” Cause why is saying “motherfucker” so easy when you spill your cereal, but “fatherfucker” is worthy of a bar of soap in your mouth? The presence of gender bending is evident in her prop choices: a laser between her legs, a neon phallic saber, and a blinking light over her cooch.

I’m not really even into talking about male/female power role shit, all I know is that Peaches is hairy and looks like she stinks, but she’s fucking sexy.  So is her female keyboard and guitarist who did a “Hegwig and the Angry Inch” transformation during the show from an Iggy Pop look-a-like into a sparkly-lingerie-wearing bombshell.

The whole show played out like a Broadway musical that your grandmother would hate. There were multiple costume changes, including an elaborate Elvis outfit for the last of three encores. The performance also included a parody on dear old Britney Spears and her disappearance from GM place after claiming there was too much smoke in the air. Peaches stormed off the stage claiming there wasn’t enough pot smoke. She also complained that the crowd at the Red Deer show was more amped to take off their shirts. I’m not sure why, but I was enraged by this fact, I wanted everyone to take off their shirts, and their pants, beat by Red Deer?! What an embarrassment, get naked! Prove our superiority! Make Peaches love us too!  Then I remembered I was wearing a bodysuit which I’d never be able to put back on given my present state, and being nude in the Commodore ballroom when the lights go on and you see all the hideous sweat faces was just not what I envisioned for myself.

Anyways, she played everyones fave Peaches tunes and her stellar new material and it was one of the best shows ever. In conclusion, here is the Haiku that I was going to submit as the review, but I thought I’d get in trouble.

Peaches Haiku

Peaches, Camel-toe
Lazer beam where dick would be
Light saber hand-job

!!!More photos!!!!!!

So their album is really great and all that stuff, but both times I’ve seen Grizzly Bear’s live set I almost had a little nap between the other concertgoer’s feet.

Maybe it’s just too soothing, or maybe the Commodore’s velvet curtains reminds me of the womb or maybe it was because it was tuessday, but I found myself battling to focus my attention on the stage and not the neon-clad young woman behind me who was whining “I thought you said they were ELECTRO” to her sheepish boyfriend.

They are signed to electronic label “Warp Records,” which I guess could be confusing, if you were really dumb.
It definitely wasn’t a sold out show, but there were enough people there to result in the Commodores infamous “floor of broken glass” from people just dropping their empty cups when they were finished. Grizzly Bear’s Ed Droste seemed pleased with the crowd’s enthusiasm because he said he “couldn’t believe this was a Tuesday night crowd.” Their voices are super dreamy, and “Knife” got people really into the show for a bit, but I still prefer listening to them while eating toast at home.

Another thing that may have tainted my listening experience was the fact I got a nerd injury before the show (some sweet carpal tunnel in my right hand from using my keyboard too much), so at the show I couldn’t really take legible notes, and I couldn’t hold a beer. The only thing I could do was make some left handed stick drawings to give you a feel for the show.

Ever wonder why French dance music is so good? It’s not their berets, tight pants, or Karl Lagerfeld.  It’s because the rest of their music sounds like it’s lyrics are from a sexual magnetic poetry kit.

Maybe it started with Serge Gainsbourg’s breathy, “Je t’aime,” which, by the way, is about bum sex. Serge also recorded a song with his daughter about incest.

Even France’s first lady Carla Bruni released her own whispery sex anthem cd’s.

Carla Bruni - Quelqu’un m’a dit

with lyrics like, “You are my junk…. More deadly than Afghan heroin. More dangerous than Colombian white powder”…. “My guy, I roll him up and smoke him.”

Perhaps French dance music is the result of these pent up sexual quivers? With all that sexual poetry music you need something on the opposite end to balance out the musical spectrum.

Take this 1975 track for example, Nanette Corey is a French porn actress who recorded the track “Viens dans ma bouche” which means “come in my mouth” for all you Anglos. 

Nanette Corey - Viens dans ma bouche (come in my mouth)

Here’s some of Nanette’s lyrics translated so you can Karaoke along “en englais”.

“give me…my mouth is for you, love me, come into my mouth”

“when I was little I used to suck my thumb…but I like it better when your thumb is in my mouth”

“come into my mouth…Aaaaah Aaaaah”

There’s even a whole blog dedicated to the genre, “Filles Sourires”.

Maybe France’s short work week results in lots of dirty whispering? If I had more spare time I’d totally lay down some whisper tracks on my Garage Band.