March 4, 2004

Distillers/Peaches/Pretty Girls Make Graves/Eageles Of Death Metal : London Brixton Academy

What was that you said? Oh yes. Rock 'n' fucken roll...

correspondence from the frontline of this week's award shows has left us battered, bruised, beer-soaked and with slightly less hearing than we had at the start of the week. Still, we may be fatigued, but there's a glint in our eyes as we go over the top once more. Death or glory!

Because over in Brixton flame-haired renaissance man Josh Homme is shaking the very foundations of the Academy with his clattering garage rock outfit Deerhoof, whilst Seattle rock lions (and lioness) Pretty Girls Make Graves sweep up the debris. Then there's high priestess of sleaze, Peaches, and her magnificently filthy guttermouth, arsenal of beat-laden strip club pop splendour, and some rather natty stage high visuals of dick-shaking, tit-shuffling gender-challenged ladyboys. Rejoice in the teaches of Peaches - for she fucking wails, dude.

You'd think that after such a mighty display of femme rock aceness, Brody Dalle and her Distillers would fall flat on their arses. So it's godamn holy to watch her sprout feathered wings and prove what an almighty racket she's capable of. The girls in the audience take their rightful place at the front of the heaving throng, staring adoringly at the Amazonian punk rock princess who's come to lead them out of the valley of boring blokerock tedium. And the boys? They're just left thinking wicked, wicked Brody-shaped thoughts.
And after all that? Did we go to bed and rest our battered ears? Did we fuck. We simply battled the tiredness, had another beer and kept going. What was that you said? Oh yes. Rock 'n' fucken roll.

James Jam