Peaches: Impeach My Bush

No George or Kate in sight, but plenty of the other kind of, er, bush

So, album of the year for that title alone; but just how relevant or revolutionary is Peaches in 2006? Aren’t we all relaxed about sex and sexual politics these days? Well, maybe people are in places as gleefully filthy as Peaches’ adopted Berlin. But, in Britain? No way. This is still uptight, immature, hypocrite-central; a country where ‘gay’ is a by-word for ‘lame’, where the tits-out tabloids work themselves into a frenzy of moral indignation over racey photos of Mrs McCartney-Mills and where John Prescott and Jordan are publicly vilified for having a sex life. Clearly, we need Peaches’ message that sexuality is fluid and sex itself is ridiculous, hilarious fun more than ever.

It helps that this message is delivered over beats and bass that wow like a 12-inch cock. And, on her third album, Peaches has sharpened her raw, minimal sound; subsonic bass, snappy beats, electronic hiccups, Marshall-stacked AC/DC riffs, into a devastating hunting weapon. ‘Downtown’ and the hilarious ‘Tent In Your Pants’ are slick, mutant-R&B. ‘Two Guys’, meanwhile, is a classic Peaches hi-NRG electro strut. Like the wonderfully gratuitous fist-fucking, cock-sucking ‘Slippery Dick’, it is new-rave dancefloor gold. As are ‘You Love It’, with Joan Jett, and ‘Give ’Er’, which features Josh Homme on guitar, both pogo-powered, punk rock brat bombs – now with added live drumming.

‘Impeach My Bush’ is no great sonic leap forward, but it is a near-perfect distillation of Peaches’ “thing”. Which is as vital as ever, motherfucker.

Tony Naylor