Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Come On Taste the Peaches

If you've been reading this blog for a (very) long time, you may remember the near-trauma I sustained at my first rock concert a little more than a year ago. My stamina has improved since then, but I was still nervous about a full night of Peaches, particularly when I learned she was to be preceded by an act that calls itself "The Eagles of Death Metal."

This is not a music snob's confessional. I like what I like, but I do truly believe that to avoid ruts a person needs to venture into unexplored territory on a regular basis. I was more afraid of being a fish out of water, the same issue that bedeviled me before the Intonation Festival and Lollapalooza.

Happily, when I showed up at the Old Vic my fears evaporated. I found a mostly female crowd in various states of undress, behaving wantonly and giving hearty voice to their innermost perverse desires. Pretty much the same as a Yarn Harlot book signing. And so I relaxed.

C and I had the pleasure of the company of our friend Derek, who is not only a jovial companion but also notably tall. Extremely useful in a general admission setting, as people get out of his way and he manages to wiggle up close to the action. Sure enough, when C and I made it into the house he had secured prime standing room within sweat-flinging distance of the stage.

The opening act, the aforementioned Eagles of Death Metal, were just precious. They are fronted (I believe this is the term) by a man who looks something like a cross between Floyd Pepper (the Muppet) and a 70s gay porn star. He is entirely too sexy for his own good and the only man I've ever seen who can carry off a walrus moustache. If he is reading this, he should drop me a note.*

I'm not entirely clear on what "Death Metal" is, but these energetic fellows played what sounded to me like fairly straightforward loud loud loud jump around the stage and shake your tightly clad tush rock and roll. In particular, I enjoyed a sprightly chanson called "Whorehoppin (Shit, Goddamn)" which is of course a setting of the verses by Goethe.

It didn't take long for me to forget my initial awkwardness and just give myself over to the impulse to shimmy, though I did have to ask C whether it was appropriate to applaud between movements.

After a brief intermission, the house lights went down and suddenly there was Peaches, dressed like Xena the Warrior Princess after she stopped killing bad guys and became a pole dancer in a downscale titty bar, standing on top of the uppermost stage right box.

She sang...I dont' know what it was exactly...I think it was an ode to her crotch.** And then things got a little raunchy.

No, that's unfair. Truly, there wasn't much going on that you wouldn't have seen at a Patti Page concert, except for perhaps:
  • the buxom transvestite dressed as Mrs. Incredible
  • the stagehands performing CPR on the giant inflatable penis
  • the female back-up dancers sporting strap-ons
and of course the anthem "Two Guys for Every Girl," in which Peaches suggests that it's jolly good fun for a girl to bring two guys home with her and then make them do naughty things to each other.

Who am I to argue with that?

Mustn't forget that she also sang an entire song riding round and round the stage on a pink bicycle. I will never look at a banana seat quite the same way again.

I couldn't bring my camera, alas, but C did make this photograph of the primadonna in full cry with his cell phone.



She appears to be bursting into flames. Apt. By the end of the evening, I rather felt that I had, too. In the nicest possible way.

To use the appropriate parlance, the event was both "phat" and "stoopid." Peace out yo, and don't forget to rock the shocker.

*Mr Rock Star, sir, C says it's okay if we fool around as long as I take pictures.

**
Peaches is fond of her crotch, which was frequently spotlit during the performance. She treats it almost as a valued co-star or collaborator.
The Gilbert to her Sullivan, if you will.

19 comments:

All the Way With Knitting said...

Death metal is what is wrapped around explosives and dropped on people or carried strapped to a fanatic.

Chicago Jen said...

OMG, Franklin, you make me laugh in complicit understanding of your fear of all things "Rock", which tend to turn out to be fun affairs when you get right down to it. Thanks for the morning humor.

amsans said...

Franklin - you are becoming my daily fix for humor. We need this in the world as other than the time I take to read your blog - I'm inundadted with the sadness of everything else falling apart around us in the world. Please please write a book.

Sorry I sound like a groupie - but it's in a good way - - I promise!

mf said...

really first rock concert? I don't go any more go it out of my system when I was in my teens early adult!
You just crack me up all the time!

Paul said...

"The Gilbert to her Sullivan"....

You. Crack. Me. Up.

*giggle*

Cheryl said...

I've been to a Harlot book signing and you've pegged it buddy! ;)

FiberQat said...

I'm gonna have to take you to see the Reverend Horton Heat so you can get a taste of surf punk. Go get his album "It's Martini Time" and have a listen. I recommend "Cowboy Love". Really.

Lori said...

You are a better man than me, Gunga Din. I am not sure I would have made it through even for my heart's delight.

:o) Lori

Lynette said...

oh my gawd! i have long felt that way about my own crotch. where are the spotlights!!

very funny post and a good time was had by all :-)

Mandy said...

Ah, you're fantastic. It would kill me a bit that you have seen both New Order and Peaches wthout being interested in their music, except that you have written such wonderful, appreciative entries. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. :)

Eve said...

I believe they says "stoops," now.

Rachel H said...

Ahem. I have attended more than one Harlot book signing and I assure you I was fully clothed at all times. The um, innermost desires thing may have come out when there was Seasilk added to the mix though...

Rabbitch said...

You know, I had forgotten about Goethe's entire "Whorehoppin'" phase. Thank you for reminding me to go back and re-read!

C. said...

True story: The Eagles of Death Metal got their name because someone said they were such laid back guys, it was as if The Eagles (Glenn Frey, Don Henley, et al.) had become a death metal band. Hence, Eagles of Death Metal! (I would have gone with Pansy Division of Death Metal myself, but that's another story)

alliesw said...

Wow. You make me feel so young...just like I was there--love it!

Anna said...

Too. Damned. Funny! I love reading your blog. Thanks for the insight on Peaches. I think I'll skip that one...

All the Way With Knitting said...

Well humm..no offence Ethnic typies but Jeff came home laughing his socks off yesterday after seeing a group called "White Trash ,Two Heebs and A Bean" ...Holly says it sounds like a recipe.As I call Jeff a big Maltesar. I've been called worse from passing cars when out with the big maltesar ,and a "Bean" sounds so cute .

Sneaksleep said...

There's no doubt in my mind that Goethe would have approved heartily of his verses being set to rock music. He was way ahead of his time. And I think more rock concerts should be done as triple gender-bending drag shows. With pink bicycles. And strap-ons. Glad you had such a good time!

successwithusana said...

This won't really have effect, I think so.