In the hands of a lesser performer, Peaches’ foul-mouthed gender deconstruction would’ve gotten old long ago. Happily, beneath the clit-centric linguistics resides an unflappable confidence.
Unlike many of her contemporaries, the Canadian-born Merrill Beth Nisker – 47 come Wednesday (“It’s my birthday this week!”) – arrived enabled by the festival setting rather than diminished by it. Everything about her artistic vision – electro-pop depictions of non-missionary congress, an eye-popping wardrobe, and lickety-split pacing – scales upward and outward.
Friday’s late afternoon show under threatening skies thus hit like an “E” ticket ride. Peaches emerged resplendent in a screaming pink and yellow gown replete with ionic volutes on her shoulders. After opening with the titular ode to manual release from Rub, her first album in six years, she brought out the dancing vaginas for “Vaginoplasty.”
Her two dancers changed costumes with the efficiency of a Cher impersonator, going from posh blond unicorns to bondage babes simulating rimjobs as Peaches sang “How You Like My Cut?” Her raw vocal brio was in full flower with “Talk to Me,” but she also managed to hold notes while precariously balanced on the hands of audience members.
Then she asked for a joint.
Once many were proffered, she took long drags between verses, again without a note out of place. Only juggling would’ve made this feat more impressive. The show culminated with a successful gay marriage proposal, taco cannon fusillade, and Peaches exhorting everyone to fuck the pain away.
Glitter and grunts reconciled, she left the crowd well-sated. If John Waters can have a Broadway hit, why can’t Peaches play Caesar’s Palace?
This article appears in November 6 • 2015.
