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Post by Beautiful Freak on Sept 20, 2003 10:31:03 GMT -5
Has the Peaches album launch at Heaven happened? If so, why haven't the people who went been on here raving about it? We need details!
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Post by LoverTits on Sept 20, 2003 12:59:43 GMT -5
Has the Peaches album launch at Heaven happened? If so, why haven't the people who went been on here raving about it? We need details! I'm too scared to say anything currently....the new regime is still being implemented.... Is this subject sufficiently Pop + Justice? I can cut and paste from my blog here or alternatively just go and have a look. |
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Post by Ain't Etienne on Sept 20, 2003 13:10:06 GMT -5
I'm too scared to say anything currently....the new regime is still being implemented.... Is this subject sufficiently Pop + Justice? I can cut and paste from my blog here or alternatively just go and have a look. You're kidding, right?? |
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Post by Popjustice.com on Sept 20, 2003 13:14:33 GMT -5
Of course you can post it here you fool!
(Or if you wait about fifteen minutes, you can post it somewhere else...)
PJ
x
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Post by LoverTits on Sept 20, 2003 13:27:26 GMT -5
Of course you can post it here you fool! (Or if you wait about fifteen minutes, you can post it somewhere else...) PJ x Lovin' that *stern* tone. Hurt me daddy, hurt me.....  |
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Post by LoverTits on Sept 20, 2003 13:28:43 GMT -5
Um...... yes?? (looks for non verbal affirmation that this is the right answer). |
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Post by LoverTits on Sept 20, 2003 13:30:19 GMT -5
So how *good* was that Peaches performance then?
Well, let me tell you, it was a fucking intense porno-burlesque scumrock freak out. There were blood capsules, transgendered dancers wearing fluorescent dildos, Iggy Pop on video, overloaded Roland Drum Machines and subsonic Suicide-basslines, Peaches dangling from the balcony doing AA XXX held up by one arm and ordering a VIP to do up her white patent leather boots, white light, white noise, mirror shades, power chords over disco bass drums, Gangsta hi-hats, mock castration and oral sex, pink leather pants, depraved sexual energy channeled from the very fabric of Heaven Nightclub itself, "Rock and Roll" screamed out from crotch level, bondage dance routines involving demonic leather gimps with Mickey Mouse ears, strobe lights and dry ice, crowd participation, vomit, violence and verbalism, the beats, the rhymes and the grinding.
I believe what was witnessed on Thursday evening was a Shamanic ritual. Some kind of Stooges Soul Retrieval. Possession and Trance were the key elements of the performance as well as the archetypal trashing of the phallic signifier.
In other words, it kicked ass.
But equally entertaining were Cobra Killer: a couple of psycho-dames from Berlin who made a loopy 1920s Swing noise fed through a fuzz pedal, like freeform Jazz eating a glass sandwich. They also appeared to be having a psychotic breakdown on stage. They poured wine over themselves, waved flags, twirled around, wore surgical masks and rubber gloves and fell over. A Lot.
They said they loved us. Whoever we were. And wherever they were "This is London right?" They sang us songs about SARS and gonorrhoea and A Cat Called Howard.
This latter song consisted of heavily distorted industrial noise and the two gals screeching like Yoko Ono in a blender until they passed out. This created in itself a kind of bewailing discordant harmonic convergence which was both ear-splittingly torturous and utterly transcendent at the same time.
I guess you just had to have been there.
Some of the audience ( a collection of fashionista Irono-mullets who danced like Wombles and looked like Ewoks) shouted "You are the worst band I've ever seen" and "Stop taking the piss and please fuck off".
I wanted to take Cobra Killer home and install them in my front room.
I loved them back.
Unconditionally.
They were like the tubercular Cheeky Girls.
One of them stage dived into the audience and emerged with her nose bleeding quite heavily. She sang on while her wound coagulated all over her face.
It took a lot of cleaning up before the stage was inhabitable again.
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