She’s got the magic shtick. There may have been no real electroclash “movement,” but there certainly was a Peaches–a thirtysomething, self-producing, omni-horny, androgynous Canadian breathing heavy over the skittle-diddling beats of her trusty fuzzbox. The single “Fuck the Pain Away,” an ode to erotic ennui from her debut album, blasted hipsters for checking out her “Chrissy behind” and solidified her rep as a do-you feminist.
Aside from that track, what else was in The Teaches of Peaches? Sadly, not too much. So her new joint smartly takes the groove machine to the garage for an oil change, replacing Williamsburg pomade with Detroit crude. Nods to venerable rock troublemakers abound: Peaches screams along with a loop of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” on the album’s searing opener, “I Don’t Give A…,” then trades barbs with the real live Iggy Pop over the raw-power riffage of “Kick It.” “I wanna be your cat,” she beseeches poutily, to which Pop responds, “Screw that!” Despite all this amped-up ax-grinding, Peaches can still shake her shit on the electro autobahn, and Fatherfucker offers plenty of minimal, propulsive meat-beat manifestos. And her preoccupation with X-rated topics remains in full effect, from threeway sprees (“I U She”) to matters of size (“Inch”) to the carnal menu on “Stuff Me Up” (“Eat a big dick” and “a big clit every day”).
Throughout, Peaches seems to be having more fun with her sleazy subject matter–which was always more funny than shocking anyway. If “I’m the Kinda,” which transports Lil’ Kim-style smut to a lonely Kubrick space station, doesn’t crack you up, try not to smile during “Shake Yer Dix,” which posits transgressive sex between “motherfuckers” and “fatherfuckers” as a new dance craze.
