There's longevity in hotpants, costume changes, suggestive lyrics and retro beats. Kylie's made a career out of it.
But what if Kylie had been Canadian with a libido of Bacchic proportions? What if she'd added dildos to her Love Kylie TM range of underwear? What if she'd sweated every sample and bassline personally out of a MC505 beat box and journeyed with it to the land of raunchy stripped down old skool art rap and dirty electronica? Well let's face it, she would have been a fuck load more interesting than she is, for one thing.
She'd probably have made a great support act for Peaches too.
Unfortunately tonight the Rescue Rooms is on Slow Roast setting -and we're stuck with Scotland's MOTORMARK. Despite a blinding start pitched somewhere between Donna Summer and The Hives, their boy/girl fuzzy guitars and repetitive beat synth pop falls down. And it's too loud. We stew for another hour.
And then there she is. In the hottest pants, blondest wig, tightest top and with the reddest guitar. PEACHES jumps, struts, strips to her bra and declares it's time for us to get her off. I'd love to say it really kicks off here, but it doesn't. For all the crowd participation in "I, You, She" (together, c'mon baby, let's go) a song we're told we'll learn in 30 seconds - the Nottingham crowd's a behaving like an animal that's used to being dominated. "Shake Yer Dix", a killer tune illustrated by two dancers with prosthetic penises and a sense of literalism true to the spirit of Pan's People improve things a little.
But it's obviously going to take a little more to move the crowd. So Peaches climbs into the DJ Box (some 30 ft up) and walks the tightrope balcony in patent leather fuck-me boots whilst crooning "I'm only double A but I'm thinking triple X". You've got to love her, and she'll give you a good idea how to do it. Shortly the dancers return for some hard-core ass shaking which would be offensive if it weren't for the explicit "let me pack your crack... it's supposed to feel better for boys" refrain. As always Peaches is tongue in cheek, hand in pants.
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From here the set drifts a little. The Rescue Rooms PA grumbles in places and as the sounds layer up with more guitars it threatens to descend into plain noise. Things pick up again following "I Don't Give A" with a virtual Iggy Pop dueting with Peaches on "Kick It". She dons a Xxx cloak next for an outro which wouldn't look out of place ringside at the WWF, writhing and spitting blood with appropriate campness, only to return for a show stopping encore climaxing with "Fuck The Pain Away". The crowd go wild as it's carried out Karaoke style - Peaches miming whilst the kids down the front do the honours. This has to be one of the few moments is when Peaches is seen and not heard.
And here's the thing. Whether you think Peaches is tacky, trashy, or whatever, she's a mile ahead of Madonna, Aguilera and almost all the other women struggling with the fine line between on-my-own-terms sexuality and pandering to patriarchy. Why? Because Peaches has plenty to say and no one can stop her.
Not even Walmart. No wonder Pink and Britney Spears are queuing up for a piece of the pie.
Upon retrieving the microphone tonight however, Peaches gets a present and a little more than she bargained for. Later, off-stage she can still be heard shouting "Look at this Cock Ring I got!" between bursts of vocal. So everybody's happy.
Nottingham. The city that gives something back.
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