// Australian travel blog
// Australian travel blog
Yes, it was vaginas and nudity and simulated sex. We purchased tickets knowing it would be a unique stage performance - and that it was. Peaches lived up to her reputation as an esteemed and provocative artist, with plenty of vigour for a woman who has just this year broken into her sixth decade.
An intimate Brisbane crowd was drawn into The Tivoli, and the venue sealed off upstairs and kept the revellers bunched together on the main dancefloor. It was just where they would be needed in order for Peaches to trample over their heads during the second half of her set.
“Did you dress especially for this concert?” my partner in crime asked as we went to the bar for our first drink, glancing around at the unusual haircuts, and odd mish-mashed clothing sauntering past on bodies of various ages. Of course I had. You don’t go to a Peaches concert wearing corporate attire. Some yellow leggings and brogues, along with a low-cut singlet (sans bra) was the flavour of the evening. It was nevertheless tame, I thought, as a slender twenty-something guy strutted by in tight shorts and a body-hugging black mesh crop. It was an all-encompassing LGBTQI-/ old women-/ young dudes-/ couples-/ friends-on-meth-on-a-Thursday-kind of a crowd.
As I took my gin from the counter, I smirked at the tips cup left out by the bartenders: ‘Fuck the Tips Away’ it proclaimed. It still wasn’t clever enough to convince me to leave a tip.
With time to kill before the set, we took a seat on a lounge and watched the weird and wonderful clash of people brush past. After ten minutes, partner in crime suddenly scoffed and almost choked on his bourben, as he looked down at my top.
“Do you know your nipple’s out?” he asked, mouth in an overly-excited emoji shape. So it was, and had been for a good ten minutes. 'Oh well', I thought, 'it’s the perfect time and place to free the nipple'.
Soon enough it was time for us to make our way to the stage, as Peaches unleashed her presence in a skin-coloured leotard and a big white feathered suit. The pure attitude emanating from beneath the feathers and her voice was alluring.
As she slipped into the next song, she squatted down to change tracks on the mixer, and then continued to belt out her well-known back catalogue with fervour and a fuck-you attitude.
By the second song, she had already been joined on stage by a male and a female, who donned leather bondage gear and would remain on stage with her for the rest of the show. They would crawl around on the floor, touch Peaches, be touched by Peaches, imitate sex with her, and generally mirror her body confidence.
When the set was barely mid-way through, Peaches got her tits out and they were amazing. The nipple shields were an odd nod to modesty, but couldn’t disguise her remarkably taut, full bosom. She continued the rest of the show with only skin coloured bottoms, nipple shields, and the odd vagina hat or feathered contraption.
At one point there was a tiny pause between songs, and Peaches gave a shout out to the crowd: “Hi Brisbane. My name’s Peaches,” trilled the sweet voice, before delving into another R-rated song with filthy lyrics.
During Fuck, she and her stage counterparts performed an accurate interpretation of the title. Her female dancer was right of stage, male to the left, and her in the middle. As they writhed around on the floor, Peaches strutted towards the female, bending down to grab the dancer’s left foot and lifting it up forcefully. She pushed it up at a right angle to the ground, and squatted over her thrusting, to the sound of cheers from crowd. She then had her lying on her back with her knees up, face in her crotch for a good fifteen seconds. As she emerged from between her knees, she plucked at her mouth with her thumb and finger, feigning grappling for a stray pubic hair lodged between her teeth.
The scene went on and the male received a rim job and was dominated, before he moved on to pleasure the girl in front, with Peaches behind. All the while, Peaches maintained her composure and didn’t miss a beat of the song.
The second half was physical, with the crowd involved in some crowd-surfing, or more accurately walking, as she stepped across arms and heads and did a circle before arriving back on stage. Later on, a giant inflatable condom was erected (get it?) over the crowd, and Peaches crawled into it. The viewers below were undoubtedly met with an intimate perspective of her.
New performers are often criticised for eschewing their responsibilities as role models, and are attacked for incendiary appearance and behaviours by tiringly conservative parents and social commentators. Peaches just does not give a fuck. Her show was a welcome shock to the uniform electricals of mainstream music performance. She delivered an inclusive, entertaining show and the time spent watching her was a welcome solace from the normality of a Thursday night.