For the uninitiated, listening to a Peaches album is like being socked in the face with a rubber vagina—it’s unnervingly, aggressively sexual but there’s an element of knowing satire in the whole enterprise. Even Cyndi Lauper never dared go further than “She Bop,” but Peaches (nee Merrill Nisker) seems to stop short of kicking out your speakers and stripping you to your shorts. Raunchy enough to send Xtina crying home to Mama, the slutty electro clash sensation who’s wowed European audiences as well as more open-minded Yanks throws down hard from her third album’s opening track, “Fuck Or Kill,” and doesn’t let up for the next 12 sex-soaked, punkified dance floor come-ons. Tight beats and restless production mark Impeach My Bush as a jittery club souvenir tailor-made for grinding against mirrored walls or—somewhat surprisingly—making an oblique political statement (how else to explain “Slippery Dick”?). It’s an ambitious record, that’s for sure; billed as a “social album,” one meant to “challenge, educate and encourage,” Impeach My Bush takes tapping ass out of the bedroom and makes it fight the power. In between the throbbing backbeats and the fevered fantasies of “Two Guys For Every Girl,” there’s a faint sense of fury at being told how to live one’s life and suffering under the oppressive thumb of censorship. Peaches goes easy on the syrup and heavy on the flavor and hands listeners a delectable, if slight, cherry bomb of an album.
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