The return of the Pamflet icons: peaches the musical et la nouvelle LP de miss kittin

I hung out with my favourite two bad-taste broads from the early 2000s last week: PEACHES at the Sundance Film Festival and MISS KITTIN launching her new album at XOYO. This was not a nostalgia-fest: what I love about them both is that while the electro-pop music they helped to invent over a decade ago is now the mainstream, they’ve kept it so so fresh, interesting, seedy, euro-cool and independent. They don’t make popstars like this anymore unfortunately…

If anyone deserves a musical made all about her, it’s PEACHES. Her first written/directed/acted/produced-film PEACHES DOES HERSELF is a true tribute to everything that she’s done so far and accordingly is lurid, pink, rude and very funny. Beginning back in the days when she was just a grrrl in her knickers making DIY beats in her bedroom, we’re told a rather inventive version of the Peaches story through songs from her back catalogue and some filthy choreography from a troupe of saucy backing dancers.

In between all the ASS+T*TTIES, glam rock jumpsuits and exceptionally sparkly make-up in PEACHES DOES HERSELF, the star goes through a sex change op and falls in love with a gorgeous ballet-dancing, statuesque she-male. Obviously. Some artists start normal and go weird, but like an Angela Carter who went to FAME SCHOOL and moved to Berlin, Peaches has always been weird and (pleasingly) over the past ten years has just got weirder on a slightly bigger budget. PDH is an entertaining reminder of  how tame most of what passes for pop-controversy is these days – and of how good some of Peaches songs really are.

I have no idea whether this will actually get a proper release or even shown again in the UK, but keep an eye on the film’s website for details just in case.

On Wednesday I happily became reacquainted with Miss Kittin – the occasionally masked DJ, singer and producer of my dreams who, dressed as a spectacularly-eyelinered white-caped nurse, introduced songs from her new LP along with some old crowdpleasers from the Gigolo days. Kittin’s voice is so super-sexy and her French accent so addict-irresistible that no one minded when she told us off for only knowing the words to her ‘stupid songs’ like ‘Frank Sinatra‘. Je suis desolée Kittin. 

F*** the nineties, I think it’s time to instigate a one-woman (me) early noughties revival.

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Co-editor and co-founder of Pamflet //

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