When someone’s a seasoned old-timer, been going to gigs and festivals for more years than they care to remember, and they come home saying, “That was the best show I’ve ever seen!” you’d be forgiven for taking it with a pinch of salt.
Peaches, however, took that crown. She blew my socks off. And her own.
The costumes (Dancing vaginas - every show needs them. Who knew?) - or, at times, lack of them! - were eye popping.
The crowd were a sea of ecstatic faces, wowed by Peaches’ utter lack of inhibition which was, of course, infectious.
Strangers became dancing partners as we funked the night away; her growling, encompassing, electro punk sound and attitude forcing us all to let it all go. So we did.
This was a night to remember: one for the grand-kids; one for sweet dreams; a unifying spectacle of a night.
Thank you, Peaches, please keep f**king that pain away.
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