Moldy Peaches @ ULU Thursday 20th June 2002 Although I was excited at the prospect of going to see the Moldy Peaches, I hadn't really been prepared for the evening ahead. I love their album, the quirky folky melodies and lyrics which although are often abstract and lewd, express a heartfelt innocence intertwined with a raw truth about how life and love can be. I was nervous that the band may possibly disappoint, the album exudes such character I was concerned that in the flesh they mightn't live up to it. As per usual when I'm wrong, I'm so very, very wrong. The crowd had been standing, shifting from one foot to the other, looking terribly serious. T&G mulleted girls and boys either looking, or trying to look reeeeeally fucking cool, suspiciously eyeing everyone else to check if their mullet was more mullety than theirs or if anyone dared to wear better distressed-eighties clothes. Suddenly, there was movement at the edge of the stage, a minor rush forward and there they were. Instantly I knew this was not going to be a boring gig. Adam Green (co-lead vocals) looked cute as a button with his jack and the beanstalk style hat. Jack Dishel (lead guitar) had opted for a tiara and skirt whilst Strictly Beats' (drums) messy huge dreads were accessorised with a made-up black eye. Steven Mertens (bass) looked rather like a french mime with beret, full black vest cat suit and red neckerchief and Toby Goodshank's (acoustic guitar) full unicorn suit was only out shone by Kimya Dawson (lead vocals). She sported a fake fur bear mask/head dress, a cape with huge skull and crossbones on the back, an apron and some clumpy boots which could've given ginger spice a run for her money back in Spice heyday, all rather Ewok-looking. The opening song Downloading Porn with Davo was welcomed with sudden burst from the expectant crowd. This image conscious flock suddenly started shaking their hips and singing along, each individually grinning like they'd had a dimple botox, and the band all grinned hard back at them. Everyone seemed to know all the words to all the songs. This is no doubt an exaggeration but the whole atmosphere was, it was, well, FUN. That word doesn't give enough credit to the experience. Try to imagine being in The Magic Roundabout, after smoking a rather stacked bifter, then add a bubble machine and colourful lighting with the entourage described above. That's about the size of it. The size is HUGE. As The Moldy Peaches blasted their way through the beginning of their 45 min set I stood in complete awe, gob open, eyes wide, forgetting for a moment I was supposed to be taking photos. I shuffled to the front of the stage just in time for a remarkably enchanting rendition of Anyone Else But You. It felt as if they were telling you a secret, taking you to a special playground they alone have entry to. Their accessibility together with appreciation of the crowd's reaction made my heart swell to bursting. On top of all this good-natured entertainment and stage shenanigans, the band was musically good. Some of the tracks were transformed, to keep the upbeat vibe, from brilliant folk ditties into amazing, thumping songs, for example the live rendition of the extremely warped and eerie These Burgers became deepfunkrock with a booty shaking bass riff. At the first note of the last song - Who's Got The Crack - the crowd positively erupted, no longer individuals but a pulsing ecstatic throng, and I immediately regretted moving from upper edge of the stage, where I would have been able to capture the moment. The look of ecstasy and shock across each band member's face, made it clear they were not expecting this. Not expecting what felt like every person in the room hollering their lyrics back at them. Not expecting a huge wave of, god I hate to sound like a hippie, but a huge wave of love just for them. Kimya kept cracking up and shrugging her shoulders at the rest of the band not believing this was really happening. Mr Mertens, grinning like a maniac, went and found a camera to take pictures of the mass of happy pogo-ing mullets. And I tell you what, they thoroughly deserved the adoration. Although Brooklyn based, The Moldy Peaches are signed to Rough Trade here in the UK. I hope (and expect) they'll be back, playing more gigs, especially now they know how well received they are. When they do - for Jorge Regula's sake - go. Nothing else will be as close to Prozac on stage. END. |
Moldy Peaches @ ULU Thursday 20th June 2002 Although I was excited at the prospect of going to see the Moldy Peaches, I hadn't really been prepared for the evening ahead. I love their album, the quirky folky melodies and lyrics which although are often abstract and lewd, express a heartfelt innocence intertwined with a raw truth about how life and love can be. I was nervous that the band may possibly disappoint, the album exudes such character I was concerned that in the flesh they mightn't live up to it. As per usual when I'm wrong, I'm so very, very wrong. The crowd had been standing, shifting from one foot to the other, looking terribly serious. T&G mulleted girls and boys either looking, or trying to look reeeeeally fucking cool, suspiciously eyeing everyone else to check if their mullet was more mullety than theirs or if anyone dared to wear better distressed-eighties clothes. Suddenly, there was movement at the edge of the stage, a minor rush forward and there they were. Instantly I knew this was not going to be a boring gig. Adam Green (co-lead vocals) looked cute as a button with his jack and the beanstalk style hat. Jack Dishel (lead guitar) had opted for a tiara and skirt whilst Strictly Beats' (drums) messy huge dreads were accessorised with a made-up black eye. Steven Mertens (bass) looked rather like a french mime with beret, full black vest cat suit and red neckerchief and Toby Goodshank's (acoustic guitar) full unicorn suit was only out shone by Kimya Dawson (lead vocals). She sported a fake fur bear mask/head dress, a cape with huge skull and crossbones on the back, an apron and some clumpy boots which could've given ginger spice a run for her money back in Spice heyday, all rather Ewok-looking. The opening song Downloading Porn with Davo was welcomed with sudden burst from the expectant crowd. This image conscious flock suddenly started shaking their hips and singing along, each individually grinning like they'd had a dimple botox, and the band all grinned hard back at them. Everyone seemed to know all the words to all the songs. This is no doubt an exaggeration but the whole atmosphere was, it was, well, FUN. That word doesn't give enough credit to the experience. Try to imagine being in The Magic Roundabout, after smoking a rather stacked bifter, then add a bubble machine and colourful lighting with the entourage described above. That's about the size of it. The size is HUGE. As The Moldy Peaches blasted their way through the beginning of their 45 min set I stood in complete awe, gob open, eyes wide, forgetting for a moment I was supposed to be taking photos. I shuffled to the front of the stage just in time for a remarkably enchanting rendition of Anyone Else But You. It felt as if they were telling you a secret, taking you to a special playground they alone have entry to. Their accessibility together with appreciation of the crowd's reaction made my heart swell to bursting. On top of all this good-natured entertainment and stage shenanigans, the band was musically good. Some of the tracks were transformed, to keep the upbeat vibe, from brilliant folk ditties into amazing, thumping songs, for example the live rendition of the extremely warped and eerie These Burgers became deepfunkrock with a booty shaking bass riff. At the first note of the last song - Who's Got The Crack - the crowd positively erupted, no longer individuals but a pulsing ecstatic throng, and I immediately regretted moving from upper edge of the stage, where I would have been able to capture the moment. The look of ecstasy and shock across each band member's face, made it clear they were not expecting this. Not expecting what felt like every person in the room hollering their lyrics back at them. Not expecting a huge wave of, god I hate to sound like a hippie, but a huge wave of love just for them. Kimya kept cracking up and shrugging her shoulders at the rest of the band not believing this was really happening. Mr Mertens, grinning like a maniac, went and found a camera to take pictures of the mass of happy pogo-ing mullets. And I tell you what, they thoroughly deserved the adoration. Although Brooklyn based, The Moldy Peaches are signed to Rough Trade here in the UK. I hope (and expect) they'll be back, playing more gigs, especially now they know how well received they are. When they do - for Jorge Regula's sake - go. Nothing else will be as close to Prozac on stage. END. |
MOLDY PEACHESreviews |
