PEACHES
No Lube So Rude (Kill Rock Stars)
Everybody’s favourite sex aunt (not a typo) returns with a new album after a mere seven years, so let’s get the content warning out of the way first. No Lube So Rude’s lyrics read like a LLM has scraped a 20-year-old’s vocabulary of four-letter words. Peaches drops more c-bombs than Paul Dacre in his prime, and doesn’t shy from the f-, t- and g-munitions too. Curtain rhymes with squirtin’ rhymes with merkin.
And it’s all fucking great, actually, as No Lube hones the Peaches electro into its most sleek and focused form yet, the music minimal, compressed and euphoric, the vocals laconically tough, almost rap-like in their rhythm. Its queer pleasure concentration is inherently anti-authoritarian, and the album gleams urgently like, well, a great big dildo. “Jizzing all day / Jizzing all night”? Stay hydrated everyone, and eff the power.
words WILL STEEN
