“Hang on a second. I’ve got something in my mouth,” announces Merrill Nisker. Ooh er! In ordinary circumstances Kenneth Williams would take over narration duties on my inner jukebox right about now, but hell, this is Peaches, the whacked out faux-hermaphrodite who sings lyrics like “licky licky sucky sucky / No one here can tell me they don’t want to fucky fucky”. No sir. The double entendre has no place in her world. And so it goes that all right thinking individuals dig the Fatherfucker.
Fair enough. It is practically impossible to dislike the cut of her gib, not to think ‘you go, girl’ when she kicks around the stage with a gorilla mask and a dildo shoved down her knickers. In an age when pop stars mugging as lipstick lesbians greatly outnumber those that don’t, Peaches is the real deal, a genuinely rabid omnisexual, a sexual terrorist who will likely accessorise her scanty PVC ensemble with a fake Lincoln beard.
That said, she’s a Schrodinger’s kitty-kat. She exists, but not really. Peaches is a persona, a grand piece of performance art. It’s Merrill Nisker who is running the show. Though she’s happy to invite a thousand perfect strangers on stage to lap at her ankles, she hates it when people don’t play by the rules. Her rules.
“The worst time was in England,” she tells me. “I was playing with Throbbing Gristle and some guy tried to stick his fist in between my legs. It was fucking disgusting. Thankfully that doesn’t happen often. Maybe two percent of the time. Most people get it and come to a Peaches show to have a good time. Like my last few shows in Atlanta and New Orleans and Las Vegas, I’ve looked out at people just having fun.”
Ask her about answers given during previous interviews (sexiest celebrity? Moe from The Simpsons) and she’ll freely admit she was just fucking around. Ask her about her plans and you’re pretty sure it’s a wind up. Or are you?
“Heidi Fleiss is trying to start a human stud farm in Las Vegas,” she drawls. “You know, they already have a chicken ranch and a bunny ranch so I’m going to help her with a petition. Little by little people are trying to make important changes.”
Merrill Nisker was born in Toronto in 1968. She remains fiercely satisfied by her Canadian roots (“I’m real proud of Arcade Fire and Stars and all those guys”, she puffs) though growing up she took a lot of flak as the only Jewish kid in the neighbourhood. No matter. She regards her time at a Catholic school as character-forming, an experience that left her unafraid to stand out and be different.
A multi-instrumentalist from a precocious age, her musical career began in earnest as a schoolteacher. Huh?
“Well, I was in an alternative programme,” she explains. “I would visit schools playing music and drama for little kids because I did not like the way I was brought up playing music. You know, it’s always very strict. You play this note and if you play this wrong you are not in the band. Then parents come along to see you in a costume. I wanted kids to know it was more about process. That they could bring creativity to the rest of your life. I was a very good teacher. I had a huge business but it was just me doing everything. I did that for ten years. It was really important to take things more from their perspective. It actually made me want to unleash the kid inside myself at night.”
Does she still like children, I wonder. Enough to someday assume mommy duties?
“Yeah definitely. I would definitely be interested in having kids.”
I’m sure she’ll make a valuable addition to the carpooling soccer moms. After school hours and additional work as a librarian, Merrill took to local stages as part of Mermaid Café, a folk act named after a Joni Mitchell song.
“I loved performing,” she recalls. “But it got to a point that no matter how good the audience reaction was, I couldn’t relate or get the music anymore.”
She began listening to such august alt-figures as Diamanda Gallas before forming ‘The Shit’ with her equally dissatisfied friends, taking her new stage name Peaches from the final line in Nina Simone’s ‘Four Women’ (“What do they call her? / They call her Peaches”).
“It was just the way she said ‘peaches’ at the end of the song”, Merrill says. “It was really passionate and I wanted her to be singing it just for me. Then my friends and all my collaborators left town and it became this other thing. I wanted to continue making music and I realised I could be all the people I wanted.”
Peaches the DIY / electroclash artist kicked off with a Roland MC505 Groovebox in 2000. That year she released a self-titled EP and a second mini-album entitled Lovertits, bringing her to the attention of the Berlin-based label Kitty-Yo who invited her to record The Teaches Of Peaches.
“It was a small label but it was great to get interest from somewhere”, she says. “Plus I had never lived anywhere else so I thought it was a good opportunity. It was a process of finding myself. That’s what makes an act different and unique. Like when Daft Punk came out, there was nothing like it. You’re thinking oh, this will be more shitty house music and experimental electronic, but when you heard them first, right away it signified something in your brain that said rock and roll. Or when you hear Salt n’ Pepa, you know they are some sassy ass rappers. Or The Stooges. These are the things that stick out for me. So whatever my contribution is worth, at least I’m myself.”
The album, featuring the mighty ‘Fuck The Pain Away’ inspired a bidding war. She eventually plumped for the XL label as a home for 2003’s Fatherfucker. Since then, everybody wants a piece of peach pie. She’s recorded with Pink, popped up on the soundtracks for Mean Girls and Lost In Translation and turned down working with Britney. Her latest opus, Impeach My Bush, a slicker, more clit-out rock fest than either of its predecessors features cameo spots for Josh Homme and Joan Jett.
Was it strange for such a one-woman show to collaborate to this extent?
“Well, if I hadn’t done the first albums and proved myself as a DIY producer, it could have been a case of someone saying – this is how you should do stuff. But I’ve established myself enough so I don’t have to compromise. I felt I wanted to make a better sound. I wanted me playing a Les Paul through Marshall amps. And everyone came in the right spirit. Joan said Fatherfucker had lyrics she might have done 30 years ago if she had had the chance. She’s a fan of that album and came to the shows a lot and was curious as to what I was up to. So when she came to the studio and listened to a song she was excited to be part of it. It was great.”
So does this mean she wants the mainstream to pay attention?
“Oh yeah”, she cries. “I think I should be viewed as mainstream. I mean, I just say what other people say in hip-hop or rock. I wouldn’t even say what I do is coming from an alternative perspective because it is just as important and relevant. Maybe even more so.”
Nonetheless, one couldn’t view the teaches of Peaches as anything less than subversive, a potent antidote to the likes of The Pussycat Dolls. It may just be theatre – she’s not one to fuck with us and tell – but in its way it is every bit as politicised as Brecht.
“Oh yeah”, she agrees. “There is an imbalance that needs to be addressed. Pop culture allows itself to conduct and write its own history. And there’s a big sexual imbalance there, especially in pop songs. Why is two girls to every boy the norm and not two guys to every girl? Why do we say motherfucker instead of fatherfucker? If it’s not the norm, it seems controversial, but it isn’t. Why can’t we say ‘shake your dick’ when you can hear songs with men singing ‘shake your tits’ or ‘shake your ass’ from 1948? Earlier even. There’s a very serious problem here. Straight males need a sexual revolution. They need to go through everything a woman goes through. Then we can sit down and talk about stuff.”
With any luck, we will negotiate with sexual terrorists.b