F**********r

Album Review

The acclaim and exposure Peaches received for her debut album, The Teaches of Peaches, definitely didn't inspire her to make her act more mainstream for her second album. If anything, from its title on down, F**********r is even more explicit and outre. That Peaches is still trying new things and pushing the envelope should be a good thing; sometimes it is, but there's a limit to just how far sheer outrageousness will take her. In fact, F**********r's most "outrageous" moments are its weakest: the album's opening track, "I Don't Give a ...," loops Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" while Peaches screams "I don't give a f*ck, I don't give a sh*t." It's an explosive introduction to the album, but not a particularly good one. Likewise, "Rock 'n' Roll" apes her debut's "Rock Show" with diminished results, and "Kick It," the duet between Peaches and Iggy Pop, should be more exciting than it actually it is (was "some people don't like my crotch" the best they could come up with?). These songs, along with the potty-grade sexuality of "Shake Yer Dix," could give the mistaken impression that Peaches is just rehashing her previous work with less creativity, but that's not entirely true. Several of F**********r's tracks rival and surpass The Teaches of Peaches when it comes to being witty, sexy, and danceable at the same time: the stark beats on "I'm the Kinda" leave all the more room for Peaches to name-check Sodom, Gomorrah, and Rocky Balboa; "I U She" celebrates try-sexuality with drums like a revving engine; and "Back It Up, Boys" is a booty-shaking tribute to the right side of men's backsides. Interestingly, the cooler, atmospheric songs on F**********r are its best and most immediate moments, as opposed to the buzzy electro-pop songs that dominated The Teaches of Peaches. "The Inch" and "Bag It" close out the album with a spare, eerie sexiness, but the album's best songs are — perhaps not coincidentally — its least blatantly sexual. On the vampish "Operate," Peaches preys on some unsuspecting, unconscious man to use for experimental surgery, while on the whispery electro-blues of "Tombstone, Baby" it sounds like she's on the lam (possibly for carving up that guy in the previous song). In some ways, it's too bad that Peaches didn't wait to come up with more full-fledged tracks like these to flesh out the album; as it stands, there are enough good tracks to make a solid mini-album. People looking to finally cremate electroclash's remains will find some fuel for the fire here, but ultimately this album is neither the triumph or the disaster that it could've been.