Another busy week; busy enough to put me off expending any energy on the ritual travesties of the Mercury Music Prize. Then again, I guess holding out hopes for a Voice Of The Seven Thunders nomination would’ve been more deranged than optimistic; and there have been worse shortlists. Fingers crossed for Wild Beasts, or, indeed, for “critics’ favourites” the XX. Finally playing These New Puritans, as I type…
The defining moment of this year’s Lovebox – possibly, even, of any festival this year – comes about 10 minutes into Peaches’ Sunday afternoon set. It’s already got off to a colourful start. We’re greeted by the sight of the electro provocateur arriving on stage wearing a head-to-toe coat that appears to be made of raggedy fibres. This is soon dispensed with, and she cavorts in what resembles an S&M bra and panties kit, wearing some kind of gimp mask. So far, so odd. Then it gets really weird. This, it transpires, is not Peaches....
