Las Vegas Weekly

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Do not. Piss off. Peaches. "I'm going to come back in 15 minutes when my sound is as good as over there," she yells into the mic, violently pointing to the DJ booth just a few feet over from which M!KEATTACK warmed up the room. " ... Because I'm not a f*cking showpiece. I want to do a good show for you!” Even the veins in her face are getting riled up.

I'm squished up against a speaker and a unicorn with baby heads for nipples is dancing above me. It matches Peaches’ shoulder piece. It is disturbing. My iPhone is in danger of getting sprayed with champagne, but I can't stop snapping pictures. A grind saw throws sparks off a go-go’s crotch at my scalp.

Peaches soothes us with her “sensitive side” on “Private Dancer.” Who knew she sounded so much like Tina?

I feel like I’m in the basement of Webster Hall. The confetti piling up in my cleavage, the view of the Strip behind Peaches as she squats on a table to tweak her sound and the fact that people can still annoy me with smoke indoors reminds me that this is Vegas. When M!KEATTACK takes the sound system back and "Tootsee Roll" plays, it's quite a culture shock.