For me, no band, ever, has better captured the feeling of nostalgia, of warm summer days, of platonic love and the happy-go-lucky experience of solo travel quite like Vancouver indie-rock powerhouse, Peach Pit.
During the depths of COVID lockdowns, I’d seen them play a “live” show through zoom. But I’d given up hope they’d ever travel down under. But then, on some glorious weekday – they announced their tour. Instantly, I scarfed up tickets. Since then, it’s been an exhilarating wait, that honestly made me a bit nauseous with excitement. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one. Their first show sold out so quickly, even with a venue upgrade. And their second show was essentially sold out as well, with a mere straggler of tickets left. We were certainly showing the 5-piece our appreciation.
The energy at Northcote Theatre was absolutely infectious. There was a buzz in the air that made the hairs on my arm stand up straight. Australian up-and-comers Eliza and The Delusionals played an ultra-short, ultra-punchy set. Ripping through some excellent tracks from their new album; Now and Then, as well as their superb collection of singles. We were in the mood and absolutely ready to rumble.
The next hour and a half have made writing a review nearly impossible. It’s rare you see a perfect set. But there is no better word for it than, perfect. Neil Smith on lead vocals and rhythm guitar, Chris Vanderkooy on lead guitars, bassist Peter Wilton and drummer Mikey Pascuzzi have come such a long way, even in three years. They are not the same band now as the band I watched, cooped up in my room, playing thousands of kilometres away. The addition of multi-instrumentalist Dougal Bain McClean (some people have all the luck), has undeniably helped push them into new heights of “chewed bubble-gum pop” perfection.
As the stage turns red, and spotlights flicker over the crowd, I see Smith’s bouncing mane of hair before anything else. Quickly, he’s followed by Vanderkooy, The Moustached Maestro as I affectionately call him. The rest of the band appears onstage, and we are faced with 5 dudes, in t-shirts and jeans. Not too baggy, not too tight. They’re Just Some Guys. But don’t let looks fool you. These averages Joe’s are about to do something crazy to my brain chemistry.
For context, Peach Pit have a melancholic take on surf pop. Their songs are heavy with slow, soulful vocals and driving lead guitar breaks. So, I was a little shocked when the fellas launch into a cover of Slayer’s Raining Blood. Smith steps up to the microphone and in his best metal voice growls for us to “get the fuck up motherfuckers”. He is a whirling dervish of curly hair and devil-hands as the instrumental cover rages. Suddenly, it stops, and we are taken into Being So Normal. There are perhaps no two songs less compatible. But god does it work. Instantly, I’m taken somewhere else. “Show ‘em Chris!” Neil moves over to let his high school friend work his magic on that fretboard.
The volume of songs Peach Pit have in their repertoire, is unbelievable. For a band less than a decade old, the setlist is 22 songs long, and there isn’t a weak link amongst them. Having released their third album, From 2 to 3, last year, I was expecting that to be the track list for the evening. I was wrong. “Because this is our first time here, we’re going to be playing lots of older stuff! For all of you who’ve bought our merch and waited so patiently. Thanks, so much guys! We love you!”
The next hour is a blur. From driving drums and twinkling guitars of 17-year-old Nikki’s favourite song, aptly named Seventeen, to the shredding guitars of Psychics in LA – this set has it all. Old fans, new fans, stragglers off the street – everyone is jumping around, waving their hands in the air, transported to another plane of musical ecstasy. Go with your friends! That was when Smith says “This song is for when your best friend really pisses you off” you can share a look and laugh through the opening notes of Vicky. Go with your heartbroken friend, so you can scream the permanently-stuck-in-my-head hook of Shampoo Bottles. Go with your stoner friends so you can sway to the stoned lullaby that is Tommy’s Party arm-in-arm. Remember the better times. Be like the two guys in front of me, hugging and looking into each other’s eyes.
I’m so glad you’re alive!
I’m glad I’m alive too!
Fuck yeah, dudes. It’s hard not to be with Peach Pit as your soundtrack.
Private Presley has been in my top 5 favourite songs since its release. Wedged between the melancholic love-song that is Figure 8, and the summer picnic banger to end all summer picnic banger’s, Up Granville, it’s a surprise. Those early, gentle guitar notes slide over my eardrums, and I’m spellbound. Vanderkooy’s guitarwork and Smith’s pitch-perfect, dulcet vocals lull me into a dream. McClean comes out on fiddle, and the way he plays is so mournful, so beautiful, so heavenly it makes me want to scream. As we hit the climax of the song; all messy guitars, feedback, and flying hair, I realise this show is going to be one for the ages. Peach Pit is many people’s first introduction to the band, it’s slow, it’s sad, it’s iconic. Smith barely has to sing as the crowd carries us from verse to verse, chorus to chorus. A high school anthem for some, breakup song for others, and something else entirely for most – it’s an absolute showstopper.
Undeniably, and unsurprisingly, one of the highlights for the evening is Alrighty Aphrodite. The lights go orange, Smith abandons his guitar for his iconic, stoic dancing and I pick my jaw up off the floor. This song is So. Fucking. Sexy. It starts slow, with delayed guitar so it sounds like it’s wafting through fog. It’s gentle drumming feels like footsteps. The bass is present and driving. Smith’s vocals are haunting, gentle and sturdy. Exactly like the goddess for which it’s named; it’s magical, mysterious, thalassic, beautiful, and hot as hell. It infects my arms and legs, and my body is no longer mine, I follow where Peach Pit take me, and I happily resign myself to my fate.
As our penultimate finale, Chagu’s Sideturn is so high-energy, so fun, that the ache in my legs from standing is gone, and all I can think about is summertime. It’s so quintessentially Peach Pit. It reminds me of growing up in Seattle. I taste the ocean air of the Pacific Northwest; I stand under those blue skies. I want to curl up in a lawn chair with a Carlton Dry. Chris is an absolute God on the guitar. A force of nature. These guys are proof that simple, skilful musicianship can never be beaten. They dance together, hug while playing and are grinning ear to ear. They might be more stoked to be here than us.
We do a cheer for their Aussie guitar tech, Adam, and with another laugh and lick of the guitar strings, they’re off. Immediately, I’m aching for more. Luckily for me, I had bought tickets to experience the joy, the mystique and the indescribable resonance that is Peach Pit. Whatever it is, these guys have it. Go on and get a taste for yourself. But be warned, once you try some, it’ll become your favourite meal.