Slangy, tacky, full of debauchery, amateur: these are the words that “music gurus” such as Pitchfork Media have used to describe The Peaches. Well, I am telling you that there is nothing else you should be listening to this Valentine's Day.

The Peaches are not subtle, they are the dominatrices of the music world. They are looking to pin you with their high heels, give you a tongue lashing and then finish it off with a slap on your ass to put you on your way. The albums are unabashed and overflowing with vulgarity. What makes them so appealing is that they turn the ordinary, feminine side of sexual encounters, into dirty, lustful and straight up raunchy lyrics that make the skin of heterosexual men crawl.

And isn't that the point of punk music? Even more, isn't that the goal of women living in the modern world? To take what is traditional, their status as meek and mild, and turn the voice that is in their head into their persona? The pro-sex feminist rockers are utilizing a performance art medium to reach the audience. What boy would choose a nice girl over a sexual predator?

Back to the music, it has been dubbed electro-clash, but it maintains its grimey punk roots. Meaning that any and all extras, or pretty sounds, have been stripped away in lieu of the deep and dirty grit sound that classifies the genre. It has a beat, but again, the main purpose for the bands existence is performance art. Remember Akinele (for those hip-hop fans out there), the music was not what mattered, it was the message. Also, we do not recommend that you, for any reason, see The Peaches live unless you want to be witness to jutting out pubic hair, sweat and blow up penises. What we do encourage, is purchasing the CD and playing it for a room full of good looking friends. Not that voyeuristic? Play it for your girlfriend; she'll be more likely than not to take the reigns.