It only takes a glance at the stage to appreciate the difficulties Peppercorn faces in the music industry. At a time when young, pretty black women are expected to be soul or hip-hop divas, she is a fledgling rock star, wielding her own - albeit acoustic - guitar, singing like a hybrid of Tracy Chapman and Alanis Morissette to the music of Jimi Hendrix. And for her live show, she is joined by a five-piece band whose every member is white and male. Perhaps she has chosen this band to exaggerate her own uniqueness; perhaps even she is resigned to the prevailing notion that rock isn't the province of black people, least of all black women. Either way, the band's composition sits a little uneasily beside Peppercorn's feminist stance, and her voice isn't best served by its aggressive rock.
Most of these songs were probably written on acoustic guitar, and they struggle to maintain their identity in the midst of all the crunching electric riffs and boisterous solos. This isn't to say that Peppercorn should change tack and become a folk singer, simply that the music lacks contrast, and space for her vocals to stretch out. Her voice is a strange, vibrant instrument and she uses it in intriguing ways, squeezing words out between clenched teeth to make them curve unexpectedly. But it is only when the band quieten down, at the start of Brutal and for the piano-led Sweet One, that those words can really be heard.
The rapport between Peppercorn and her musicians is undeniable, however. One guitarist spends the entire show blithely singing along, and Peppercorn looks so relaxed she radiates. She is a charismatic frontwoman, which is important, as her set is full of regrettably cheesy moments: a homage to Bob the Builder that demands audience participation, an ill-advised spurt of rap in the middle of Sweet One, a frantic cover version of Crosstown Traffic. Somehow, she gets away with all of this.
Eventually it dawns that there could even be an advantage to her performing with an all-white male band. They are a constant reminder that Peppercorn's music aims to be inclusive. For all the songs about sexism, downtrodden women and the marvellousness of her mother, Peppercorn's address is universal and her agenda less feminist than individualist. This is particularly clear in the encore, which partners Free Love (with its earnest chorus of "Why aren't we giving it?") and the anthemic Bowing to Convention, something she says she has "no intention of ever, ever doing". In the latter, Peppercorn invites those who would have her conform to "kiss my ass". Her entire set is imbued with this sassiness; it's precisely what makes her so appealing.
