When We Make Love: The Soundtracks To Our Sex

Iggy Pop: The Godfather of Abstinence

I have to confess, after reading Gawker’s post “On Choosing Sex Music,” I was reminded of a regular column that was under consideration at one point here on Glam-Racket.

The article considers the critical admiration of Rhye, a band that I am not familiar with but would wholeheartedly consider as the common thread among these critics is that this is great lovemakin’ music.

A quick side note, the article identifies a dozen songs that you’re not supposed to play during sex, of which I’m guilty of at least one Marvin Gaye song.

Do Not Play These Songs During Sex:
Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up"
George Michael's "I Want Your Sex"
Berlin's "Sex (I'm A...)"
Salt-N-Pepa's "Let's Talk About Sex"
Marcy Playground's "Sex and Candy"
Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing"
Boyz II Men's "I'll Make Love To You"
Prince's "Do Me, Baby"
Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On"
Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love"
Nine Inch Nails' "Closer"
N.W.A.'s "Fuck the Police"

The column that I was considering was an actual review of an album that was played during lovemaking. I even went as far as to ask my wife if something like that would make her feel uncomfortable, but almost immediately, I was given the green light.

Yet something stopped me from actually following through, namely because the idea was really stupid and I can’t imagine anyone giving a shit about the music that my wife and I listen to while we get behind closed doors.

The entire premise changed too many times to come to fruition, anyway. One draft would focus more on the wife’s perception of the music (which sometimes was non-existent) while another would end up as nothing more than a regular review of the record.

The most disturbing drafts matched the music with the actual act itself, and the results were just as creepy as you can imagine. Then there was the review of the spontaneous playlist that I prepared immediately before, but any such review would have to begin with the admission that the playlist began with the god-awful Berlin song “When We Make Love” off 1984’s Love Life.

Since we’re being honest, here are some notes from the lost drafts of this canceled column.

Channel Orange was considered “weird” by the Mrs. And obviously, that’s not a good thing.

Richard Hawley was too distracting.

Avalon is only the tip of the iceberg. For Your Pleasure is a close second and Flesh + Blood sometimes ranks as good as the last Roxy Music effort.

You can never go wrong with Pantha Du Prince, King Tubby, or any mix by Pete Tong.

Teddy Pendergrass should not be used unless you intend on working through at least one compilation side. There should never be any leftovers with Teddy.

Same thing goes for Barry White.

Marvin Gaye only in moderation.

Prince beyond 1999 is not recommended and the first two are essential.

I once had to turn off an Earth Wind & Fire record. It wasn’t working for me.

As exciting as learning more about the sex life of my wife and I must seem, the reality is that we’re usually to lazy to think beyond the 80’s Channel in our DirecTV music line-up. We’ve got that shit hot keyed, yo, and we play Russian Roulette with certain songs. If Kenny Loggins’ “I’m Free” comes on during the sweet love down by the fire, it means that we contract Chlamydia.

More than anything, the reason why I could not get behind the idea of a regular column like that is because it’s really none of your business. It’s fun to talk about once in a while and it’s a topic that I’m obviously not afraid of, but to bullet point the periods of our sexual activity is something I don’t want to have a digital record of.

I want to have an emotional record of those events, and as this blog attempts to remind everyone: the records themselves are the perfect compliment to any emotional event that life provides.

Roxy Music - The Complete Studio Recordings

A few years ago, I named Bryan Ferry’s Olympia release as worthy enough to receive the Roxy Music moniker. The argument went that the Roxy personnel all took part in its creation (including Brian Eno) so why not just used the brand name?

I had a chance to review that brand recently, thanks to the newly issued Roxy Music box set, The Complete Studio Recordings 1972 – 1982. And while I still would have no trouble with calling Olympia a Roxy Music album, the new box set has provided me with a renewed appreciation of why Ferry decided to leave well enough alone, because what they accomplished during their 8 studio records is already better than “well enough.”

The Complete Studio Recordings 1972 – 1982 is a ten-disc collection of those eight records, with the additional two housing the band’s debut single (“Virginia Plain” may be worth the price of admission alone), their b-sides, and the endless mixes and remixes that were all of the Avalon singles.

Since we’ve already seen Roxy Music’s catalog reissued with the allure of re-mastered mixes, and since The Thrill Of It All had already served as a boxed compendium, why would anyone need to revisit the band in another career overview?

For me, it was a matter of simple mathematics. Having not gotten beyond a well worn, first generation cd of Avalon (that after a well-worn vinyl version from the friends at Columbia House) and some equally hissy copies of a few other titles, I knew that I’d eventually need to find a home for every single Roxy release. The new box set is priced low enough to hit everything at once.

That sticker price gets every release the full reproduction gatefold sleeves and, perhaps more importantly considering our trend on the loudness wars, a completely tinker-free mix of the recordings themselves.

This set represents the original mixes-for better or worse in some cases-with no hint of compression or eq’ing. That’s important when dealing with a band like Roxy Music, who seemed completely focused on their attention to detail..

“For worse” would be the awful mix that hindered the debut, to the point where Bryan Ferry himself wanted to redo the entire album for years after, because of the record’s unforgiving mix. They got better-as in remarkably better-on the follow-up For Your Pleasure, which finds Ferry exerting his dominance over Eno in the band’s arrangements.

In fact, For Your Pleasure not only shows the band to continue to grow without the aid of Eno’s input, it also finds them growing better as his role diminished. For Your Pleasure secures the band’s place in history even as their sophomore offering, and it’s just one of many discoveries that I found from The Complete Studio Recordings.

There’s two other must have releases, featured in their original and intended mixes that are, without question, deserving of everyone’s record collection: Siren and Avalon. Each effort shows the band in periods of enviable growth and brimming confidence. All three records taken in once again show a band perfectly adaptable at reinventing themselves, seemingly without sounding as if they were even setting out to do exactly that. They stumble into the career building moments with such ease that it makes the entire Eno departure feel like a necessary decision that allowed the band to become as great as they were.

But the real treat with The Complete Studio Recordings is re-examining Roxy Music’s other records, which pale only because that aforementioned trio of essential records shine so brightly.

I remembered being drawn to Country Life as a teenager, most assuredly for its risqué cover and confirmation of Bryan Ferry’s prowess as a ladies man. I am now drawn to it entirely from its content inside. It is a collection of consistent growth, finding the band very comfortable with their fashion and abilities as musicians. This is the sound of a band working hard at their craft, while donning a business casual clothing sense during the rehearsal time.

By Manifesto! the band is acting the part of royal statesmen while Flesh + Blood-a personal favorite that’s much maligned by others outside of the Roxy faithful-begins to show signs of a new subgenre, one whose name doesn’t even exist.

I understand the complaints of how Flesh + Blood is nothing more than a tepid return from a lengthy (by 1980 standards) hiatus, but for me it sounds like a victory lab before unleashing what would become the band’s signature opus, Avalon.

Avalon benefits the most from the 2012 mix as it leaves the record’s rich texture and subtle dynamics in tact, a rare feat during a time when most re-issues are met with a tradition of mixing records of some note to cater to the thin fidelity of today’s earbud generation.

The Complete Studio Recordings 1972 – 1982 hints at a much different era. It reflects a time when bands were given a wide birth in order to grow and develop. It also demonstrates how this freedom can actually lend itself to fostering an environment where a band can become great on its own, through natural selection and just plain old stubbornness.

It is a necessary document of the band’s legacy and consistency, one that’s needed not only out of the duty that’s created from their influence, but for the sheer enjoyment of listening to a band grow, develop, and become great.

What makes it such a requirement is how it shows that Roxy managed to do that not just once or twice, but for at least three of titles included with this collection. And to be able to achieve this in the span of a decade makes this box set not only complete, but completely essential.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Bryan Ferry - Olympia

I’m straight-up hetero, but there’s part of me that believes Bryan Ferry could pitch enough woo to successfully get me to drop my trousers like an uglier, hairier Country Life model.

The ban from Wal-Mart would be justifiable and necessarily swift.

Olympia does much to get my naughty parts tingly, mainly prompted by the record’s unabashed nod to Roxy’s quintessential soundtrack for gettin’ it on, Avalon. Like a found bottle of Hai Karate, Olympia brings back a lot of the same sound and textures, making it a no-brainer for any fan of that Roxy Music album.

And the gangs all here too: Phil Manzanera, Andy Mackay-hell, even Brian Eno shows up-making this record as close to an Avalon follow-up as you could ever have.

What makes it more of an Avalon or solo-Ferry effort than-sigh-a For Your Pleasure follow-up is that he’s made a career out of this sort of pillow talk cool to ever want to return to his art-school youth.

Besides, models are easier than the Camus-welding sect, and they call for a driver to pick them up in the morning.

The guest list isn’t just restricted to Roxy-alumni and cover girls (this time it’s Kate Moss).  That suave fuck Ferry managed to melt the hearts of David Gilmour, Johnny Greenwood, Nile Rodgers, and Flea to help him give his new label’s promotional department with an enviable amount of co-stars for the press release.

What you won’t read in the factoids is how two of Olympia’s tracks, “Alphaville” and “You Can Dance,” are leftovers from an aborted Ferry album from the 90’s produced with Dave Stewart. The project was tentatively titled Alphaville, and these re-worked versions here are much more sonically pleasing than Stewart’s dated production values on the original, particularly on the opener “You Can Dance.”

It could have easily been titled “True To Life.” like it was originally known when it was first released on Avalon.

Thankfully, there are enough examples of modern-day lushness to not put Olympia entirely on the New Romantic revival bandwagon. You’ll hear moments of weird electronics that pop in an out of the mix and small bits of dialogue creep behind the layers of guitar, synthesizers, and perennial soulful female backing vocals.

When he tackles Tim Buckley’s “Song To The Siren,” I’m weak in the knees; there’s little within his version that can convince me otherwise that Ferry is one of the best song interpreters in the business today.

By “Reason Or Rhyme,” Ferry’s voice displays toils from age as he pleads, “Wherever you are/Whenever you speak/These are the moments in my life/That I seek.”  Yes, even when groveling in front of love like a desperate, aged bachelor, he sounds positively passionate in his sincerity.

Be still my beating heart.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Corroncho - Corroncho

Admittedly, I’m no expert or authority on salsa music, Cumbia, or any other kind of Latin music-so take everything I say with a grain of salt and a shot of Tequila.

Corroncho is an album/collaboration between Roxy Music guitarist Phil Manzanera and Columbian artist/sculptor Lucho Brieva. They began taking shape after working with Chrissie Hynde on the Spanish version of her song “Complicada.” The two men began a working relationship between 2003 – 2008 and that material is now presented n Corroncho.

The record breezes through several different genres with guests like Hynde, Robert Wyatt, Annie Lennox, and a bunch of other players that I’m too lazy to look up. And while the genres may not always follow a Latin path, all of the songs presented are sung or spoken in Spanish with Manzanera providing flawless production and performances underneath.

It’s presented as a loosely knit concept album that I cannot adequately explain or translate. It’s described as songs about two corroncho characters, which I learned was a derogatory term in Columbia, so if this offends, blame the two parties involved please.

Corroncho is a pleasing effort, if nothing more than of a background flavor for adult cotemporary aficionados and timid world music explorers. There’s very little not to like, to be honest, but very little to remember too.

Yes, there are moments of Roxy Music that can be found and yes, Manzanera shines as a wonderfully understated and versatile player, but those seeking out something revelatory about the guitarist or looking for an introduction to Brieva’s other artistic endeavors, Corroncho remains as a nothing more than a lite background pleasantry.

Here's To Ben!

Just did a review for the new Bryan Ferry album, in which I referred to Mr. Ferry as one "suave fuck."

I'm a fan of David Lynch-not so much of Fire Walk With Me or Lost Highway-and the reference used for my Olympia review was blatantly lifted from one of my favorite scenes from Blue Velvet.



And I can't tell this story enough:

Over the summer, E was outside playing and C was upstairs napping, providing yours truly with some quality Me time. I saw that Eraserhead was playing on one of indie-movie channels like IFC or Sundance.

Anyway, I begin watching it and E decides to come in right around the time time of the Lady in the Radiator scene. He notices her cheeks are really messed up and he begins to ask all sorts of questions about the movie, the characters, and the general lack of a linear plot.

By the time the larvae baby is murdered, he exclaims that he "Shouldn't be watching this!" which prompts me to break out in hysterics.

I hope he appreciates these moments when he gets older.

I'll never thank my Dad enough for taking me to Blackula.