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.

Frank Ocean - Nostalgia, Ultra

More melodic than Channel Orange, but not as compelling.

But don’t let that stop you.

Frank Ocean’s debut isn’t really a debut, but something that the kids call a “mix tape,” which somehow diminishes the entire outlook of Nostalgia, Ultra before you put the playback head to the magnetic tape.

Beginning with the stunning cover of Coldplay’s “Strawberry Swing,” a psychedelic dreamscape of youthful nostalgia, the song becomes overtaken by an alarm clock, waking Ocean from the golden slumbers of his memorable cover, before segueing into the first great song that he’s composed.  “Novacane” is a fascinating character study of Southern California plasticity through the eyes of a wide-eyed Ocean who sees the tragedy of a beauty lost, of potential unfulfilled, and of the general view of entitlement that his Orange County acquaintances possess. Yet like a southern gentleman, he points out the positive when his druggy stripper friend declares how she’d like to be a dentist one day, adding, “At least she’s working.”

Speaking of “wide-eyed,” Ocean channels a bit of Stanley Kubrick’s memory, including entire sections of “Eyes Wide Shut” underneath “Love Crimes,” and advising listeners that “this is some revolutionary shit” on par with the late director.

That would come later, but Nostalgia, Ultra certainly hints at it and is far better than anything that’s typically given away to fans.

Of course, one person who doesn’t know this kind of generosity-Don Henley-threatened to sue Ocean over the liberal use of The Eagles’ “Hotel California” during “American Wedding.”

It’s a throwaway, essentially the music with new words over the top of it (How did Ocean get the master track to do this?) and he does the same thing with the following track “Nature Feels” which lifts MGMT’s “Electric Feel.”

The only redeeming thing was that it pissed off Don Henley, and remind us of a time when MGMT were poised to becoming something great in this fickle music environment.

They never reached their fullest potential, but Ocean certainly has, transitioning from this-a formidable purveyor of “the mix tape” displaying enormous talents that would later come to fruition with his debut, Channel Orange.

Nostalgia, Ultra will be viewed as a legitimate entry, possibly too good to be given away, but too layered with easy arrangements to pose a threat to anything that he has done since.

Frank Ocean - Channel Orange

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Channel Orange has proven to be my constant companion during the last month of this brutal summer, and with it came a cooling pattern, some rain, and almost a gentle ease into fall.

While becoming immediately attracted to an album and obsessing over it immediately is nothing new; remember, it was Japandroids’ Celebration Rock that actually did the same thing during the early part of the summer. What’s different here is, while Celebration Rock made me nostalgic for a younger time, Channel Orange takes me to it almost immediately.

I’ve tried to understand it, and the best I can come up with is how it reminds me of Prince’s 1999, and how that record became a staple of the Summer of 1983. I wasn’t looking for an R&B artist to become enamored with, but WB records masterfully put “Little Red Corvette” as the second single. If you’ll recall, the title track stiffed during the winter of ’82, but it was re-released the summer of ’83 after “Little Red Corvette” and only then took off after 1999 had already gone gold, making what was a very weird new wave/pop/funk/rock album accessible to Wonder Bread folks like me.

Channel Orange doesn’t have the benefit of a strategic marketing campaign (unless you count Ocean’s own public admissions concerning his sexuality as a “campaign”) and the record is probably less accessible than 1999. But it’s a record that probably wouldn’t be here without Prince’s lead, and let’s not forget the Stevie Wonder chord progressions that pop up throughout Channel Orange’s window to the past.

These are major influences to strive for, and there have been several artists that manage to produce a single or two that manage to get to the same level of their inspiration, but very few that can submit a full length which actually does it. Channel Orange can claim this, and it does so in a way that is strikingly original, curiously strange, and melodic enough to keep listeners coming back to figure out what it is that they’re so drawn to.

What I’m drawn to is how spacious Channel Orange feels. There’s so little going on during some moments that it fools you into taking it for granted. It’s not until repeated listens before the hooks begin to unravel, and when they do, you’ll be embarrassed at how you didn’t discover them on the first listen.

Channel Orange is filled with the wide-eyed optimism of a kid from New Orleans landing into the very different culture of Orange County, California, going from one extreme (poverty, violence, Katrina) to another (materialism, priviledge, and natural beauty.

“Why she the world, when you’ve got the beach?” Ocean asks in amazement, sensing the people he’s surrounded himself with have absolutely no idea how good they’ve got it. And more importantly, how little they really know about true love.

Ocean stays close to mid-tempo grooves throughout the record and uses his incredible falsetto sparingly. Again, I’m reminded of how Prince used his falsetto almost exclusively over his first few albums, to the point where I was wishing more songs featured his natural tone.

It’s just the opposite with Channel Orange; the falsetto is filled with critical emotional weight, so when it’s used like on the “Or do you not think so far ahead? Cuz I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout forever” line during “Thinkin’ Bout You,” Ocean exposes an emotional truth that most men wouldn’t dare to let show. But here it is, on Ocean’s lead single off of his debut album.

The record’s centerpiece-the ten minute tour de force “Pyramids” shows the complexity of Ocean’s muse, as it takes listeners on a variety of different genres.

Channel Orange will undoubtedly prove to be one of those touchstone records that younger generations will be remembering for decades to come, in much the same way my generation still fawns over 1999 or Purple Rain.

And like those records, people will focus on the sexuality story just like they did with “Darling Nikki” or “Let’s Pretend We’re Married.” But beyond the superficial naughtiness-which really isn’t that naughty, just brutally honest-the real story of Channel Orange is how incredibly original and emotionally potent this record is, right out of the gate.

Even if it doesn’t remind you of those Prince records, you’d be hard pressed to find someone who’s idea of R&B music is this broad, this creative, and this challenging.