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.

Teddy Pendergrass R.I.P.

I’m burning a copy of Teddy Pendergrass’ Anthology for a co-worker. She’s a single, black woman in her mid-thirties who moved to Iowa from the South side of Chicago. She’s working to support her two school age boys and-from what I’ve heard from others in the office-she’s also dealing with her Mom’s health, causing her a few drives back to Chicago and a few days of FMLA. She’s a hard worker and she doesn’t suffer fools well. She’s the one who told me about Teddy Pendergrass passing.
I have to credit Brad Company for even considering Teddy. He worked for a record store and a used copy of the album Teddy came across the counter. Brad praised Teddy’s prowess and knack for knockin’ the ladies.
In short: Teddy Pendergrass should definitely be on the shortlist of your mixtape for coitus.
Don’t believe me? Check out the “Live Medley” on Anthology, where Teddy does a goddamn suave into to the band and backing singers and then proceeds to kiss the audience on the neck and behind the ear by telling them how important they are to him. Then Teddy reminds the crowd how he began with Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes and he proceeds to start a medley of some popular songs with them. He starts with “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” and you can literally hear all the women in the audience orgasm after he utters the first three words of the song.
He got my co-worker talking, that’s for sure.
“Luther’s (Vandross) gone. Now Teddy’s gone. There’s no one left.”
She did go on to say how she saw Freddie Jackson on an old rerun of Family Matters and how her two boys think Michael Jackson is the shit-just like she did when she was their age.
I remember thinking it was a bit weird that there was a transvestite in his car the night of his car accident. Now I understand that if you’ve fucked as much trim as Pendergrass did, you probably go out of your way to find new forms of excitement, including befriending chicks with dicks.
Idiocyncracies and fetishes aside, Teddy had a great set of pipes and an impeccable sense of drama. That climaxing crowd was not much of an exaggeration and Pendergrass did it all by continually projecting that those songs were as intimate as if he was undoing the back of their bras.
Plus, as my friend Brad pointed out “Teddy doesn’t just ask you to do something…he tells you to do it.” It’s not ‘Could you turn of the lights please?’ it’s ‘Turn ‘em off!’ Pendergrass had such authority that he could drop the drawers on nearly anyone in earshot of the speaker and that’s what made him a badass on top of being a remarkable vocalist.
See you later, Teddy.
Heaven better lock up the daughters now that you’re there.