I was browsing iTunes this week, searching for distractions to avoid whatever I was actually supposed to be doing, when something caught my eye and revealed I had apparently grown old overnight.
It was the music charts, featuring sex. And lots of it. At 1—“Dirty Talk” (Wynter Gordon), At 3—“S&M” (Rihanna), At 9—“Tonight (I’m F****n’ You)” (Enrique Iglesias, clearly reluctant to beat around the bush).
At 10—‘Hold It Against Me’ (no thanks, Britney Spears). At 13—‘I Just Had Sex’ (The Lonely Island). And that’s not including Katy Perry at 4, waxing lyrical about alien probing in ‘E.T.’
My initial reaction was summed up quite nicely by Avril Lavigne at 12. “What The Hell?”
Indeed.
Hailing from the bastion of cheap, student-accessible live music in Manchester, UK, I’ve always considered myself to be a bit of a music buff. That I’m actually not nearly a music buff and once liked Five Star is neither here nor there.
I used to go out and see bands all the time, usually in dingy little venues with history, heart and soul, and no small amount of sticky carpets.
I love music. I play a bit myself and even had a band once, which fell apart when it became clear that although our music was pretty good, we just couldn’t agree on a name.
To me, music is about expressing emotion, telling stories, or just plain fun. It’s also great for wallowing when someone dumps you for the loser you always thought you were but weren’t quite sure. OK, it can also be about sex, but surely there are limits.
Hot alien abductions? Getting excited by whips and chains?
I remember a time back in the 80s and 90s when the most sordid thing was Sabrina appearing on Top of the Pops in her bra, or basically anything Madonna came up with.
Or was it?
At this point I should admit that we’re going to deviate just slightly from what I had originally written, before I did some good old-fashioned internet research and was reminded of a few things. It’s a shame, because what I had originally written was very funny.
Instead, I am now forced to remember just how the music charts have always skirted the edge of the porn plateau.
When I Touch Myself (the Divinyls), I Want Your Sex (George Michael), Let’s Talk About Sex (Salt’n’Pepa), Touch Me (All Night Long) (Cathy Dennis), I Wanna Sex You Up (Color Me Badd), Sexual Healing (Marvin Gaye), You Sexy Thing (Hot Chocolate), Do Me, Baby (Prince), Cream (Prince again), Come (still Prince), Gett Off (yawn), Horny Pony (let’s stop there), and my all time favourite: Boom Boom Boom (Let’s Go Back To My Room) (Paul Lekakis), are just a few examples.
I’m also pretty sure there was an entire song on C&C Music Factory’s debut album whose chorus consisted entirely of women moaning. Of course, I can’t confirm this because the tape has long since worn away.
So despite my initial reaction of shock and horror at this week’s music chart, in reality I shouldn’t be too surprised at all. Even as I’m confronted on the TV by Lady Gaga and Katy Perry going at it dressed as cherry-topped muffins, or that girl from Australian Idol jiggling her lady lumps to the dude named after the dog in Charlie Brown.
You see, the genre didn’t evolve, I did.
Despite being responsible for writing my failed band’s single greatest never-to-be-released song “Porn Shtar” (it was worse than you think), I fell foul of getting older, losing my memory and forgetting that stuff like this never bothered me.
Sing-a-long sex has always been there. It might be better produced and with fleshier videos, but the lyrics and titles, bumping and grinding remains the same.
In fact, after reminding myself of Prince’s back catalogue, I’ve got to question whether we’ve actually gone backwards.
Enrique Iglesias may think it’s cool to throw expletives into his title, but at least Prince’s songs were f****n’ good.
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