Album Review: Sax for Sex Volume 1
As a man in my mid-20′s, I am not so naive as to think that marketers haven’t caught on to the fact that men will click on pretty much anything with boobs on it. So naturally I was intrigued when, during my usual Tuesday ritual of scanning new releases on Rdio, I saw “Sex for Sax Volume 1″.
Sax Sells – And I’m Buying
Billed as “Sensual smooth Jazzy Sax Lounge Music for Massage or Love Making” (say that 3 times fast), the album’s cover art looks like a scene ripped straight from the pages of your mom’s sauciest Harlequin novel. As fair warning, pretty much everything that follows this sentence will be NSFW.
Gadzooks! It appears that poor woman has misplaced her clothing. Never fear – a nearby
Abercrombie greeter yoga instructor promptly put an end to that problem by latching onto her like a spider monkey. Unfortunately,the woman was still maimed in the incident as the thumb on her right hand has completely gone missing. At least she didn’t mess up that perfect bun.
This callous affront to decency was placed precariously close to the new Jonas Brothers single (Pom Poms – not the subject of this review), which made me feel a little uneasy about the whole thing.
The cover art certainly sells this as an erotic nuclear bomb – but would the album hold up to my intense musical criticisms? This would be my first foray into sensual lounge music – and the sad fact is that I came woefully unprepared for what would happen next.
Safe Sax: It Requires Some Planning
The law should mandate that Sax for Sex: Volume 1 come affixed with a warning label. This album is the most powerful aphrodisiac on the market today.
Kids – if you’re saving yourself for marriage, stay the hell away from this album. As for everyone else – I’d still recommend you don a solid steel chastity belt and give the key to somebody you trust and are not even remotely sexually attracted to.
Whatever you do, don’t listen to this collection in public. If you’re thinking of pushing “play” on this masterpiece, stop. Take the necessary precautions. Are the doors closed? Are you alone? Is your cellphone far out of reach (preferably across the city)? If so, good. You’re as ready as you can be to dive into this lusty woodwind cesspool.
Nobody Forgets Their First Time
The album starts off with a little jazz number called “Capture the Sun (Ibiza Del Mar Mix)” (so as not to confuse you with what I’m sure are the countless other mixes of this song out there). The track is aptly titled; by the time I hit the second verse I was sweating so profusely I thought I’d captured the sun in my Levi’s.
A classy, understated guitar riff blows the bath robe wide open for the scorching sax line that comes down upon you in a raunchy firestorm. The whole experience can be summed up as “sweltering” and by the end of the song I was squirming in my chair. It was like Kenny G himself had unleashed a napalm strike and I was his unsuspecting target.
“Flying in Circles (Balearic Chill Guitar Mix)” kept the sauna steaming with a finger-picked opener that feels like an unholy cupid just took aim at your erogenous zones. In good fashion, the sax wafts in like the perfume of a beautiful woman, then throws you head first down the stairway of bliss with unapologetic trills that will tug at the buttons of your shirt.
When the nameless seducer cried out “Let me hear it go woa-oh!” in the opening refrain of “Let me be your fantasy (La Nuit Voyage Mix – seriously folks, I can’t make this crap up), I was already begging for mercy. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was suffering an anaphylactic shock. I was downright allergic to this level of impassioned reed blowing.
This record is a cacophony of slow, rising synthesizers, softly meandering beats, tenderly plucked strings and saxophone work that will make you feel like Ryan Gosling whispered sweet nothings in your ear for an entire month.
Hitting The Climax
By the time I hit “People Can’t Stop Chillin”, I was struggling to hide my appreciation for this fine sax compilation from the others in my office (also known as the worst possible place to turn this on). I’d challenge anyone who calls themselves a sexual being to listen to the sultry saxophone line that erupts at 0:49 and NOT find themselves gyrating against their monitor.
Tragedy nearly struck when, during the chaos, my headphones came loose from the laptop and spilled the lewd lounge hymns through the workplace like an airborne virus. Thankfully I was able to wrestle the pin back into the jack, an action that both alleviated the situation and made it incomprehensibly worse.
I was in a cold sweat. I needed a glass of champagne more than at any other point in my 25 year history and I inexplicably found myself Googling local providers of bulk bagged rose petals. As I somehow navigated my way through the next few tracks, my work began to take a turn for the worse. An e-mail intended to explain my strategy to a client contained no less than three instances of the word “moist” and I’d signed it off
It would have taken the entire LA Lakers roster to restrain me from making love to the mail lady had she chosen that untimely moment to deliver our Culligan bill.
Sax Addict: Knowing When To Quit
In honesty, I could only make it to “You Are The Only One For Me (Nights in White Satin Love Mix)” before I had to forcibly slam the “stop” button, leave my computer and take a long, cold shower . My testosterone had spiked so hard that my usual five o’clock shadow had gone full-on Gandalf. I’d sent compromising texts to everyone from my boss to my chiropractor and I’d placed an online order for 30 pounds of mussels. This album is a one-way ticket to unlocking your primal urges and you’re in for a seriously bumpy ride.
Only one question remained: Who could have produced such a thing?
I decided to dig deeper into Ragimusic, the label behind this insipid auditory succubus. As it would turn out, the company has put out other fine (much less lascivious) compilations like “The Psychflowers – 60′s a GoGo” (which disturbingly appears to use a similar font to Sax for Sex – see bottom)
As I flipped through the company’s corporate blog, I learned the real story behind Sax for Sex: Volume 1. I’d link to their myspace, but I don’t want to cause any unwanted pregnancies.
Saxual Healing: The Doctor is In
Ragimusic is the label name of Ragi Swelim, a producer from Frankfurt, Germany. He’s put out more albums than Kiss and he’s got an incredible penchant for putting well endowed women on the cover of virtually all of them (spare that cute little 60′s album above). He apparently once worked as a manager for Sony Music and Logic Records before deciding he wanted to help men across the globe overcome erectile dysfunction.
In his blog, he recounted the tale of his attempts to compile the songs for the album – which of course required that he listen to the entire thing multiple times. The process took him no less than five years, during which he fathered nine children, co-authored “50 Shades of Grey” and founded the most active club for swingers in the nation.
Saxually Transmitted Disease: A Serious Concern
This album stands as testament that music is powerful. If you have children, don’t let them listen this. If you don’t want more, don’t listen to it either. But if you do, rest assured that this raucous collection of sexual anthems will more than do the trick.
But that said, practice safe sax. The consequences of listening to this album are both many and serious. You might want to ease yourself in to lounge music before plunging head first below the untamed waters of passion herein. Ragi makes Marvin Gaye and Barry White sound like a Raffi album.
In conclusion, I can only hope that this is just the first of several volumes for the “Sax for Sex” franchise. Rarely in life do you find an album so powerful that you wish you’d worn looser pants.