$14.99
Explicit Records
available at www.thesexalbum.com
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When I first heard about Jessica Vale’s latest release, The Sex Album, I was skeptical. It’s not generally a good indication of excellent music if you hear about an album’s ‘gimmick’ before you hear anything about the songs, and The Sex Album’s edgy concept definitely overshadowed any sense I had of what the tracks on it were like. To be fair, though, the music would have to be phenomenal to outshine the cute sexiness of the release: The Sex Album is just that, an album in which every song is comprised entirely of the sounds of people fucking.
Given this description, I was expecting something akin to an hour’s worth of screaming orgasms, or the soundtrack to an unscripted porno. Vale, though, has taken a more sophisticated approach. While the album is made from recordings of people having sex, the songs themselves are made up of samples of these sounds, and while her beats aren’t lacking in suggestion, you could get away with playing the resulting ambient techno at work.
I’ll confess, right off the bat, that I’m a huge fan of this particular genre of music, and when I found out that I’d be listening to techno instead of squeaking bedsprings, I was at first thrilled, and then apprehensive. I didn’t want to get my hopes up ‒ experimental music is just as likely to fail drastically as it is to succeed even on a conceptual level ‒ but the prospect of a new and listenable musical discovery in a field I’ve already picked through was exciting. I popped the CD in my car stereo, eager to hear how the clever concept had been translated. The first track ‒ a lush soundscape of strange clicks and thumps and gurgles ‒ was interesting, but less than catchy. And the second, a hypnotic guided relaxation mixed atop a background of throbbing techno, while eminently listenable, was less than impressive: didn’t Aphex Twin already try that whole self-help re-appropriation thing? I wasn’t disappointed ‒ an album’s worth of elegant musical backdrops isn’t a bad find ‒ but I’d been hoping for something more.
I got it on the third track.. "Boy in Black" is a sexy, urgent, and utterly infectious song, complete with catchy tune and husky lyrics. With the exception of a few explicit words, it’s almost obnoxious in its radio-friendliness, and the instrumentation beneath Vale's voice is entirely unrecognizable as anything human. The glitchy sounds are as processed and perfect as anything by LCD Soundsystem or Royksopp. I was hooked.The rest of the album continued to drag me in. "The One Over There is All Mine" is a sweet and vulnerable spoken word bit that layers lyrics about love over a persistent sexual beat. So here I am / And I’m supposed to be talking about love Vale begins, at once both sarcastic and humbled in the face of what she’s experiencing. "Look Pretty" is an exquisitely slow and lovely piece who’s harsh lyrics (You make me scream as you pull my hair / Your flesh upon my lips / You have to touch me where I say / It’s in the script) belie the soft, lullaby melody. And "Disco Libido" is a sexy, pounding, danceable bit of sarcasm; while Vale’s voice isn’t always up to the song, her throaty proclamations do work. I’ve heard other artists use similarly re-worked "found sounds" (San Franscisco’s Matmos, for instance, is famous for "lipostudio . . . and so on," a song created with samples from a liposuction operation; they’ve got another creepy mix made from a LASIX procedure), but it’s rare that I’ve been so impressed by the music that results.
The album isn’t all sex, either, and it certainly doesn’t shy from the dark side of eroticism. "Sarajevo" is a beautiful, melancholy track about the terror of war. Am I wet from desire / or is it fear? Vale whispers, but no answer is forthcoming.
But enough about Vale’s technical and aesthetic accomplishments. What about the effect? There’s something undeniably arousing about the album. It’s a testament to the music that I’d forget, listening to each track, what the stuff of the piece was. And suddenly becoming aware that I was literally listening to the sound of sex never failed to get me turned on. And so I was pleasantly surprised to find that the novelty of the album dissolves not only into the caliber of the songs, but into the erotic effectiveness with which Vale pulls off the trick: that is, the sensuality of The Sex Album works. It’s across-the-board sexy. Part of me thinks that the eroticism of the CD comes from the fact that, while the ‘instruments’ may not be intellectually identifiable as the moans and utterances of fucking couples, my body might have recognized these sounds, and responded at some subconscious level. Then again, I knew before listening what the content of the music was, and perhaps it was merely this that aroused me. In any case, it doesn’t much matter: the effect was powerful and the work is definitely hot.There’s one final note I need to add. The Sex Album is worth a listen (or buy) for the mere fun of attempting to identify each sample. Vale is generous in her definition of a sexual noise: she’s made use of everything from the ripping of Velcro restraints to gurgling bathwater to the slaps of spanking and more obvious sighs. Trying to figure out where exactly she got the material for each elusive instrumental is a wickedly enjoyable ‒ and difficult ‒ game.
So would I recommend it? Without a doubt. The album stands on its own as a piece of respectable electronica, and this alone would be enough to earn a position in any musical library. Even without the sexy catch, it’s just the CD to pop in for a sensual night at home. When you add this to the prospect of slyly asking your date what he or she thinks of your new CD, and then letting them know just what it was they were rocking their hips to, well . . . you get the picture. Or keep the information to yourself. You might find out that the subconscious effect of the album is just as arousing for those who don’t know the secret.
