Ah, the second (or third?) Valentine’s Day most likely spent alone due to the plague. You can still use that excuse for being alone and not your "winning" personality. Sometimes, a global pandemic has its upside—the perfect out for social situations you used to have to make up some absurd story for. Now, you can literally say, "I can’t, I might die," with a straight face. The downside is that the same excuse can be used to not meet up for a second date after the dystopian zoom screening. Let’s assume this Valentine’s Day you either already have a boo who hasn’t dumped your ass since you’ve literally only seen each other’s face for the last two years, or you found someone willing to swap some juicy Omicron fluids with you. It can’t be that hard in Portland. This is Slut City. We don’t mind getting our genitals dirty; we just sure as shit don’t wanna work. Hell, keep the masks on during sex. Let’s start a new kink.
And on not that note, I’m sure that should you manage to shack up with someone this Hallmark Holiday, one of the prime moodsetters besides roses and a bottle of Astroglide, is music. Let your friendly, local scene critic and music nerd stop you before you use this as an opportunity to show off your vast knowledge of babymaking jams—don’t. Honestly, your best bet for engorging your date’s genitals is to let them choose the jams, ’cause we’re all self-centered assholes who just want to listen to and watch our favorite shit. Unless, of course, you realize you’ve made a horrible mistake and want to kill the mood faster than congress kills any meaningful climate legislation (or COVID legislation, for that matter!) Since romantic and sexual advice these days seems to fall under the prevue of a bunch of don’ts instead of dos, here’s a handy list of don’ts that’ll bring any sexytime vibes to a screeching halt.
Easily the best way to throw a wrench into any gears that had previously been starting to rev up. I promise you—it’s a bad idea. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a hardcore punk band or making laptop R&B smooth jams. It’s not as good as you think it is. Also, don’t do that thing where you put it on and say nothing, hoping they’ll chime in with an, "Ooh, who is this? I like it?" or ask if it’s the artist you’re trying to rip off. What’ll actually happen is they’ll make zero comments on your music choice while you desperately wait for some sort of validation. Then you’ll be in a poopy mood and get snippy, thus eliminating any and all desire your date had to get naked with you.
Before you start foaming at the mouth and sending me your frothy hate mail, I’m not saying Paul’s a bad songwriter; he’s just not particularly sexy. Like...who gets that look in their eye when "Live And Let Die" comes on the radio. Does your giny tingle when you listen to "Maxwell’s Silver Hammer?" It’s just not babymaking music. And I think if you really wanted to pull the rug out from any semblance of sexual tension in the room, put on this little gem from 1980; that’s really just a midlife crisis disguised as a song.
I mean, seriously. I dare you to try and fuck to this song. Length withstanding, these rhythms—as game-changing as they were—simply do not inspire procreation. Who knows, maybe they do in Germany. They’re very forward there. And efficient. But for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re trying to get laid in America. Do not put on this song. Sex will not happen. Or if it does, it is sex you are not ready for.
If ever there was a genre that completely encapsulated that feeling of being a teenager alone on a Saturday night and then finding out later that all your friends went to a makeout party without you, it is prog. ’Tis the song of the unfucked. And should one want to be unfucked, put on practically any record by King Crimson, Rush, Genesis, or Gentle Giant, if you wanna not get laid, extra hard. The earlier, the better, although I’m positive a perfectly good Valentine’s Day evening can be ruined by a Tool song. The Mars Volta might have a bit too much Latin flavor to completely unengorge genitals but should still get the job done. Seriously though, put on anything from the late ’60s to early ’70s era, and you will be transported to that time when even your D&D crew ditched you to go to the makeout party. And your date, of course, will be long gone.
