“Kelly knows that if he’s going to do a song called “Mirrors,” it won’t be a metaphor for love or self-obsession or whatever it is that Timberlake is going on about. Kelly’s “Mirrors” would include cleaning instructions for the housekeeper and the mirror would be on the ceiling.”
– Wesley Morris
Everywhere in pop music, from Madonna, to Timberlake, to Gaga, all the good ones talk about sexiness, about understanding sexuality. But they don’t really understand sex. They fail to recognize the beauty of the act; the breathlessness, the terminology, the tiredness, the leg shaking.
Sex is misunderstood as a gigantic romantic gesture when at its very core, beneath everything the advertisers have thrown at us all our lives, lies this individual entity; an indulgence of a very primal desire.
R Kelly gets it.
He likes to make love. But he really really likes to have sex.
This is essential when listening to him, this basic understanding that Kelly really just loves to fuck. It’s his greatest passion and all he does, all he yearns for, is to make art which indulges his love for sex. On Black Panties, his love hits you from the back, the front and everywhere else.
Kelly’s songs are beautiful because that’s exactly what they are; beautiful songs – words, rhythm, blues, desire, fulfillment.
On the third song of Black Panties ‘Throw money on you’, he just wants to throw money at this girl he sees in a bar. It’s not about tweeting a picture with her, it’s not about grinding on her, and it’s not about going home with her. It’s about sitting back, looking her move her body to a rhythm she likes, letting the moment rain on you, and then throw money on her.
Girl our eyes are making love …we ain’t even got to touch …see I just wanna sip my drink, lay back and look at you… I’m so turned on by your presence… girl all I wanna do…all I wanna do…its throw money on you…
Further, in Marry the P***y, Kelly admits what we already know – he loves vaginas.
He loves vaginas not because they are a place holder for his dick, but because a vagina treats him like his woman would. It opens up to him. It feeds him. And in return, he’d like to ask for its hand in marriage. His proposal is heartfelt, firm, earnest, so earnest that I was rooting for the vagina to say yes.
Black Panties is not a record of pleading, or hopelessness, or heartbreak. It’s a record of assurance and aggression. It’s a record of a glorious night.
The brilliance of Kelly lies in his freaky friskiness … and by the end of Black Panties, Kelly has you in his pocket. He comes at you like he comes at his girl; his fittest, his tightest, his most inspired.
He has keys to the locks you didn’t know you had. In a song, he says he wants to have sex with you in 50 states, but doesn’t mention whether they’re emotional or the United ones. Although essentially, it doesn’t really matter, as you wouldn’t put it past him wanting both …
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