Features | Awards

The NSFW Award for Song That Gets Me Too Greasy in My Office Slacks

By Dom Sinacola | 17 December 2012

Rhye: “The Fall”

The loughtiest expressions of lust are often the most sedate—as anyone who’s ever rubbed the wrong way (or the right?) against the inside of their zipper during a staff meeting could attest. Or during chemistry class. Or in church. For such overwhelmingly sexual creatures, we’re typically limited to the acceptable places in which to engage in coitus, which is a shame (pun intended) and I’m sure you’d agree…unless you’re a prude.

No other song in 2012—in a year when wispy insecure white boys made the swarthiest of R&B (How to Dress Well), when some erect cock on a Death Grips EP cover barely had anyone batting an eye (because it was a meaningless gesture and so came off as just boring and passive aggressive), when Shia LaBeouf’s nudity was the least interesting part of Sigur Rós’s boringest year of existence ever—was just so absolutely sexy as Rhye’s “The Fall.” Over plangent piano chords and an unyielding snare shuffle, percussion shushing like one lover attempting to get the other to stop giggling so loudly, the L.A. duo (who’re often considered “mysterious” simply because they don’t offer a whole lot of personal details appended to their music) suspend longing from the rafters of some unforgivably high warehouse interior, like “spiderwebs” they intone, and within the vast space coo towards the entrance, wherever that may be, because it’s not like the singer can actually see the door, “Don’t run away / Don’t slip away my dear.”

Her “dear” doesn’t seem to be listening, yet she never changes the urgency of her need, because it’s all urgent, every word—“The Fall” is one spare instance of incessant, indefatigable lust; lust because we can sense her viscera bristling with it, we can feel the air damp with it. The shadows of the room are aching with it. It’s all very physical, this song, so tactile, and so words or descriptions do little to detail just how much this one person in this song needs this other person in this song. I’m even struggling now to correctly convey how riled up I get within this song. I can’t listen to it at work anymore; instead all I hear is quiet, intense breath, and all I smell is sweat. The phrase “workload” takes on a totally different context. I think of two gorgeous people writhing into each other, two people who would probably be the kind of people we’d all want to watch have sex if we had the choice and the inclination to do so, but their silence is meant to keep those moments between them, and only them. And what’s sexiest if not the most personal of moments writ in small, rhythmic relief?


“The Fall”