If drug companies are going to flood the public with TV commercials hawking sex-enhancement pills like Cialis and Viagra, they should at least get some suitable music as background.
We’d suggest an R. Kelly libido lullaby off the super-salacious “Untitled.” An obvious choice is “Bangin’ the Headboard,” a climatic bump ’n’ grind tune; the smooth groove of “Echo” would also be a fine pick, with its chorus of “sex in the morning, sex all day.” You get the picture.
Kelly’s always done his thinking south of his belt, even over the past six years as he battled child-pornography charges. Nothing’s changed on the new record, his first since he was acquitted on all charges. There are tunes about late-night booty calls (“Text Me”) and snuggling between satin sheets (“Whole Lotta Kisses”).
There’s such an overload of lust that at times Kelly manages to make sex seem tedious. On this album, Kelly earns his stars for the music. It’s hard to ignore the lover-boy lyrics, but if you can, you’ll hear there isn’t a single melody that sounds like warmed-over R & B mush. There’s inventiveness to the music.
Take “Echo;” on this song, there’s an infectiously catchy chorus glide in which the crooner cranks it up a notch by yodeling. Crazy, for sure, but it’s musically clever — and Kelly has Swiss Mister skills that warble to alpine highs.
The singer’s stylistic reach expands when he’s collaborating. There is chemistry with Atlanta rapper OJ Da Juiceman, who flavors the record’s top tune — “Supaman High” — with elements of crunk. Another highlight of the record is when Kelly tests Euro-beats by Danish producers Soulshock and Karlin on the smooth “I Love the DJ,” a song that sounds like it escaped from a Madonna disco record.
In the end, Kelly’s singular focus on sex is ill-advised. He should be heir to Marvin Gaye, and instead albums like “Untitled” come off more like self-parody.
dan.aquilante@nypost.com