‘Lewd acts’ (Picture: Ella Byworth for Metro.co.uk)

Happy Valentine’s! Put George Michael’s Ladies & Gentlemen on loud and have assloads of dank sex.

Sure, on one level what I’m about to say is subjective.

Your relationship is failing because you don’t put out enough

Your sex record – the music you put on as the soundtrack to an extended humping session – is quite probably different to mine.

Perchance you merrily bone away to Missundaztood by Pink, or Parachutes by Coldplay.


Some of you, who knows, will tonight get down to business to Brothers In Arms by Dire Straits, or hide the sausage to the immortal strains of Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill.

Whatever, idiot, you’re getting it dead wrong.



George Michael’s Ladies & Gentlemen is literally, actually, scientifically calibrated to enhance your jiggy-jiggy.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

‘Hey, random Metro guy, doesn’t the peerless 1998 ‘best of’ classic begin with Jesus To A Child?’

You’re damn right it does.

Jesus To A Child actually sets the f***ing tone beautifully.

For those of you who don’t know, the album title Ladies & Gentlemen is a cheeky reference to the time, previously that year, that George Michael was arrested for ‘a lewd act’ in a Beverley Hills public convenience.

Of course you would (Picture: Jim Steinfeldt/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

Now, this album eventually gets around to songs titled Fastlove and I Want Your Sex (Part II).

Little bit on the nose, even for our purposes.

So kicking off the record with nigh-on seven minutes of Jesus To A Child eases you in gently, respectfully, as you’d hope for from, oh I don’t know, sex.

Put it this way – even by the end of track two – Father Figure, itself the thick end of six minutes long – it’d be downright inappropriate to be furiously smashing.

No. Anything other than considerate, respectful, gently-paced foreplay would be sacrilegious, not to say pervy.

Which is how it should be, right?

Don’t worry though; by the time track three, Careless Whisper, fades out you’ll be elbow-deep in enthusiastic, sloppy oral, or your money back from Sony Music – it’s literally in George Michael’s last will and testament.

Alright, it isn’t. But you and your lucky partner will be well on your way, is what I’m saying.

This is as good a time as any to step back and admire the structure of this wondrous album, this never-fail bedroom staple.

It’s a double CD, because George Michael knew how to make a goddamn hit record.

The first CD is For The Heart and the second is For The Feet.

CD one is about an hour in length, all gentle balladry.

Unless you’re some kind of porn star, you’ll no doubt be done with ‘round one’ of your ass-tapping sesh by track seven, the immortal I Can’t Make You Love Me.

How better to wallow, limbs entangled, than listening to Heal The Pain, panting, until, let’s say, track 11 Cowboys And Angels.



Bit pacier. You’ll be grinding up against each other again by now, maybe subliminally, maybe not.

Whevs. When the For The Feet disc gets underway, and certainly by track two – that Stevie Wonder one he did with Mary J Blige – you’ll be violently pashing.

You could even squeeze in a third round – lord knows, I did back in my prime – by the time penultimate tune Faith rocks up, all filthy hip-swinging fifties pastiche.

And how does the record end?

Somebody To Love, with bloody Queen.

David Bowie himself endorsed the cover, which is magical – a legit, worthy contribution to music history, and the perfect way to doze off marinading in a cozy broth of endorphins and jizz.

Happy Valentine’s.

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