“Sex Planet” and Double Up were met with a tidal wave of breathless critical acclaim (in the New York Times, freak-folkie Devendra Banhart raved, “This album makes me feel like I’m driving a turquoise Hummer over a rainbow made of distilled euphoria,” which is exactly how it makes you feel - listen to it, we’re serious), but Kelly was not yet done giving. (Side note: Double Up’s sequencing makes the year’s weirdest argument for the return of the album format, with “Sex Planet” inexplicably segueing directly into “Rise Up,” Kelly’s tribute to the victims of April’s Virginia Tech shooting.) “Come fly away with me, riding my ecstasy out in the galaxy,” he croons over a mellow Fender Rhodes figure.
When the track leaked in May, the blogosphere didn’t know quite what to make of it sure, the lyrics go to all the most obvious places (black holes, the Milky Way, and Uranus, most notably), but Kellz’s unblinking conviction matches the song’s absurdity making it hilarious, yes, but also catchy, and even kind of sexy (especially if you’re drunk). The result? “Sex Planet,” 2007’s finest ballad about zero-gravity intercourse and the indisputable centerpiece of Double Up, the best album of Kelly’s fifteen-year career. But while a lesser artist might’ve repeated himself or stopped penning freaky sex jams altogether, Kelly evolved, boldly taking his shtick where no horny R&B singer had gone before: outer space. Kelly had finally run out of things on Earth to compare his penis to. It had to happen someday - after ten albums packed with increasingly creative and ridiculous sexual metaphors, R. Photo illustration: Getty Images and NASA (space shuttle)įrom now until the end of the year, Vulture will celebrate the people who made 2007 what it was: Pop Culture’s Bravest.
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