What We Can Learn From Singing About Sex?

Pairing “Pushing It Down & Praying” and “In Me, Baby”

Since the genre was pioneered, singer-songwriters have built uniquely microscopic universes from the sheer force of experience. Engaging in this practice requires being a sharer, knower, observer, and translator of world to word, then page to song. Singer-songwriters specifically wield these roles with ferocity, with a growing dedication to truth as generations pass – contemporary writers like Lizzy McAlpine, Samia, and Kara Jackson layer upon the likes of Joni Mitchell, Stevie Nicks, and Carole King with a heightened lens toward conveying sexual and emotional experiences sans filter, sans shame. As we witness this bending of the contemporary singer-songwriter practice, I love to bask in the glow of a growing, tender devotion to translating intimacy into song,  particularly in the literal narrative recounting of sexual encounters. 

Sex is so emotional, intimate, and irreversibly defining – the recent move to explore that, unfiltered, within this genre feels wonderful, welcoming, and real. Women’s responses to sex and physical intimacy have not always been welcomed with open arms. Their framing of it has also been predominantly male-emotion-centric. And though the genre has historically boasted themes of expressing desire and wanting (Mitchell, King, etc.), “In Me, Baby” by Kate Stephenson and “Pushing It Down & Praying” by Lizzy McAlpine take it further. The songs center around the act of insertion - a literal “you were in me” and “he’s inside of me” – and bring truth forth with an intimate, bodily, blunt voice. These two songs are for the love of emotional translation, building a story, and being so honest that it’s impossible to close one’s heart or mind after listening. Lauding these songs and the talents of these artists can open a conversation surrounding emotions in the wake of sex, challenging that historic shaming of the female voice and, in turn, centering female desire.

These tracks begin with eerie similarities in instrumental timbre, rhythm, and literary technique. With both songs’ sole reliance on an acoustic guitar, we’re pulled into a quiet world; an intimate soundscape. The sonic qualities parallel what’ll be said next, especially through glowing, scene-setting guitar tones. McAlpine begins lyrically: "I'm in bed, layin' down, naked / He's inside of me" and Stephenson: "You got me drawin' devil horns in a yearbook / Sucking on my thumb." Immediately, the songwriters establish the dynamic between speaker and subject for the listener. We feel what's allowed in these relationships and what’s not – the singers’ bodies are irreversibly intertwined with the subject, and they cannot stand strong on their own. These first lyrics showcase Stephenson experiencing an unshakable juvenile nature as put upon her by her lover. McAlpine’s actions and what is done to her are conveyed as curiously list-like and non-tender through her blunt approach to depicting sex. These opening lines have stark and potent-with-surprise effects due to vocal deliverance: matter-of-fact, yet intimate, yet familiar, serving as an invitation into these relationships sans a sense of abnormality at how close we’re getting. Nor, at how close they’re getting. 

Something incredible about these songs is how they situate the minds of their subjects. Both “In Me, Baby” and “Pushing It Down and Praying” dive into where the brain resides during sex: what they and their partner think about. With Stephenson’s “Did you think about me when you were in me, baby?” and McAlpines’ “I’m pushing it down and praying / He won’t see it when I come,” this is on full display. Both musicians are at the mercy of how their partners perceive them (whether they’re granted attention or are granting attention), something that impacts their sexual experience and the relationship as a whole. I love how this conveys the intertwined nature of emotions and sex; when bodies come together it’s impossible not to want to read minds (to desire getting emotionally inside while physically braided), in a sense. To feel reassured by, to be a knower of, the mind before you. We should be aware of this physical honesty to sex, and know that there’s a surrounding fear of sex, too – particularly the fear of being distant or wanting someone else during the act and this being revealed by that desire to be a knower. 

Observing these emotional intricacies showcases a multiplicity found within the female perspective toward sex. McAlpine and Stephenson hold emotions on their tongues ranging from desire and wanting to guilt and disgust, either in themselves or in their partners. This is not to say that only women can sing about sex – hell no! There is deep beauty in sex as told from all perspectives. However, these women’s lyrics surrounding shame and their place within their partnership pull forth a tradition of women feeling submissive and owing to the dominating force of men. Stephenson sings, “You said desire dies when it’s had, / look at you talking like your dad” and “You said I’m the demand to your supply, / look at you talking like a guy.” She brings up the generational transmission of male thought (from dad to son) and that unromantic ‘guy’ language of economy metaphors. While neither quote contains much negative connotation, within the broader context of the song this dialogue characterizes Stephenson’s relationship with her lover as one-sided and cyclically frustrating. Stephenson cannot do much to hold her own and must draw “devil horns in a yearbook” to assert a sense of control. And still, she forgives! “Of her own volition,” the singer writes of herself. The story tells a narrative of entrapment under the weight of dominance, but arguably Stephenson has found a way out through music. Or, at the very least, an outlet. McAlpine’s shame is a bit different and comes in the form of an abundance of wanting. She sings, “I wanna feel guilty, I wanna feel that it’s wrong,” describing her emotions as she has sex with her lover but wants someone else. This shame of desiring in abundance is not unfamiliar to women; within the dominant-submissive dynamic of the male-female relationship, women typically bend to the wants of men, not vice versa. McAlpine struggles with breaking that shame. While the men in her song are nowhere near malicious, that legacy still controls her emotions and creates an inner dilemma. Like Stephenson, McAlpine finds solace through song. It’s almost a necessity: these singers felt they had to tell these stories, had to be translators of these emotions, because the impact of sex was so powerful. So they gave a blunt, unabashed narrative wherein sex is the causation, the intimacy of insertion is irreversibly impactful, and those power dynamics and emotional interplays matter. 

Sonically, “In Me, Baby” and “Pushing It Down & Praying” stay mostly mild, which mirrors how neither of these musicians is quite happy in their relationships because of guilt, dominance, and their abundance of wanting. Conveying a strained relationship through depictions of sex is laudably effective, and, in fact, neither of these relationships could be honestly conveyed without including sex in the narrative. This, coupled with the soundscape of roomy-yet-present guitar tones and both emotional and matter-of-fact vocal deliverance, ushers in a fresh layer of intimacy to the singer-songwriter genre, which brings a new force of acceptance to the emotions conveyed: the songwriter is allowing you to feel how they feel. Don’t you feel frustrated and stuck with Stephenson? Or confused and guilty with wanting, like McAlpine? Doesn’t that make you understand them, and the impact of sex, even more? 

This emotional translation isn’t new to the genre, but the subject of sex makes it all the more impactful: the fact that these female artists are unabashed toward singing about sex exactly because they want to tell their stories makes this both a shocking and empowering writing practice. McAlpine and Stephenson have locked into something gold here. So, listen and open a bit. Check your emotions during and after sex. Grant them validity. Move forward with the impact of intimacy on the mind.