Evan Nabavian has a collab with Shlohmo, too.
Maybe only Jeremih should sing about sex. No one else seems to appreciate it. His contemporaries too often treat sex as a boast like any other, heaped onto a pile next to cars, watches, and bottles of Ciroc. Even worse are those who seem to only have sex to fill some unknowable void in the Canadian soul. These days, pleasure seems tertiary in so many songs about sex. Too much Juicy J; not enough Jodeci. But I defer litigation of our sexual mores to Ross Douthat.
“Nympho” stops to savor the act itself, thrumming with sweaty euphoria. Jeremih needs to talk about how good it was, about coital expressions and neighbors’ noise complaints, but these aren’t locker room boasts. Delicate keys and throbbing kickdrums imbue the track with intimacy. Jeremih has mastered a singular form of R&B full of negative space that he can stab with his falsetto. Maybe he got the idea when he was exploring Low End Theory with Shlohmo. On “Nympho,” the sparseness is tantric, kaleidoscopic. Jeremih triangulates Norman Connors passion, Rotary Connection psychedelia, and Playboi Carti staccato. Apparently sex needed thorough rebranding.
