Genesis: Hold on My Heart (1991)

The first cd I ever bought was Phil Collins: Hits!. The first song I can remember singing along to was "Easy Lover." I think the only other person who shares my unironic appreciation for late 80's/early 90's Genesis is serial killer Patrick Bateman.

Phil Collins is the opposite of sexy. He is the awkward nebbishy shmuck in the over sized polo sipping an ultra-light domestic beer at the end of the bar. His lyrics are derivative to a fault, his delivery overwrought, and his stage antics embarrassing. He is a testament to the ability of millions of human beings to be brainwashed by selective radio airplay.

But I love him. I love him because despite his tremendous shortcomings, he lacks all sense of shame, self-reflection, and regret. Though he is a harmless dork, his actual personality is bold to the point of being invincible. His utter lack of subtlety and good taste allow him the rare opportunity to do what only a few are able to: live fearlessly.

Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti: Fright Night (2010)

There are only so many genuine eccentrics left, but I'd wager Ariel Pink is among the most authentic. Staying cooped up in a studio apartment in LA with vintage gear and a suitcase of pills apparently produces beautiful music. Kids, take note.

The song forgoes a traditional verse-chorus-verse structure for a swirling, reverb drenched ride through an abandoned parking lot in winter. As you stop to kiss your French lover, she breaks off and opens the door.

Wait, you say What did I do?

But the dreamy keys just drone and Ariel croons as she casts you a wan smile and dissolves into the flurry.

Thom Yorke: Hearing Damage (2010)

I don't care if this track was hijacked by a fifth-rate Vampire love saga. You don't have to be running from GQ werewolf models or listening to Edward Cullen's brooding piano runs to enjoy this haunting understated track.

Thom Yorke could have gone the way other successful multimillionaire entertainers have gone. He could have easily signed on to Celebrity Rehab or hosted an MTV Music Awards or "accidentally" tweeted a picture of his dick to fans.

Instead he wrote a nice song.

Prince: The Beautiful Ones (1984)

Prince is probably the greatest living musician. We don't have to explain that here at Latex and Vinyl. But his hits often overshadow some of his less-known tracks, which are sometimes just as good or better than favorites like "Little Red Corvette" and "When Doves Cry".

"The Beautiful Ones" is a journey to another sex-dimension. In this dimension, only beautiful ones exist, and the only job people have is making love under starry nights and smoking the best weed. The wistful keyboards that drone throughout this are magical, evoking scantily clad forest nymphs and gondola rides with loved ones through serene Venice canals in winter. In a get-down playlist, this is the undeniable, show-stopping climax.

Pun intended.

Michael Jackson: I Can't Help It (1979)

You know the feeling. You met her at last call. She's going to break your heart. But you're a man with needs and heartbreak be damned: you can't help it if you wanted to.

MJ got this all the way back in '79, and put it on vinyl with some of the most beautiful understated keys of the decade. This is a song that is beyond description. It simply is love, or whatever our damaged, flawed earthly souls can create to equate to the Platonic ideal of love. So the next time you're at the club and the DJ's expecting you to request Billie Jean or Beat It, pleasantly surprise her with this and a kiss on the cheek.

Then get down.

Firefly: Forget It (1980)

Italo Disco might not seem like the best choice for a night with a beautiful woman. It's a little goofy, it's written by white people, and it's usually up-tempo and rarely subtle.

But you can only hold back for so long, and when it's time to just throw the roses in the garbage and return that nice bottle of wine for a 40oz of Colt .45 and a pack of magnum condoms, Firefly's got you covered. The recurring expression, "Relax and surrender to me" is bold the way men used to be before they all watched Ellen and drove Honda Fits. It is a simple declarative statement with unambiguous intent, much like the song.

Barry White: Your Sweetness is My Weakness

Barry White is to sex what the Kodiak is to bears: without equal. It's a testament to good songwriting and the powers of a baritone range that you can still get laid even if you are a giant four-hundred human hamburger.

This is a tune for any occasion. From the delicate, snowflakes-falling-on-the-windowsill tenderness of the Fender Rhodes at the song's start, to the all-out climax midway through, where Barry's risking a heart attack to deliver the song's powerful message, it is a whirlwind tour through a funky lovescape; a magic carpet ride to a better world where men like Barry ride white horses on windswept shores and never die.