How to create a sex playlist that will put you both right off, by the Mash sex columnist

IF music be the food of love, then why not fill her ears as well as all the other orifices? But just as in sex, one wrong chord and the moment’s dead. 

You can shoot down a boner with a single landfill indie track and it won’t come back, so annoyed is he to hear The Kooks again. If you want to finish stay the hell away from these:

90s house

So easy to segue into from the seducer’s favorite, trip hop – but you’re here to fuck, not to dance. And given the way you dance the two are not compatible. Stepping awkwardly from side to side with zero hip movement and the odd mistimed arm flail won’t locate G-spots. Turn off One Night In Heaven and focus: any lover would choose silence over M People.

Singalong tracks

What is Bohemian Rhapsody doing on your shag playlist? This is no time to imagine you’ve got the vocal range of Freddie Mercury, let alone duet back and forth on the ‘scaramouche!’ bits. If you want to get that Freddie feeling, lube up and invite six men in.

Nu metal

Getting all pumped up while you’re thrusting can be helpful with stamina, but too much Limp Bizkit or Rage Against the Machine and you’ll get less caught up in the thumping beat and more in the mood to actually thump someone. Which isn’t romantic, and nor is wearing a baseball cap backwards.

Anything emotional

Since you’re having sex you’re probably drunk, so avoid getting your emotional buttons pressed. Bursting into tears mid-cunnilingus because Sinéad O’Connor’s got to the sad bit will be not be taken in the spirit it’s felt. It’s as incongruous as opening a bag of cheese & onion Walkers. Save the Neil Young for the post-coital cuddle.

Anything from your youth

Sex and nostalgia do not mix. Getting it on to the whining tones of Damon Albarn will mess with your head as you’re carried back to the horny angst of your teenage years. You were worse at sex back then but it was so much better, you’ll think, lost in reverie.

Free jazz

Any jazz is a problem, but how can you concentrate on fantasising you’re making it with someone other than the man who’s currently inside you while filtering out the screeching honks of a saxophonist touched more by heroin than divine inspiration?

Show tunes

In some ways, sex is a performance, but rutting along to music theatre classics is never a good idea, no matter how smart the rhymes or rousing the tap–dance breaks. So steer clear of Lloyd Webber or you’ll end up raining all over your own parade.

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