Pembroke Tenneson’s “Sex Appeal” plays the rock star as a man so convinced of his own desirability that even his self-awareness becomes part of the act. He opens by remembering a show where his band was “smokin’ hot,” then imagines a woman asking her partner why he cannot offer what Tenneson has. He reduces that fantasy to three blunt claims: “I got it,” “You want it,” “Can’t have it.” The joke depends on how seriously the narrator takes himself.
The, he keeps piling on the swagger until it becomes impossible to miss the performance underneath it. Women fall at his feet, he kisses himself for being “so complete,” and every advantage becomes another excuse to boast, from his silver tongue and wealth to his confidence in what his clothes conceal. Even “If you got it, then they want it / If you have it, you should flaunt it” turns vanity into a rule worth shouting from the stage. The tambourine and “Hallelujah!” push that self-celebration toward something close to a sermon.
Tenneson has spent years performing other people’s songs, and “Sex Appeal” gives him a character of his own to play. He never has to admit that the claims are ridiculous because the excess already does the work. He keeps boasting, the chorus keeps returning, and the tambourine keeps shaking.
