Let’s go back to the night you were conceived.

Your parents probably lit some candles and maybe a little incense too. There likely wasn’t any birth control, which would make Rick Santorum smile. If there was, I hope the realization that you were a mistake isn’t completely deflating. But most important in this whole charade was music.

Sex music, to be specific. If your mother was lucky, they made it through an entire Al Green album. And if she wasn’t so fortunate, it was just a few songs. Either way, I can guarantee the music was there.

These days, or nights, we aren’t blessed with a similar catalog of “do me” music. Sure, we can go old school and dip into the same library as the generations past, but where’s the pride in that? Using your parents’ music for sex is like getting a condom from your dad — it’ll work but it just won’t feel right.

My iPod is largely devoid of any music to get freaky to. If I plugged it in, I just know that Tyler the Creator would pop up in the shuffle. The last thing I need to hear, or a girl needs to hear, is a lyric like “Rape a pregnant bitch and tell my friends I had a threesome,” while I’m trying to put in work.

What we need is a collection of sex music to call our own. When I think sex music, I think R&B. The genre’s slow rhythm is perfectly tailored to fit dirty lyrics. So if R&B is still around, why isn’t it prepping us to get hot and nasty? The answer lies in the quality of the current wave of R&B singers, or lack thereof.

They’re terrible. Gone are the days of Usher’s dominance in the early 2000s or R. Kelly’s in the ’90s — the former shifted gears to dance music and the latter started urinating on teenage girls. Instead, we’re left with a roster of cheese balls that largely depend on auto-tune.

T-Pain is the poster child of this unfortunate trend. His songwriting is cliché — try to count how often he rhymes “love” with “club” — his singing is digitally enhanced and his top hat is the most ridiculous prop in music since Flavor Flav’s clock chain. I don’t even know if T-Pain has released a new song in the past three years because every one of them sounds exactly the same. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s actually been dead for years and his previously recorded music is being released much like Tupac’s.

And then there’s Trey Songz. Although he lacks T-Pain’s use of auto-tune, he matches his amount of suck. In fact, he trumps T-Pain in suck. Trey Songz trumps everything in suck.

A few years back, I inadvertently found myself watching Trey Songz sing live. I took my girlfriend (at the time) to see Jay-Z perform, but before that could happen we would have to endure Songz’s torturous opening set. His performance didn’t send us into an impatient sexual furry to find the nearest bathroom stall, like an Al Green concert would have. Instead, it left us upset, uncomfortable and with thoughts of strangling Trey Songz with the sweaty shirt he tossed into the crowd to reveal his disturbingly oily chest. It was that bad. She and I breaking up a few days after the fiasco could not have been a coincidence.

Fortunately, we do have a “new hope.” Playing the role of young Luke Skywalker in this R&B saga is Frank Ocean. I see potential in the 24-year old standout from Odd Future. His songwriting is immaculate, his voice is angelic, and most importantly, he’s making R&B not suck again. If there’s one current singer whose music I can see myself conceiving my future children to, it’s Frank Ocean.

As the great R. Kelly once said, there’s nothing wrong with a little bump and grind. We just need some new music to bump and grind to.