I once woke up after a first date wearing his T-shirt and followed the smell of scrambled eggs into the kitchen where he was explaining what we should name our future daughter. He had spent the previous night earning the right to see me naked again despite still being unable to remember my last name, which should have made the family-planning presentation harder to take seriously. Then I watched his ass move under gray sweatpants and decided premature commitment looked surprisingly good from behind. By the time he started discussing school districts, I had finished half my coffee and started wondering if great oral sex had caused a minor psychotic break. That kind of horny confidence can seduce a woman into entertaining some spectacularly reckless shit, and Naesh brings all of it to Honey Bee, racing from naked fantasies to forever with the confidence of a man who has already cleared a drawer.
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The production on Honey Bee turns Naesh’s all-consuming attraction into a glossy dance-floor seduction – pairing punchy bass with rhythmic guitar pops as the driving groove keeps bodies moving. Its high-energy blend of nu-disco and contemporary R&B carries the slick swagger of Thriller-era Michael Jackson then slips into the grown-ass romantic polish of Luther Vandross. This is the moment when eye contact across the club starts making you calculate how quickly you can pull him into a bathroom without losing an damn earring. Naesh is already picturing sex and forever with the same breathless enthusiasm, letting desire shake the room before it begins planning a life with her. His confidence borders on deliciously unhinged, because this man goes from admiring her ass to mentally naming their future children before the bassline has finished undressing either of them. Soaring background harmonies sweeten those filthy intentions while the chorus turns his obsession into something everyone will be grinding to by last call.
Naesh lets the bedroom fantasy off its leash when he sings, Take it all off and she doin’ it right / I turn into a beast under bright moonlight (owww) / Feelin’ on her body and the vibe is right / Her stress just starts releasin’ / She whispers “Naesh, don’t you ever change” / I’m the man who done healed all of her pain / Primetime pick and now she in the game / Baby now we eatin’. This man hears one zipper come down and immediately auditions for the role of sexual healer, which is cocky as fuck and perfectly suited to the oversized swagger in the production. Her pleasure becomes his victory lap, and apparently the moon comes out so this horny bastard deserves a howl and a fucking trophy. A woman leaving the bedroom relaxed and fed has heard worse campaign promises.
Then the commitment fantasy races ahead with Just believe it baby ooo I’m boutta need it baby / If you’re feeling crazy let’s go make a newborn baby / Lookin’ left now I’m lookin’ right / If we cross these roads, it’s a whole new life / What we got is bona fide / Seatbelts on cause I’m for the ride. His desire moves faster than her zipper, turning sex into a family plan before either of them has found their clothes. While a lesser man sends “you up?” at 1 a.m., Naesh is mentally installing a car seat, which gives the whole fantasy enough horny commitment to get a girl into some very enjoyable trouble.
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Naesh began performing at five, and today the San Francisco Bay Area pop artist commands the stage with smooth vocals and enough swagger to make me wonder what else that mouth can do when he puts the microphone down. He has played the Palace of Fine Arts and Great American Music Hall, earning his grown-man credentials long before I started mentally removing his shirt. He has also performed the National Anthem for the Florida Gators, proving he can keep it respectable when everyone’s clothes are still on. Michael Jackson’s precision meets Usher’s bedroom confidence in his music, which explains why every groove feels aware that women are watching his hips. Naesh pulls from the ’70s and ’80s while sliding nu-disco into contemporary R&B creating feel-good pop that gets your ass moving before it starts whispering filthy ideas into your ear. He wants to bring romance back to pop and if he plans to do it with that voice over a funk groove I am willing to let him demonstrate somewhere with a lock on the door.
Although he never learned my last name and our imaginary daughter remains unnamed I stayed for the eggs because gray sweatpants have talked me into far worse than premature family planning. Naesh sells the same reckless fantasy with enough charm to make lifelong devotion sound like a side effect of getting fucked properly. By the end of Honey Bee, his wife-and-baby agenda feels dangerously persuasive once that groove has stripped away every sensible objection. I still require coffee before discussing school districts, though if he looks that good making breakfast, he can pitch me the baby name again.
