1979 · Behind the Songs
A Risqué deep cut that wraps its taboo subject in the smoothest groove Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards ever recorded.
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Every great dance band needs a slow burn, and “My Forbidden Lover” is Chic’s. Tucked into the second half of Risqué — the 1979 album best known for “Good Times” — the song takes the band’s immaculate machinery and aims it at the quietest, most dangerous subject in pop: desire for someone you can’t have. The groove is pure silk; the lyric is pure trouble. Together, they’re irresistible.
The song was written by Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards, and it shows the songwriting partnership working at its most sophisticated. By 1979, the two had perfected a method: Edwards’ bass would establish the harmonic and rhythmic foundation, Rodgers’ guitar would weave around it in clipped, percussive patterns, and Tony Thompson’s drums would lock the whole thing into an unbreakable pocket. On “My Forbidden Lover,” that method serves a lyric of unusual frankness — a lover’s plea that knows exactly how wrong it is and doesn’t care.
What makes the record so effective is the tension between the music’s elegance and the lyric’s abandon. Chic’s whole aesthetic was sophistication — the suits, the strings, the precision — and “My Forbidden Lover” weaponizes that sophistication, using good manners to say bad things. The singer is impeccably composed and completely undone at the same time, and the band plays it the same way: every note in place, every feeling out of control. It’s the sound of desire wearing a tuxedo.
The track was never released as a single — Risqué had bigger commercial fish to fry — but it became one of the album’s most beloved deep cuts, the song Chic devotees play for each other like a secret handshake. Its reputation has only grown with time, as listeners and producers discovered what the band had hidden in plain sight: one of the smoothest, most sensuous grooves in the entire Chic catalog, and a lyric that dared to be honest about wanting what you shouldn’t.
Recording and release
Risqué was recorded at a moment of maximum leverage for Chic. “Le Freak” had made Rodgers and Edwards the most in-demand writer-producers in music, and the new album was expected to consolidate an empire. It did — “Good Times” became one of the defining records of 1979 — but the album’s depth is what has kept it alive, and “My Forbidden Lover” is Exhibit A. Surrounded by dance-floor monuments, it proved the band could seduce at any tempo.
The recording is a master class in the Chic method. Listen to how Edwards’ bass doesn’t just keep time but tells a story, moving through the changes with a singer’s phrasing. Listen to Rodgers’ guitar, all clipped chords and rhythmic commentary, never wasting a note. Listen to Thompson, whose drumming is so deep in the pocket it seems to disappear — until you try to imagine the song without it. And over it all, the vocals: cool, precise, and quietly desperate, the Chic Organization’s signature blend of control and feeling.
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The art of the deep cut
There’s an art to the album track that outlasts the singles, and “My Forbidden Lover” is a case study. Singles are built for the moment; deep cuts are built for the long haul, and this one was constructed with the same care Chic gave its hits. Producers and DJs kept returning to it across the decades, drawn by a groove that felt both classic and endlessly reusable. The song never needed a chart position to prove its worth; it just needed listeners, and it found them.
It also captures something essential about Rodgers and Edwards as writers: their fascination with the intersection of elegance and appetite. Chic’s great subject was pleasure — the pleasure of the dance floor, of the groove, of the night — and “My Forbidden Lover” extends that subject into riskier territory. The forbidden isn’t just a lover here; it’s the idea that sophistication and desire aren’t opposites, that the smoothest surface can hide the deepest hunger. The band’s whole career was that idea, dressed up for a night out.
What to listen for
Start with the bass. Bernard Edwards plays “My Forbidden Lover” like a man telling secrets — the line winds and curls, never quite where you expect it, but always exactly where it belongs. It’s one of his great performances, and it reminds you that in Chic, the bass was often the lead voice. Follow it through the whole song; it’s telling you things the lyric only hints at.
Then listen to the spaces between the notes. Chic’s genius was as much about what they didn’t play as what they did, and “My Forbidden Lover” breathes in a way few dance records dare to. The guitar stabs, the string accents, the little keyboard fills — each arrives, says its piece, and gets out of the way. The result is a groove that feels luxurious rather than busy, seduction rather than assault.
Finally, notice the vocal. It’s the coolest performance on Risqué, and the coolness is the point — desire described in the most composed terms imaginable, which only makes it more intense. When the singer admits what she wants, she does it without raising her voice, and that restraint is what makes the song dangerous. Anyone can shout about forbidden love. It takes Chic to whisper it.
And consider where the song sits in the Chic story. By 1979, Rodgers and Edwards were writing for everyone — Sister Sledge, Diana Ross, and soon the whole pop world — and their own band risked becoming just the vehicle for the hits. “My Forbidden Lover” is a reminder that Chic was always more than its singles: a band with depths the charts never fully measured, making music for the listeners who stayed past the hits to hear what else the night contained.
Play it late, play it low, and play it twice — the second time, you’ll hear everything the first time hid.