Imagine my disappointment when all these years later I'd misheard a key line in the chorus of Anita Baker's "Sweet Love." She sings, "Hear me calling out your name, I feel no shame/I'm in love, sweet love." I thought it was "I feel the shame." The melodramatic plumminess of Baker's vocal had me convinced that the greatest song she ever performed was a most exquisite rendering of unabashed masochism. Perversity is so much more attractive embedded in a quiet-storm context.