For those who complain that, in this era of pop stars tweeting from the shower and being papped in the Starbucks queue, all the mystery has leeched out of music – we give you, Rhye. Smokey and sensual, the debut album from this Los Angeles duo arrives cloaked in secrecy, shrouded in enigma, vacuum-wrapped in paranoia.
No publicity photographs of Rhye exist; they’ve turned down all interview requests and decline to be named on their album’s credit section. Indeed, nothing at all would be known about them were it not for the New York Times reporter who tracked the pair down and ‘outed’ them as the husband and wife team of Danish singer Robin Hannibal and producer Michael Milosh. “We just didn’t want people to be focusing on us,” said Hannibal, when quizzed about their aversion to the limelight. “We wanted people to really hear the music first, without any preconceived notions.”

All of which would, frankly, be a bit of a drag, were their music not so beguiling. With its sad-soul swells and downbeat vocals, it is no surprise that Rhye should be likened to Sade, the grande dame of easy-listening coffee-table angst. However, Woman is no exercise in pastiche – the new wave guitars smeared all over ‘Shed Some Blood’ nod towards the xx; ‘Hang On To Your Love’ and ‘The Sweetest Taboo’ deal in the same busy, funk-driven gloom that has turned The Weeknd and Frank Ocean into lighting rods for the zeitgeist.

Rhye, it transpires, really is good for you.