It’s been five years since Rhye’s debut album, Woman. A lot has changed, for us and for them. Since the release of Woman, the electronic duo (made up of Canadian singer Mike Milosh and Danish multi-instrumentalist Robin Hannibal) have toured the world, subsequently turning their bedroom project into a fully-fledged live experience as well as releasing a huge song with Brighton musician, producer and DJ, Bonobo. Their sophomoric effort, Blood, reflects those bigger landscapes but, at the same time, conceals itself into its own atmosphere.

There’s a further intimacy to Blood than there was to Woman. As Rhye, the duo have often showcased their thoughts and feelings straight into the notes, and this feels no different. However, this time there’s a more confident edge to the music, backing the profound sensitivity. It’s certainly got a lot more groove to it, as it meanders through a myriad of nifty slowdance numbers, as well as a few grooving funk numbers.

The beautifully rhythmic one-two of ‘Waste’ and ‘Taste’ is a delicious, almost methodical start to the record. There’s an efficiency to these two songs, and indeed the record, as not a single beat is wasted. It’s almost simple personified, as if the duo have stripped back to basics, and proved their musicianship with a meticulous, structured and neat album that doesn’t give an inch.

Thereupon, during the ascent into the middle section of the record, they start to explore the real r’n’b grooves that made Woman so likeable. ‘Count To Five’ is where you find Rhye at their funkiest. Essentially a mix of Delegation and Marvin Gaye at his smoothest, it’s a low-key funk jam that is commendable for its effortlessness. Likewise, ‘Stay Safe’ and ‘Phoenix’, sounding like the slower sections of Glass Animals’ last record, are real funk jams. ‘Phoenix’, in particular, earns its place as the most thrilling song on the record. With its bubbling fingerpicking bass, systematic drum pattern and an escalating chorus, it is a stimulating blend of r’n’b, funk and atmospheric pop.

It’s ‘Song For You’ that plays as the heart of the album, though. Coming smack bang in the middle of the record, it’s an affectionate, confidential number that is impressive in its polysemy. Described by Milosh as, “Written for her”, it’s almost a gift for anyone in love, out of love or falling in love. This is the cleverness of Rhye: their musical ambience, and lyrical inwardness, that subtly finds a way into your subconscious.

As the album begins to descend into its culmination, this is where they begin to resemble England’s finest indie electronic musicians of today, The xx and Jungle. ‘Softly’ and ‘Sinful’, the final two tracks on the album, are beautiful, harmonic listens. Vocally, of course, it is that twinkling falsetto we’ve come to know from Rhye, but it’s also lugubrious, wistful and aching, yet musically it’s intelligible, lucid and climactic.

This isn’t a record for a night out, or a soundtrack for your pre-night out, it’s an after party record. It’s a sultry, mellow and gentle album that feels fluid, adaptable and easy going for when you come back a little worse for wear. There’s a boom surrounding indie-electronic music lately, with the likes of Sampha, James Blake, Glass Animals and The xx each finding a niche in the genre. This is exactly what Rhye have done too and the result is the funkiness of Glass Animals, the reflectiveness of Sampha and the haunting, sombre vocals of The xx to create something of their own. Blood is a constant earworm, that swirls around your head until its last note.

Liam McMillen

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