FollowEverything I have ever heard about Rhye has led me to believe that they are a group that thrives on mystery. They are prone to playing shows in the dark, doing little PR, rarely touring, and giving short, unrevealing responses in interviews. This intrigued me, and as I climb up to the grotto of Oakland’s Fox Theatre balcony, dirty Shirley in hand, I take stock of all the atmospheric details, expecting that some otherworldly experience is about to occur.
As the band works their way through its songs, it is apparent that frontman Michael Milosh has had to do some reshaping to tour. The other half of the soul R&B musical duo that created Rhye’s debut album “Woman” is Robin Hannibal, a Danish producer and instrumentalist who doesn’t tour. For the current tour Milosh has put together a six-piece band of multi-instrumentalists. The live dynamic is certainly different from the album: the songs are longer and the sound is larger. The band consists of keys, bass, acoustic guitar, drums, and a small string section (violin and cello), with a brief but awe-inducing appearance from the trombone. The songs are drawn out, broken up, and infused with solos.
Surrounded on stage by colorful, glowing orbs, Rhye wows with “Verse.” The bass line is slow, and the keys are prominent. Milosh’s familiar upper-register (and often mistaken for female) croon sends the audience into cheers. The song is surprisingly upbeat, and at certain intervals, the audience claps along. Following “Verse,” are two fairly popular tracks from “Woman,” “3 Days” and “The Fall.” The former is chockfull of breathy, longing vocals and spacey-electric sounds from the keyboardist. “The Fall” is familiar and yet steadily unveils itself as redesigned. Live, this song is dreamier than ever. While Milosh makes frequent signals to the soundboard for adjustment, the hum of piano, the soft and almost haunting echo of the lyrical presentation, and the elongated harmonization of the band elevates the song to a level that feels church-like in the best possible way, a way that seems to render the previously buzzing audience members silently reverent.
After that experience, Milosh reels us back into reality, “How are you guys doing? That’s more to make me less nervous, just kind of like talking off of you…” This is the first semblance of banter so far, but if Milosh is nervous, it’s certainly hard to tell. His mastery of his high-registering voice is flawless, and his presence engrosses the audience. Throughout several of the songs, he beats his hand against his chest, sporadically joins in on the keys and the percussion, and kneels in front the of the cellist during her solos for extended periods of time.
Rhye’s debut album “Woman” is very much about erotic desire and both grapples with and muses on the beauty of overwhelming seduction. Though the lyrics are simple, their delivery evokes some urgent, deep-seated emotions. In fact, most of the time Milosh seems able to send the audience floating above their chairs with nothing more than an “ooooh my love.”
Another nervous check-in from Milosh, “Does it sound okay out there? It’s hard to know from the stage. As long as I know you guys are okay, I’m okay.” Trust and believe, we are certainly okay out here. A drunkenly dancing audience member in front of me takes this opportunity to yell, “please have my babies!” which is fairly indicative of the way in which this mood music is successful in various arenas, be it a dance party or a bedroom. The set carries on as such, balancing nicely between snap-worthy staccato rhythms and sway-inducing tranquil harmonization.
Next comes “Last Dance,” a popular Rhye song that I don’t recognize at first because it has been so extensively revamped. The funk-inspired song is bass-heavy and has the keyboardist Ben Schwier double-timing on the keyboard and the electric organ. People are on their feet and clapping, and Milosh’s vocals impressively carry the tune forward. Cellist Claire Courchene abandons her cello for a trombone. Milosh is one moment playing percussion, the next keys. At one point he’s so into it that he paces halfway off the stage and then back again. As the trombone solo continues, the song crescendos to thundering applause. At some point in the song, the violinist encounters technical difficulties and has to leave the stage. Milosh provides wisdom for us at the end of it, “Violins break, shit happens, like, that’s life.”
Someone in the audience yells, “I love you!” Milosh smiles and responds, “I love you. Of course I love you.” After a playing a few dark and stormy new songs, Rhye comes round to “Open,” perhaps their most well-known track. Milosh delivers the first lines of the song, and the entire album for that matter, “I’m a fool for that shake in your thighs.” The song is a delicious summation of the sensual themes present in “Woman.” The song is slower live, and the cello and violin set the tone and manage to capture a sense of longing. However, the song soon begins to escalate. The drums and bass steadily build and the keys come in to revive the delicate mood with groove and funk. Milosh is on percussion again; his vocals are obscured, slipping in and out of audible existence. At a certain point, I wonder if it’s even the same song. The lengthy coda raises “Open” to a whole new level, emphasizing its irresistible complexities and making it intensely superior live.
Rhye closes out the end of their set with the appropriately-titled, “It’s Over.” Milosh hushes the audience in hopes that he and the band can sing without mics. “Everything’s so temporary, I should have known,” he lulls. Six harmonizing voices wordlessly hum to the finish in a reverential fade out. Even from the nosebleeds of The Fox, there is an inclusive intimacy that is difficult to articulate. I get the feeling that I have been made privy to something incredibly visceral. Devoid of gimmick or guise, perhaps that is the true mystery of Rhye.
Corrected: 11/16/2014
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