When I picture Rhye, the Canadian band are highlighted by flickering candles.
Their Tiny Desk Concert was my first foray into their alternative R&B music, where the seven-piece (steered by singer Mike Milosh) were surrounded by a galaxy of yellow flames.
The Triffid’s stage was dark, but I imagined those pinpoints of candlelight as they entered (28 February). The musicians stood in a semi-circle, armed with a piano, electric guitar, violin, cello, bass, and percussion.
Mike lingered in the back corner, despite the microphone erected front and centre.
As the heartbeat bass of ‘Verse’ began, he slowly started creeping forward.
The crowd erupted into awe-inspired cheers when his vocals pieced the room. Listeners were thrilled by his iconic sopranos, although the singer – endearingly – appeared nervous.
Another from debut album ‘Woman’, ‘3 Days’ picked up the pace. Mike still teetered on the edge of discomfort, distracting his hands with a pair of drumsticks and adding a second element of percussion, hitting a miniature drum kit.
2018 record ‘Blood’ made its first appearance with the lyrically beautiful ‘Please’. Its simple addition of two, deep notes rounding off each chorus drew goosebumps, though the outro is still my favourite – perhaps ever – a silky piano melody paired with the brilliant use of ‘sugarcane’ as an adjective: “Give me all of you, my sugarcane.”
“Hello Brisbane, how are you? I’m just stopping to say hi. Let’s have some fun tonight,” Mike smiled, his band glowing behind him.
Click here to read our recent interview with Mike.
The recognisable piano riff of ‘The Fall’ triggered “awws!” from audience members across the venue. The singer seemed to settle into a calmer state, spurred on by the warm response to the fan-favourite.
‘Last Dance’ ventured away from any emotion-tugging sentiments, the song instead grounded by a groovy beat. Mike asked: “You guys do know how to clip your hands in Australia, right?”
The bassist stripped off a layer of clothing, “Roland’s taking his jacket off! Sh*t!” the singer laughed – and then paused. He lifted and lowered his hands in a bid for silence. “We’re going to bring it down for a second, shhh.” The crowd hushed in obligement.
Rhye delved into ‘Waste’, the string instruments shone, band members next exchanging glances in deliberation. “We’re going to try something – a new song of ours. Maybe two, depending on your reaction.”
The unreleased track (it felt vast, spacious) was first met with polite encouragement, which transitioned into genuine enthusiasm. More nodding between musicians, then a firm “alright” from Mike, as the band boldly determined their set list on stage.
‘Taste’ seemed to have already established itself as a discography heavyweight, despite its recent release date. The swirling violin and cello were layered beneath a twanging, Daft Punk-esque guitar.
“Let’s do an experiment,” Mike uttered to hundreds of watching eyes. “Let’s bring these lights down.” His hands again lifted and lowered, that same action – this time in a bid to dim the coloured bulbs around him.
And then there was darkness, Rhye a mere silhouette, audience members only shadows around me. The orchestral beginnings of highest-streamed ‘Open’ emerged from the black – shadows gasped in excitement, swaying through the stripped-back rendition.
The statement “We have two songs left,” was met with disappointed sighs, followed by chuckles after, “I know, right? We came all this way.”
Mike introduced the band, each member earning a thunderous round of applause: “Thanks Brisbane. Let’s do a fun number now.”
Fingers clicked along to the fast-paced and funky ‘Hunger’, though despite the floor space closing in as the crowd spread out to jive, Rhye backflipped on the top-tapping tempo: “It wouldn’t really be us if we left you on this note.”
Laughter ensured, Mike continued. “And because we’re us, we’re going to leave you on a really sad note. You can’t fight with nature. So, let’s come together on this. First – lights need to be 22 per cent darker. This is one of those songs where we should all be totally quiet,” he ordered.
“In fact, I’m not going to start singing, until you all stop talking.” Once again, he asserted his power over our senses, first taking our sight – now our sound. It was totally silent, broken only by the beginnings of ‘Blood’ standout (and set closer), ‘Song For You’.
It’s interesting, I have always pictured Rhye performing within a candlelit galaxy. Mike may have repeatedly asked for the lights to be dimmed – but to me, he still appeared illuminated.
