Though I was alone when I first watched the video for Phèdre’s “In Decay,” I still threw some nervous glances around. The scene was nothing less than Dionysian paradise: golden elixir pouring down naked bodies, followed shortly by sex-plumped lips, all within a panoply of thick verdant vegetation and decadent gastronomy. It was a feast for the senses, and this hypersensuality is no less diminished on Phèdre’s self-titled debut.  

Opener “Tragique” features an aged, low-fi synth haze, a golden-toned morass out of which emerges the faintest sign of life: an indomitable melodic sensibility. With “Aphrodite,” the disc dives into glitching, twitching pop accents swirling around vocals and lyrics that themselves operate within an idiosyncratic realm of icy, steeled logic—hot mess meets cold fusion. The LP is big on atmosphere, a too-cool-for-school sexuality that is absent of haute couture arrogance; in the hands of Phèdre, unabashed hedonism just looks so damn fun.  

Songs frequently use driving, deterministic bass lines with powerful hooks, an irresistible combination. Particularly interesting is the interplay of the different vocalists, which contrast and foil each other not just in pitch, but in tone, volume, and texture; it’s rather like a six-year-old trying her hands at counterpoint, and the effect is endearing, if not polished. The simple melodic lines are, together, much greater than the sum of its parts. Get lost in the sensuality, but be warned: you won’t want to leave.