Do a little Sault-searching: Sanjoy Narayan writes on an invisible British band

Sault does no interviews, releases no music videos and has no public persona. This hasn’t dulled their impact. If anything, it has heightened the allure.

In a world where artists constantly jostle for the limelight, the British collective Sault has made anonymity their signature.

Sault does everything their own way. The band’s latest album, 10, was unveiled on Good Friday, then disappeared until Easter Sunday, echoing its themes of death, rebirth and renewal.

This refusal to play by the rules — they do no interviews, no music videos, have no public personas — hasn’t dulled their impact. If anything, it has heightened the allure. With their latest album, 10, the band has reaffirmed their position as one of the most vital, enigmatic forces in contemporary music, their silence speaking volumes where others shout.

Sault’s music is a tapestry woven from the threads of Black musical heritage: neo-soul at its core, but shot through with post-punk’s edge, funk’s groove, Afrobeat’s pulse, gospel’s uplift, and glints of jazz, house and disco.

Theirs is not casual genre-hopping. It is a deliberate act of reclamation and of storytelling. The collective’s output is a living archive of struggle, hope, and resilience; a bridge between past and present, between pain and the promise of deliverance.

And while elusiveness may be one of Sault’s hallmarks, another is prolificity. Since their debut in 2019, they have released 12 studio albums and two EPs. They’ve been nominated for Brit and Mercury awards. Yet, no one really knows much about the band members.

At the heart of their creative engine are producer Inflo (Dean Josiah Cover) and vocalist Cleo Sol (Cleopatra Nikolic), a husband-and-wife duo whose chemistry is palpable. Inflo’s production is both lush and spare, layering orchestral swells atop hypnotic grooves, always leaving space for the music to breathe. Cleo Sol’s voice is like a beacon of warmth, unguarded and brimming with conviction. Her style of singing turns every lyric into a shared confession, every chorus into a rousing call.

Collaborators such as Kid Sister, Chronixx, Michael Kiwanuka and Jack Penate have added their hues to Sault’s palette, but the collective ethos remains: no egos, no stars, just the music.

10 is Sault at their most transcendent. Its release was pure theatre; it was unveiled on Good Friday, briefly disappeared from streaming platforms, and was resurrected on Easter Sunday, echoing the album’s themes of death, rebirth and renewal.

That’s typical. An earlier album, Nine (2021), was only available on streaming services and as a digital download for 99 days.

On 10, the opener, The Healing (listed as T.H.), is a meditative invitation to vulnerability, its gospel harmonies and hand drums urging listeners towards self-awareness and connection. Another, Power (listed as P), struts with the swagger of classic funk, its basslines and horns a nod to James Brown. Know That You Will Survive (listed as K.T.Y.W.S.) is a balm, with lush orchestration and lyrics of quiet strength.

Sault’s minimalism is surgical; emotional arcs unfurl with subtle crescendos, mirroring the heart’s unspoken triumphs.

In 2022, the band stunned the industry by dropping five albums simultaneously as a free download, a gesture as punk as it was genuinely generous. Each Sault project is distinct, yet all of them are united by a commitment to artistic freedom and social commentary.

Their 2022 album, Earth, leans into African rhythms and psych-funk, evoking Santana’s Soul Sacrifice and Beyoncé’s Lemonade era. The orchestral Air, also from 2022, is a radical detour into contemporary classical, showing how Sault refuses to be boxed in by expectation.

The collective’s music is built on repetition and ritualistic grooves, creating hypnotic soundscapes that invite listeners into a communal, almost spiritual experience. Tracks such as God is in Control (from Earth) layer hand drums and harmonies that evoke Black musical traditions spanning continents, connecting listeners from Africa to the Americas. It is traditional Black spiritual music in a modern-day revisitation.

Their anonymity amplifies their themes of resilience, community and Black pride, allowing the work to resonate without distraction. Even the About section of their artist page on Spotify simply says “Add a little Sault to your life”.

When they finally took the stage in late 2023, it was on their own terms. Each performance was a separate event, focused on a different album. These rare appearances feel less like concerts and more like rituals — fleeting, electrifying, and gone before one can grasp them.

Of course, the collective is not immune to the frictions of collaboration. Recent reports of a legal dispute over financial matters between Inflo and the British rapper Little Simz, a long-time collaborator, is a reminder that even the most utopian ventures can face real-world pressures. It is also a reminder that behind the veil of anonymity are artists navigating the same challenges as anyone else.

For those willing to embrace their mystery, Sault offers a journey that is richly rewarding: a trove of sound that reveals new layers of meaning and beauty every time you listen. In the end, Sault’s greatest act of rebellion could be that in a world so full of clamour, they redefine power by refusing to be seen.

(To write in with feedback, email sanjoy.narayan@gmail.com)