And I've searched. Because, let's face it, who doesn't want more Sade—even if it's not Sade? (With apologies/compliments to Sade.)

But the recommendations are all missing at least one of the essential ingredients that make Sade so extraordinary, in my opinion.

Those are, in no particular order:

1. Melody

One really standout aspect of the band's melodies is their economy. Listening to "sounds like Sade" recommendations, I'm reminded how rare a good melody writer is, and how often Stuart Matthewman & co. get it right. And, by contrast, how often others get it wrong.

2. Attitude

Sade herself strikes a wonderful and unusual balance between warm tenderness and cool aloofness. In her rare interviews, she's smiling and friendly, but she's neither desperate to fit in nor disdainful. She never seems quite of this world, as if she can't quite "join in," as Stephen Fry writes of himself. And yet, there's never a trace of pride in her voice, looks, or words.

3. Simplicity

There's so much Sade doesn't do when she sings. She doesn't use vibrato. She doesn't "flirt to the listener" with her voice. Her style is simple and unceremonious.

Hers is Lenten, vow-of-poverty singing, to adapt a phrase of Martin Amis. That seems appropriate given her family's spiritual history.

In any case, it's ironic, or maybe fitting, that those raw, naked vocals are more appealing than the vocals of many artists who aim for sex appeal and end up contorting their voices into artificial groans and whispers. Sade's simplicity is attractive.

4. Aesthetic

There's no question in my mind that Sade the fashion designer and Sade the band are inseparable. Image is essential to an album like Love Deluxe or a song like "Never as Good as the First Time."

To put a finer point on it, "Never As Good as the First Time" would be extraordinary even if the music video had never been shot. But illustrating it with such elegant imagery, this ethereally beautiful woman riding across the Spanish countryside on a galloping horse, in distant and untouchable grayscale, visually echoing the lyrical theme of unobtainability...it becomes more than a song; it becomes an experience.

And critically, the manner matches the matter. The aesthetic is uncomplicated—dark hair sleekly pulled back, white blouse billowing—but tastefully and gorgeously arranged. It elegantly frames Sade's voice and looks and the band's music without distracting from them.

Nothing is flashy. It doesn't need to be. The fundamentals are alluring enough without tricks.

5. Tender yet unsentimental sadness

Put another way: sad yet unsentimental tenderness. This is everywhere in Sade's oeuvre: the woman in Somalia, scraping for pearls by the roadside; dreams "broken by the burden of [...] youth"; a willingness to give up paradise "if you were mine" (but you aren't—and, the dreaminess of the grayscale cityscape seems to say, you never truly will be).

Happy endings are rare in Sade, and I love that. Even a song like "Kiss of Life" isn't exactly happy; the harmony keeps falling back to a minor chord, and the mood is not so much happy as it is gently grateful. You get the sense that the narrator is someone who knows how the kiss of life can end. Someone who's been "torn apart so many times"..."hurt so many times before." A soldier of love, you might say.

Anyway, the remarkable thing isn't that the themes are sad. It's how tenderly and unsentimentally the band approaches them. There's no wallowing, nor is there hatefulness. It's an incredibly unusual balance.

Take two examples of this:

• "Cherish the Day." The chord progression is borderline fatalist, an infinite descent and reascent. But the second chord in the progression breaks up the gloom in an astonishing way—with a major seventh. It's a completely unexpected sound in this particular progression, like a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds. Momentarily, it's swallowed up by the minor dominant chord. But it keeps coming back. And, in those moments, despite the knowledge that the object of your desire will never be yours, you nevertheless feel loved, cared for, seen. Just by the presence of that chord.

• "Love Is Stronger Than Pride." The narrator has been wronged, but she "can't hate" the one who wronged her, though she "has tried." She even hums during her musings. You get the feeling that while she was hurt, she knew the fallibility of humankind all along; and even though the experience was painful, it wasn't entirely unexpected. You get the feeling that she expects more of the same in the future, not from this person, whom she wisely isn't "waiting for," but from life itself—as if she can see more of the beach than the rest of us, and it's rocks all the way down. The rocks hurt her feet, but that's just the way it is; and anyway, the sun is warm, and there's a picnic ahead. But the knowledge of how many rocks there are and how far they go weighs heavily on her just the same.

6. Sexuality

Just as Sade the fashion designer is inseparable from Sade the band, Sade the sex symbol is inseparable from the others as well. But, as with everything else the band does well, there are layers to how they approach sex that set them apart from other artists.

With Sade, sex is frank without being mocked or flaunted. If anything, it's understated—without being in any way diminished.

Love Deluxe is a prime example of this odd combination. The nude on the cover is a fitting depiction of the band's message. Sade is exposed, and, from her expression, willingly so. Yet she shields herself, as if expecting to be hurt for her vulnerability.

And while the nudity is relatively generous for this kind of cover, conveying intimacy, the sepia tone creates distance, reminding the viewer that they are only a viewer, the cover is only a cover, and the promised intimacy is only an illusion—just as intimacy with the smooth operator in the band's biggest hit would be; just as the dream of a lover perfect enough to outdo paradise in "Cherish the Day" is.

In short, sex is part of the foreground, but it's presented calmly and matter-of-factly, "natural as the way we came to be." There's also an ample helping of detachment, another distinctive quality.

The detachment is partly due to the utter lack of sexual pandering, the complete absence of sultry smirks and intonations. That detachment is a double-edged sword: On one hand, it's refreshingly authentic, because Sade is detached from the viewer in many senses, and simulating the opposite would ring false in our ears. At the same time, it seems inescapable somehow, and unchangeably permanent. You get the sense that even if the physical and emotional barriers were removed, the detachment would remain. Some part of Sade's soul would always be fluttering just out of reach atop the next hill. That seems to be part of the group's philosophy, the idea that detachment is unavoidable, and wistfully sad, but not devastating, not worth endlessly weeping over, not cause for unremittent anger or cynicism, yet not something to fatuously, blithely "just get over," either. That's not something you encounter in popular music very often.

tl;dr

No one else seems to be playing Sade's sport, let alone in their league.

What do you think?

If anyone has found other artists that do tick the boxes above, let us know—I'd be happy to be proven wrong for more of this kind of music and aesthetic.