In late 2009, a series of cryptic viral videos began to be uploaded to Youtube by a mysterious account with the teasing riddle of a name, iamamiwhoami. These short clips centered on imagery that was often unsettlingly sensual: a woman, identity obscured by face paint and visual distortion, twitches and writhes ritualistically in a dark woodland setting to the pulse of warped electronica. Once the videos were discovered, guesses as to the identity of their creator(s) inevitably cropped up, the most popular being Christina Aguilera, who vaguely resembled the woman in the videos (mostly because she was blonde) and who had been teasing her upcoming album (which would become the disappointingly bland Bionic) as futuristic electropop.

At the time, I followed the videos avidly but never participated in the feverish decoding and theorizing that occurred in certain corners of the Internet. My interest lay less in uncovering the performer's identity and more in immersing myself in the audiovisual aesthetic, a cross between Goldfrapp and the Knife that was discomfiting, otherworldly, and entirely captivating. After months of teasing, iamamiwhoami's first full-length song, a hauntingly distorted piano ballad titled "B," was released in early 2010. In the video, the woman from the earlier clips sits at a keyboard inside a claustrophobic wood-panelled room, her body and face entirely wrapped in plastic. Both song and video are as beautiful as they are disturbing.

With the release of further singles, followers collectively settled on Jonna Lee as the project's face and voice. As unlikely as this seemed, Lee being a barely-known Swedish singer/songwriter whose previous music was of the safe acoustic folk-pop variety, the evidence, gathered largely through social media stalking, was compelling. By the final installment in the sequence that would come to be known as Bounty, the moody electronic epic "Y," the truth was in plain sight. Even if Lee would remain coy about her involvement, not officially confirming it until late 2011, the mystery was more or less solved.

Many lost interest when it became clear that iamamiwhoami was not, after all, a vehicle for the reinvention of some current pop superstar like Aguilera or, another common guess, Lady Gaga. This is unfortunate because at the root of the project's mystery and obfuscation lies, in my opinion, some of the most engaging and creative electronic music to emerge in recent years. Lee and her producer Claes Björklund reached the pinnacle of their genius with 2012's Kin, released as a series of nine audiovisual singles over the course of the year, beginning with the muted "Sever," its lilting synth opening recalling the somber piano of "B." The visuals are cleaner and more organic, free of visual trickery, with Lee's bare-faced anguish front and center as she is terrorized by an odd woolly beast. The rest of the album plays like a remarkably cohesive greatest hits, every song better than the last.

2014 was the year of Blue, a surprisingly tropical and poppy turn that, just as surprisingly, works rather well. Smoothed of the project's darker and more experimental edges, some of the magic is lost, but there are enough infectious hooks and burbling synth lines to make up for it. It remains to be seen if Blue will stand as iamamiwhoami's closing chapter, but its final video, "Shadowshow," serves as an effective swan song if so. Hearkening back to older imagery, Lee, draped in plastic, wanders through an eerie nighttime forest. Our final image of her is naked in broad daylight, sitting at the water's edge as shadowy figures file past to drown themselves one by one, a scene which seems to represent the coexistence of death and rebirth. However, it is left up to the viewer to determine what this symbolism means for the project's ultimate fate.

Nearly three years later, a clearer answer seems to be in sight as Jonna Lee, now successfully re-branded as an ethereal electronic goddess, is reviving her solo career with a new single, "Samaritan," released under the moniker of ionnalee. On first listen, it's not a far cry from anything she created in collaboration with Björklund as iamamiwhoami. Of course, her unearthly, heavily-processed croon has become so unmistakable that it's nearly impossible to divorce it from previous context, even if the music were entirely different. In this case, it's not, built on heart-pounding beats and heavy, sinister synths, with ghostly verses that crescendo in an effervescent, instantly infectious chorus.

The major difference is that "Samaritan" is driven by vocals rather than atmospherics; most of Lee's lyrics are decipherable on first pass, and their content is also clearer and more direct. In past interviews, Lee has defended the elusiveness of iamamiwhoami as a means for the work to speak for itself without distractions, meant to turn the listener's focus inward toward the music instead of outward toward her. Yet many fans have deified Lee, blurring the distance between her and her onscreen counterpart and holding her to unattainable expectations. In this context, the song's chorus reads as a pointed reminder: "I don't remember promising my life and soul to bring you all bliss."

Fittingly, the song's visual accompaniment (produced in association with Comme des Garçons) paints a chilling vision. Lee watches as her alter ego's story unfolds on a flickering television screen. Having found self-realization, as symbolized by interpretative dance, her expression of identity is misinterpreted by those around her as something to be feared and excised. "If I am what you say, I expect to be hanging on a wooden cross," she sings as, bound by rope, she is led into the woods, fitted with a crown of blazing candles, and seemingly burned alive. Meanwhile, real-life Lee changes into elaborate dress and rehearses the dance moves she has just witnessed in the mirror; despite having seen the grisly outcome, she appears willing to subject herself to judgment all over again for the sake of her art.

With such an elaborately-crafted aesthetic, it's difficult not to over-analyze every frame of the video and every second of the track. But while this adds a layer of richness, particularly for those who have been following iamamiwhoami for years, it is not at all necessary to the song's enjoyment. On its own, "Samaritan" is a fresh and catchy experimental pop song that new and old listeners alike should be able to appreciate. I also assume that it is only the beginning of what ionnalee has in store this year, and I will be anxiously awaiting the rest.