Inferno

Danceability and emotion are two increasingly common ingredients for a hearty album meal in the EDM space. Ultimately, for her debut album, Nostalgix settles on the same recipe.

This recipe is one that has, historically, been the great separator. There's a gaping divide between those who can do it well and those who cannot, a divide that makes itself known in the glory of a phenomenal dish and in the shadow of a forgotten one. It's a popular first dish for many cooks, because its ingredients are relatively easy to source and it's proven to be a crowd-pleaser at the table. Nostalgix, though, brings homegrown ingredients - she writes and voices many of the songs here, adding her own personal flavour to her own homemade base of rich, enticing bass house. But Inferno despite the name, isn't cooked at a particularly high heat. This is perhaps an attempt at experimentalism in its own right, seeing her open strong but quickly tone down to provide the emotion embedded within the tracklist its own space. Insincerity is avoided at all costs. It's a difficult thing to avoid in a dancefloor-residing album, to be sure, and occasionally the bass house slips in too quickly to whisk away the molasses of emotion that try to surface (or vice versa, like in "Miss You", where sentiment thrives but the empty production lends little substance), but Nostalgix does a commendable job.

Though cooking at a low heat doesn't come without its risks. Inferno boils and simmers, fires up and wanes out, but if you're cooking something meatier, running the risk of undercooking and leaving your dish painfully raw is always a danger. And a good bass house record is always meaty. The midsection of this album learns this lesson very quickly - undercooked would be a harsh word, but nevertheless an apt describer, as many of the ideas fail to garner enough nutrition to sustain themselves long enough. Inferno, then, quickly overcompensates, as the chargrilled, fiery sounds of "Shine" and "On My Own" begin to rush the cooking process. Sometimes Nostalgix leans a little too much towards the sentimental side of the record; sometimes she teeters to the dancefloor elements and loses sight of herself. It's not exactly a filling record, either - at under thirty minutes of runtime, Inferno could have done with another course or two.

Well, alright, it's not a perfect dish. But it does seem unfair to criticise so harshly and pointedly overlook the rich flavours that do come through.

There's certainly enough of those. When Nostalgix hits the mark with her garnishing, and presents a finely-flowing cut like "Holy" or a slice of deep, rumbling garage like "Fall Apart", Inferno is at its best. The core sound that Nostalgix pushes is compelling in itself, even if many of her ideas don't quite make it to the table intact, and her confidence in her more energetic tracks is clear, breaking that confidence to expose vulnerability when necessary. It's short and not particularly dense, yes, but clearly Inferno is adeptly written, harnessing powerful basslines and personal experience and all the while maintaining its broad appeal. Nostalgix comes equipped with a strong penchant for brash drops and a willingness to be introspective, and she does what she can, chopping up drums and blending sweet vocals with savoury sound design and a salty sprinkle of processing. It seems that, after all, settling on this recipe was a curse and a blessing together - the former for being unable to substantiate its flavour, but the latter for bringing forth that flavour nevertheless. It's that artistic flair that makes Inferno a recommendable listen.

I've been harsh, but, I like to think, accomodating. And for a debut album released on a veteran label like Monstercat, Inferno pays its dues to the right places - it just doesn't quite pay enough. It is still a gratifying listen, one that continually musters a level of engagement through its weaker points and soars high through its stronger points - a listen that retains its integrity as an album with character throughout, and manages to sit somewhere ambiguously in the middle of the great divide this recipe tends to invoke.

Listen on Spotify here.