ossibly in deference to the impecunious and dismissive reception it initially received from both critics and pubic alike, electronic artists have for many years strove to establish their credentials as ‘proper’ musicians. Barring the brief Stella drenched explosion of Big Beat at the tail-end of the 1990’s (essentially a GM modified crossbreed of pop-punk sensibilities, Northern Soul eclecticism, and a shopping trolley full of Roland gear), this quest for acceptance has tended to coalesce around a po-faced breed of faux intellectualism enthralled to the like of Stockhausen, Peter Maxwell Davies and Edgard Varése. With more comically titled sub-genres emerging each month, electronic music has never been in ruder health—yet despite this artistic virility much of the output still suffers a self-fulfilling marginalisation which perpetually reinforces the equipment obsessed fan-boy stereotype. One of the more common devices through which the digirati have repeatedly asserted their worth is through the overt eschewing of the pop/rock temporal template. Whereas the blues structures and technologically imposed time limitations of 45’s established a strict ‘5 minute cut-off’ doctrine within rock & roll that still pervades to this day, electronic music has tended to ignore these limitations and instead pursue an agenda that, again, very much reflects the creative processes and technological stipulations which condition the work.

Whilst both mainstream acts (Snivilisation-era Orbital, Underworld’s “Moaner”) and countless leftfield artists (Ulrich Schnauss’ A Strangely Isolated Place, Michaela Melián’s Baden-Baden) have consummately proved the pulchritude and elegance of verbose compositions, anyone who has suffered the indignity of Goldie’s “Mother” will readily testify to the value of acknowledging the onset of diminishing returns. Possibly prompted by such meandering and imprecise material, the last few years have seen an ever swelling band of machine heads grafting the ADD template of popular music onto their digital realm, mirroring the safety pin puncturing of Prog’s bloated form back in the 1970’s by Punk’s gobby hordes. So whilst at one end of the spectrum there are those whom embracement of a more totalitarian time enforcement seems relatively natural due, in part at least, to their more visible pop sensibilities (see Telefon Tel Aviv, The Go Find, The Notwist, F.S. Blumm, Tarwater etc.), it is the more avant hearted artists that are arguably more pioneering with Oval, Bogdan Racszynski, Hrvatski, and Susumu Yokota all conspicuous examples. It is to this latter and distinctly maladroit group that we can add Sanso-Xtro with her debut solo release Sentimentalist; a digitally underwired record on which the majority of songs stay well within the three minute warning zone…

Having spent her formative years as the drummer for Australian avant-rock group Sindog Jellydog, it is no real surprise that Melissa Agate (aka Sanso-Xtro) has a firm understanding of molding the obtuse into the acute. Now ensconced on the venerable Blighty, Agate’s musical journey will be familiar to many with its well worn tale of increasing disentrancement over the trappings of conventional rock, the discovery of electronic artists followed by a coruscating period of genre fusing experimentation that led to Sentimentalist. Signed to the exquisite Type imprint, Agate further augments both the sound and spirit of label mates’ Goldmund and Ryan Teague’s recent releases, merging the synthesized and organic into a finely balanced blend. Sanso-Xito elects to open Sentimentalist with the lengthiest composition of the entire record, a decision which instills a sense of ostentatious majesty when viewed in retrospect. As undefined crackles and frosty bells accrue incrementally around spray-can death rattles, “The Last Leaf” undoubtedly shares a heritage with fellow Antipodean’s Triosk; yet whereas their structures belied a love of Jazz, Agate’s prototype is undoubtedly Post-Rock, albeit rendered skeletal in its wafer thin fragility.

The brevity of the tracks on Sentimentalistbegins to make an impact on “Unsentimental,” where itchy jazz rhythms surge forth with a perilously static ripped digital heart that brings to mind the dichotomy inherent in labels such as Neo Ouija’s more esoteric signings. Similarly, “Plant Skeletons” and “Misplaced Feathers” appropriate Iceland’s Múm (minus the elfin whimsy), with ambient sediment layering around the merest dash of bleeps and beeps, drawing it all into a magnificently monochrome contrast, whilst “Frangipani Gardens” looks to Phonophani or the less micro-sound obsessed individuals on the now sadly defunct Mille Plateaux label for inspiration. But what really elevates Agate’s work above the slew of similarity avant-hearted electro experimentalists is her brutal tendency to terminate a composition before you think it’s really got started. So conditioned have we become by the sprawling templates of the genre that when someone chooses to flagrantly flout these conventions you can’t help but experience a visceral thrill that practically dictates you go back and experience the music over and over with a subtle (yet significantly) altered set of preconceptions.

Elsewhere, “Blue Signal” plunders both Broadcast and Björk (and therefore by extension Matmos and Console) in its heavy lidded strings and cascading percussion before shifting gear joyously to resemble something from Blur’s Britpop burning eponymous LP, “Spark” is a florid collection of glitterati click cuts, whilst album closer “Like White Fire” takes a delicate guitar melody and infuses it with queasy rhythms similar to those of FSK’s Michaela Melián’s solo work. Non-conventional in almost every permutation of the word, Sentimentalist is an album that, whilst at times willfully obdurate, nonetheless delivers countless lambent delights and enthralling compositions which deserve to be enjoyed by a wide and appreciative audience.