There is a peril that makes me fully self-aware when writing pieces on this new beat-bred generation of electronic producers. Names have been thrown like schoolyard tennis balls hurtling toward an unintended skull during a game of catch to only bounce back and hit me square in the face. There was a karmic resolve to throwing a collective as such into any bracket, staining my memory with a subjective proof that sometimes you really don’t need to put a name on things to have fun with them.

Detriot’s Zach Saginaw, taking his middle name of Shigeto as an apt producer alias, shares a near identical genetic make up to those metaphorical tykes, and probably adheres to the same lack of rules. His sounds seem unattached to any inherent tag, unwilling to be pinned down by any genre classification – but what is most essential for his first full length is just how he will stand up against the vanguard of like minded producer types who have so kindly laid breadcrumbs for him down this similar path. The simplified answer would be that he most certainly sticks to the path well, but that would negate the route he takes. And that route is the most enlightening part of what’s on offer on Full Circle.

The underpinning of his entire musical premise for this debut long player – despite an obvious influx of technological trickery and intricacy that is simply dazzling – is what strikes as an inherent belief in a melodic core. Something that can strike as quite different to the discerning ear of many fans of those peers of his. ‘Ann Arbor Part One’, the album’s spectacular opener, threatens to strike too monotonous and repetitive of a note, almost verging too far into the sonic warfare with the likes of Flying Lotus and the Brainfeeder collective. But what allows Saginaw to swerve any textual punches is his ability to craft swift switches of off kilter hooks, giving his admittedly recognisable template new life in the form of blissful scales of chimed synthesizers and unerring yet ornately simplistic descent of bass notes.

It’s a template he seems pretty steadfast to hold throughout but, mostly, the sonic textures and intricacies mean that it never dulls. ‘Relentless Drag’ is a winged-flight of washed out synth cries, crunching around the ears and begging for life in their beautifully melancholic tones, whilst ‘Sky of The Revolution’, on the other hand, takes a far more Prefuse 73 led ambience, working its magic around off beat stabs of bass and a beautifully resonant organic drum sample. It may well be easy for those with a less keen ear to write Shigeto off as a wannabe, maybe even a coattailer, but on the showings of Full Circle’s first half, those in the know would be hard pressed to not include it within some of the finer works that this whole generation of production wunderkinds has had to offer.

As ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ kicks in with its scattering cymbals, they sit as a reminder of just how influenced by jazz Saginaw’s whole process is – not just in stylistic production, but also in a resolute ethos towards the abstract, despite all of the obtusely hidden accessibility available. It’s nostalgic without being condescending – a feat very much apt to music so stringently thought provoking and original. It’s only with ‘Ann Arbor Part 2′ that things seem to take a more straightforward tack and it unfortunately doesn’t stand in competition against the sophistication of that which has preceded it. Only a small gripe to be had though, as the album’s closer ‘Look At All The Smiling Faces’ proves to be a timely reminder of just how adept Saginaw’s production is – sitting in with the haunting qualities of Warp impresario Chris Clark, taking a magical flight through a more relaxed world of organic instrumentation before jarring the ear with a hall-treated drum break and simple synth so beautifully personified it’d be hard not to try and reach out to grasp at its ever shattering beauty.

Such an awe-inspiring ending is something rarely executed so well, even within this world of consistently lauded production talent. What it signifies is how Full Circle is a timely reminder of that scene’s seemingly ever present vitality and should reaffirm that, even without giving something some stupid name, it can still be a great companion.