The curse of the bedroom musician. It starts with even having the idea of writing music in the first place. It then breeds upon picking up that instrument you saw no use for when in amongst what you thought would be a group of like-minded melody makers that you disbanded from. They could have even been imaginary. Creative control takes over. You sit – wistfully plucking strings or tapping fingers, finding glimpses of genius that, somehow, has to be put to tape. And so comes in the computer, the recording, the ‘work’ – all followed up by the deceptively simple process of setting it all up online for you to share your ideas with the world. Finally, before the ‘big break’, the inevitable influx of words are thrown your way – titles that seem unbefitting of the simplicity and lack of cynicism behind it all, the reason why it all began in the first place.

When something from that process emerges that defies any need for The Pigeonhole, then you’ve cottoned onto something good. Nay, great (despite, yes, the ability to be lost in wave upon wave of new artistry constantly trying to sate an unquenchable thirst for The New). For young Will Archer, aka Slime, the sense that something different to this norm has occurred is present before a note is even struck on his Increases EP. A short sample taken from a swift walk through a corridor gives the slightest glimpse of character you need to comprehend his melancholic, introvert spell binding. A lady thanks him for the chivalrous act of opening the door, before his light pitter-patter of footsteps leads him to a room filled with haunting, gramophone style sounds of soul. As the soul jilts into a repetitive swell, Archer’s ironically inimitable world falls into place.

Opener ‘Caffeine’ plays on his multi-instrumental strengths perfectly and sets the tone for a new bar being set. Bound together by a simple, reverberated guitar riff, he pins together garage vocal samples and raw, downtempo kick drums with amazing ease and grace, forming a swooning, hypnotic number befitting of an opener of such a release. In fact, Archer’s guitar work throughout stands to be completely mesmerising in its tender capacities – ’2 Player’s Vondelpark featuring goodness proving to be a befitting example of his mastery. A simple plucked line courses through the track, weaving in amongst the guest star’s sultry vocal and an almost choral beat. ‘Breakfall’ wields even more might by breathing a different tempo to the rest as the guitar trickles infectious, angular melody through the pulsating ensemble of noise.

However, basing an argument of such grandeur solely upon his guitar skills proves fruitless as the EP progresses. His bravery in wielding unthought of instrumentation to the fore of his songs makes it hard to think who can do such things as he in the current electronic spectrum with such immediate effect. ‘First Cape’ builds from a spectre of chopped up melodica before, again, being twisted out of it’s wind-blown shape by Boards-of-Canada-esque synths and beats, whilst closer ‘Next Time’ is built almost entirely on overdubbed oboes, of all things. It’s a brave step out of the usual MIDI-orientated line to build songs like this from such instrumentation, and Archer’s effortlessness in doing so is staggering.

To think that this EP has come from a young man born within an arid landscape of scapegoatism is truly refreshing. Talents like this are hard to come by and need to be cherished – even if they may be hiding themselves away for now.