Syntrovert’s Latest EP Makes Experimental Dance Music Feel Like a Fantasy Video Game

The internet, as you may have heard, can connect anyone, anywhere. Thus it was that in 2016, a 16-year-old producer in Santiago, Chile, began releasing music that, within a few years, was blowing minds in Buenos Aires, Mexico City, Los Angeles, Cologne, and beyond. Syntrovert—a reclusive transgender producer and DJ who uses she/they pronouns—has an impressively wide range. They make relaxed, loungey techno (see last year’s EP Movimiento) just as well as they alchemize EDM and reggaeton earworms into mystical incantations, with the help of blurred-lines takes on dubstep and trance (see their March release Ediciones Oce​á​nicas). They’ve made what they call “hyper-dancehall” and “nuevo house,” on conceptual records that tell sonic stories about the creative process and what they call “futuristic epic battles.” On 2018’s Sword, metal sabers clink against the forceful crashes of vogue beats. 

Syntrovert’s mad-genius approach to synthesizing genres has resulted in a steady clip of releases on underground netlabels like Argentina’s Avga, as well as appearances on L.A.-based web radio station Dublab and its German counterpart. This year alone, she’s released six EPs and two singles on her personal label, Orca Electronics, while DJing parties on the Chilean coast and in Mexico City. Her newest EP, the masterful Pathfinder, was released in October by Mexican rave-slash-label Terminal, whose community includes Avga co-founder El Plvybxy and the veteran Chilean artist Imaabs. Syntrovert belongs to a vast web of cutting-edge Latin American producers whose diaspora reaches—and is heard—around the world.

House music and techno tend to be repetitive; while there might be breakdowns, shifts, and peaks and valleys, it generally returns to the same rhythms and phrases, which makes for easier dancing. Syntrovert’s productions, on the other hand, belong to a strain of experimental dance that instead favors narrative progression. Tracks mutate, progress through different genres, and seem to deconstruct and reconstruct themselves in real time, as in productions by the A.I.-music auteur Holly Herndon or zigzagging DJ sets by the likes of CCL. Though it challenges the dancefloor, this unpredictable style is increasingly popular at raves and underground clubs, perhaps because it reflects our present historical moment of constant change and uncertainty. And in the hands of a skilled storyteller like Syntrovert, unpredictability doesn’t have to mean chaos.

On Pathfinder, melodic piano guides us through a range of syncopated, wubby beats that sound as if they’re underwater. Like the Detroit techno duo Drexciya before them, Syntrovert’s narrative progresses like a video game where the goal is to reach (or perhaps, find a path to) a dancefloor on land. It’s like if dubstep and dembow went to a circuit party in Atlantis, then collabed on a Final Fantasy soundtrack. The party’s insistent beats are still pounding in their heads, but as in a video game, there’s a sense of passing through different levels; not dancing in place, but going somewhere. And it’s surely a fantasy game—amid the glittering synths, a cinematic harp wouldn’t sound out of place.

Opening track “Hope Recover” reclaims the rhythms of the so-called “tribal” house music popular at circuit parties, reuniting these grooves with their Latin roots. It sets the stage for our adventure through strange seas: Wild oscillations sweep the lows, while digital error noises stutter alongside bubbly blips and whirls. Dreamy keys and a pitched-up voice weave in and out, as if trying to tell us the story of how these elements make sense together—but it doesn’t matter; the track keeps mutating in the direction of fun. A remix by fellow Chilean producer Paltamango brings the bass to the fore and spins the vocal into a hypnotic chant reminiscent of tracks by British producer Pangaea, whose vocal chops make for festival-friendly hooks, wordless yet catchy.

A speed dembow riddim opens “Acertijo,” which sounds like fighting through a tough level: kicks and whips punctuate an ominous, undersea bassline, while sparkly interludes evoke the sound of grabbing power-ups. Occasionally, a horse whinnies (the whole record is fairly whimsical, and Syntrovert often draws inspiration from animals). The track’s final interlude is like passing through a shimmering portal, after which everything slows down to half-time: We’ve fallen into the deep wub, where the divergent elements—think Mario leaping over chasms of glitching pixels—melt together into dubstep.

By “Rumors,” the tracks start to blur together. Though the record’s range of sounds is huge, certain basslines, bleeps, and burbles recur, sometimes creating a sense of undifferentiated swampiness. Yet every song is driving and enlivening, with a palpable progression from the sea’s murky depths toward the heavens above.  

On the final track, “Freediving,” trance-like piano soars over softly crackling static and a drumbeat that is, blessedly, consistent. The result is dreamy, yet far from sentimental; the sense of transcendence feels grounded, earned, and cathartic. It could soundtrack a sunrise in the club as much as a joyous bike ride through town. (Sarah Farina’s remix flattens this delight into something far less unique, though Peder Mannerfelt twists “Acertijo” into a refreshingly self-aware take on industrial techno, giggling as it breaks all the rules.) “Freediving” makes for a hopeful finale, suggesting Syntrovert’s worldview is optimistic, with tough battles leading to happy endings. Where some experimentalists might leave their creations deconstructed, Syntrovert pulls the pieces together to deliver resolution.

In harnessing the sounds and narrative progression of fantasy games, Syntrovert’s work recalls that of Porter Robinson, whose song “Divinity” she sampled—alongside Linkin Park vocals—on the 2023 single “Virtud.” Robinson elaborates the stories of his records through poetic lyrics and elaborate live shows, casting listeners as “the main character” in epics of healing and escape. In contrast, Syntrovert hews to more underground sensibilities, with a cryptic online presence, abstract album art, and musical narratives that cohere around moods rather than words. When heard on a dancefloor, her work requires closer attention to catch and follow the beat. Yet doing so is like rehearsing for an unstable world, in which narratives are increasingly mutating, melting, or leaving us altogether. Born from the heart of a world wide web, Syntrovert reflects a generation grappling with the meaning of meaning itself. In her hands, it all makes beautiful sense, and then doesn’t, and then does again.