Any sufficiently advanced musical form is indistinguishable from prog
— C. K. Clarke (almost)
Have you ever heard a minor fourth in a trap record? No need for that “I don’t even know what that is” look—your ears know exactly what it is. It’s that bittersweet chord sitting right in the middle of the chorus of “Space Oddity” (and “Starman”, and “Life on Mars”), the shadow that darkens the refrain of “The Killing Moon”; it’s the quiet melancholy of the line “In My Life” in the Beatles’ immortal song, and part of what makes you think “God, that’s so Beatles” when you hear “Creep”, “Don’t Look Back in Anger”, “Killer Queen”, or a good chunk of Electric Light Orchestra’s catalogue (“Turn to Stone”, “The Diary of Horace Wimp”, “Twilight”, “Xanadu”).
A brief, out-of-key detour that became a staple of baroque pop—and, by extension, glam, power pop, britpop: a calling card for refined songwriters and their equally attentive listeners. So what on earth is it doing in a trap beat?
Beyond trap boundaries: a sound laboratory of harmonic finesse and Sufjan-style choral writing
Granted, the label itself may be misleading. Twenty-five-year-old Los Angeles native Benjamin Fernando Barajas Lasky—aka Quadeca—isn’t exactly a trap rapper, and the arrangements on “Vanisher, Horizon Scraper” are far more than standard-issue “beats”. Still, “Ruin My Life” proudly showcases the genre's trademark half-slurred delivery, while slipping in a beautifully placed minor fourth right in the chiaroscuro of the opening arpeggio—a descending progression that reminds equally of “Blackbird” and Genesis’ “Afterglow”.
There’s much more packed into its five-plus minutes: Sufjan Stevens–style choral layers, a guest appearance by Harry Wilkinson of Maruja, and a dizzying beat that waits until nearly the three-minute mark before dropping—why fire all your shots at once?
These elements, in varying combinations, resurface throughout the album’s fourteen tracks, minor fourth included, starting with the opener “No Questions Asked”. Essentially a slice of tender folktronica built around a sample from Chico Buarque’s “Deus lhe pague”, it presents the harmonic sleight of hand in a slightly more intricate form—but once you know what to listen for, you’ll catch it immediately, right around the ninety-second mark, where the radiant mood subtly clouds over.
Harmonic analysis may sound like inside baseball to the uninitiated, yet on internet forums the album’s precise chord choices have become an object of scrutiny, to the point that fans have compiled and shared annotated transcriptions in a dedicated Drive folder. How many trap—or even hip-hop, or electronic—albums can you think of that inspired that kind of response?
From bedroom producer to underground Olympus: a distinctive sonic signature winning over critics and peers
Quadeca first made waves as a promising YouTube talent. With “Vanisher, Horizon Scraper”, he seems to have finally found his stylistic Holy Grail—and it’s only natural that attention and enthusiasm around the project are steadily growing. His 2022 release “I Didn’t Mean to Haunt You” had already pushed the emo-trap of his previous four albums into genuinely new art-pop territory, but this new record marks a clear leap forward in both scope and personality.
The fusion is unprecedented, the production bears a now unmistakable signature, and the palette of samples, chord choices, and orchestral textures is strikingly sophisticated and technically assured.
The scale of the leap hasn’t gone unnoticed. Influential online voices like Anthony Fantano (The Needle Drop) and the RateYourMusic community—who crowned the album the year’s best back in July—were quick to take note. But the strongest endorsement comes from fellow artists appearing in the credits: Harry Wilkinson features on three tracks (four, if you count “Casper”, credited to Maruja as a whole), while the unmistakable metallic rasp of Danny Brown shows up on “The Great Bakunawa”. Brown, in turn, invited Quadeca to open his own latest album, “Stardust”.
Constant surprises, uncertain directions: the paradox of a visionary producer still searching for real emotional grip
So, is the hype fully justified? Not entirely. Track by track, color by color, the impression grows that Barajas Lasky is, at this stage of his career, an extremely ambitious and technically well-equipped producer—yet one whose songs often lack a clear sense of direction.
More overtly trap-oriented cuts like “Thundrrr” and finely chiselled indie-pop pieces like “Monday” drift from one surprise to the next without ever truly shifting—or even meaningfully deepening—their emotional register. “At Times Like This” squanders a radiant Miracles sample only to sink into a sing-song refrain that never quite lands. The closing stretch regains some momentum, but it remains clear that, both compositionally and expressively, the design of the arrangements is still moving faster than the songwriting itself.
One thing, however, is beyond doubt: the sonic craft is formidable. Now, let's wait for the compositions to catch up.
(English version created with AI-assisted translation)
