From the opening minutes of "Intro," Digitalisea leaves you feeling adrift: the melodies are viscous, and when there are rhythms, they're almost never propulsive. There's an obvious debt to Actress on the rough frequencies of "166.166.166" (which sound like they were scrubbed with a nail file) and on the submerged disco of "Purplehaze." But OOBE usually embellishes that blueprint rather than just copying it. Much of Digitalisea has a space-age sense of wonder and possibility: the intertwining synths of "Radiation" feel like they go on forever, somewhere between some lost German synth record, a low-budget sci-fi film score and a mid-'90s progressive house interlude.
It's in the final section of Digitalisea that Malaspina really proves his growth as a producer. "Lightblue" takes a synth motif as overdriven and ridiculous as any trance anthem and forces it to merely billow in suspension. On "Digital Sea," he lets big surges of melody crash and ebb into near-silence, underlining the desolate atmosphere that haunts the whole album. Both tracks smudge familiar sounds until they're nearly unrecognizable, which is a signature of Malaspina's method—he doesn't so much deconstruct genres as implode them and work with the wreckage.