Electric Fields: Inma [2023]

When Electric Fields released Inma in 2023, it felt like a cultural and sonic lightning strike — a record that shimmered with futurism while remaining grounded in the oldest living cultures on Earth. The duo — Zaachariaha Fielding, a proud Anangu man from Mimili in the APY Lands, and producer Michael Ross, a classically trained electronic alchemist — have long defied easy categorisation. But with Inma, they distilled their vision perfectly: a radiant fusion of traditional songlines and contemporary electronic soul that sounds like nothing else coming out of Australia — or anywhere, for that matter.

The album’s title, Inma, refers to the sacred ceremonial songs and dances of the Anangu people — stories passed down through generations, carrying law, lore, and memory. Electric Fields take that ancient concept and reimagine it for a global audience, layering Fielding’s bilingual vocals (Pitjantjatjara and English) over lush synths, pulsing basslines, and cinematic soundscapes. The result isn’t cultural fusion for novelty’s sake — it’s cultural expansion, where tradition and technology sing in harmony.

From the opening track, “Shade Away,” the album hums with purpose. It’s both an invitation and an assertion — a celebration of identity that feels celebratory, not didactic. Then comes “Ornament,” a euphoric anthem that could fill festival fields one moment and sound like prayer the next. Fielding’s voice is its own universe — soaring, trembling, commanding — while Ross builds sonic architecture that feels vast and sacred.

One of the most moving moments is “Nina,” where fragility meets power, tracing emotional vulnerability with striking honesty. On “Don’t You Worry,” the duo glide effortlessly into pop territory without losing their depth, proving they can sit comfortably alongside international heavyweights in both craft and charisma. Throughout the record, they balance the spiritual and the sensual, the ceremonial and the cinematic — a rare equilibrium that feels utterly natural in their hands.

The production is immaculate yet human. You can hear the breath in Fielding’s voice, the heartbeat beneath the synths. The beats shimmer like desert heat, and the vocals — especially when delivered in language — feel like a bridge between worlds.

Ultimately, Inma is more than an album; it’s an act of cultural renewal. Electric Fields are not just making songs — they’re building pathways, showing what Australian music can become when it stops mimicking overseas trends and starts listening to its own soil.

In an era of algorithms and disposable singles, Inma stands as a landmark — bold, spiritual, and transcendent. Electric Fields have crafted a sound that is both ancient and futuristic, local and universal. It’s not just a record you listen to; it’s one you feel — in the chest, in the earth, and somewhere deep within the dreaming.