When you’re a resident DJ at a powerhouse nightclub like Miami’s Club Space, versatility is key. Jonathan Trujillo—better known as simply Jonny From Space—has learned that from experience. His own music is rooted in the leftfield legacy of hometown acts like Phoenecia and their Schematic label; most of his bookings, in the more intimate Floyd (a club within the superclub) tend to be alongside like-minded souls like Ben UFO and fellow Florida DJ Danny Daze. But sometimes, the night’s billing dictates the vibe: Trujillo was once tasked with opening for an extended back-to-back set from EDM chameleons Diplo and Carnage—during Super Bowl weekend, at that. That very same week, he revealed a considerably different side of himself on his debut EP. A six-track compendium of ambient bubblers “made in altered states and meditative spaces,” the record suggested that the “Space” in his alias probably has less to do with his employer than it does his fascination with the outer limits.
Over the past couple of years, Jonny From Space has built up a tidy discography of cosmically inclined material, some of it club-focused, and some not at all. On his debut album, back then I didn’t but now I do, he leans into his more introspective instincts, favoring measured tempos and feathery textures. The choice suits the label putting out the record: Jenny Slattery and Anthony Naples’ Incienso imprint, where Naples—originally known for his club productions—has increasingly turned his focus to cloud-watching vibes. But even at his most chill, Trujillo strikes an unusual balance here: His atmospheres may be wispy, but his drums are tough and resilient, sharp as a sudden jab to the sternum.
The album opens on a resolutely downtempo note with “Crystal Eyes,” whose dubbed-out boom-bap and dreamy pads pay homage to smoker’s delights like Mo Wax’s classic Headz 2 compilation series, a cornerstone of mid-’90s trip-hop. Trujillo has a keen ear for contrast: The drum machine is crisp and declarative, yet the track’s tonal elements are unstable and amorphous, hard to get a bead on. The steady groove and flickering accents give the impression of a small town glimpsed from an airplane at night, lights twinkling in the darkness.
A similarly heady vibe plays out across the record, as he wreathes knotty machine beats in gauzy synths and glowing haloes. When asked about his production methods, Trujillo once said, “I space out and start working on the drums until I have a locked groove. From there everything else just flows like water.” That approach shines through in tracks like “Live,” a sidewinding sketch made out of off-kilter clicks and cartoonish voices, as well as “Slip,” a moody, toe-scuffing hip-hop instrumental. For all the simplicity of his arrangements, they’re sneakily crafted: The beats twist up in ways you don’t expect, giving even his most relaxed cuts an unsettling air, as though everything could fall apart without warning.
In a few places, Trujillo indulges his love of the dancefloor. On “Dream Reality,” brittle jungle breaks plunge through a chorus of bleeps and chirps, like space debris hurtling through a satellite array; “Luna Dance” beefs up foggy pads and brushed snares with insistent, bulletproof bass pulses—it’s dub techno encased in a protective exoskeleton. But “Float,” one of the album’s highlights, more closely aligns with his paradoxical MO: The twitchy rhythm, propelled by tight metallic coils, descends directly from Miami’s history with earth-shaking electro, yet everything else is as nebulous and pastel as cotton candy. Like the best of Jonny From Space’s work, it treats electronic music as a lenticular image. Seen from one angle, it’s a potent club track; from another, a taste of ambient at its most ethereal.
