Hounslow denizen Louisa Mokadem has ruffled our feathers a fair bit here at The 405 – her mangling of the Lana Del Rey's simpering 'Gods & Monsters' is categorically fab, and 'Pretend Ur Mine' (if we can ignore the flagrant lexicographical misstep for a sec) is the bewitching kind of slick house Disclosure dream of being capable of. Mokadem's not just forging a canyon of deep wub-wub-wubbery or molly-bait, she's infusing her sounds with heartfelt feels – her music is bolstered with honesty, and rather than purely for one sweaty, boozy locale, her music has the potential to soundtrack countless environs IRL.

Her debut EP showcases her wares on a pristine pedestal. 'Anaesthesia' coolly recalls deep hard-house noises, the kind you'd find at an underground rave or at Fabric a few years later. However, it skirts ambient electronica and techno too, with the dreamy pads lurking underneath and '212'-aping beats recalling the madcap experiments of Laurel Halo. 'You & Her' is the most 'future-garage'-y track on offer, the soulful vocal loops reminding us of James Blake's early 'CMYK' material. Spangling, shimmery synths and warped bass indicate a more avante-garde direction though, away from the gloss dross that's infesting the charts nowadays like its short-lived dubstep forebears. Mokadem morphs into glitchy realms, nodding to Wonky Orbital on its way.

EP-highlight 'Dunt U' offers up her oft-mentioned African and Middle-Eastern influences more overtly than her prior cuts – the muted strings and chimes, laying softly above a bed of entwined rhythms, pinch Mokadem from London's distinct dance scene and plonk her in the vast Sahara at around 4am. It's unnervingly tranquil. It's almost hymnal in quality, like Halls, with a blitzed organ providing the drone and a dirge-esque aura permeating the dance.

Mokadem should be the benchmark from which we judge house music from now on. It's forward-thinking without being alien, it's multi-purpose, never lingering too long in one area, and, vitally, it's ruddy addictive, demanding countless replays like a spoilt brat on My Super Sweet 16 demands a car. It's hypnotic, entrancing – you'd be glued to the dancefloor all night if Mokadem just span it on repeat. However, like all great EPs, it has one glaring pitfall – the limitations of the format. It's just too damn short.