Steven Ellison, more commonly known as Flying Lotus, is a man of eclectic influences. He also has little desire to keep these influences from colliding with one another, which his newest album Cosmogramma proves. From start to finish, the album plays like a hallucinatory tour through Ellison's mind, encompassing past and present. Free-jazz saunters past 8-bit dub-step syncopations in some places, echoing both Ellison's musical heritage (his great-aunt and uncle were Alice and John Coltrane) and his obsession with classic video games-- here is a case where art and life are deeply entwined.Flying Lotus draws from the J Dilla school of hip-hop and electronic production, although he helms a considerably darker, cerebral tone compared to Dilla's organic sound. The organic collides head-on with the digital in Lotus' work, more violently here than on past efforts 1983 from 2006, or his opus Los Angeles from 2008. Those could reasonably be described as earphone candy, a stoner's cool-down-- but Cosmogramma is far more unsettling than these past entries.
A dark, ethereal tone is established early on. On "Clock Catcher," listeners are bludgeoned with an urgent, galloping synth escalation before switching into a caffeinated race between insistent hi-hat and an alluring Eastern string section. Changing gears, "Pickled!" spins around a rushing drum loop and a unique bass section.
The bass line is slotted comfortably in the mix between drum hits, unconventionally flaring out gauche, atonal triplets on the downbeats-- but then it comes alive in a flurry of descending gulps and plucks, confusing our ears. Is this a human or a machine we're listening to? It takes a second to realize that it's a live performance, not a sample. White noise also creeps into the landscape, sounding downright abrasive at times.
This is well-intentioned sonic experimentation. It doesn't always sound completely cohesive, but it always grants a prismatic view into the creator's psyche. Careful listeners can deconstruct the tangled sounds and sense lucidity behind them. Ellison makes strange decisions here, but not without intent-- we sense this throughout the album, even when his scope becomes downright cosmic.
On "Arkestry," alien warblings start the track before a 1920's style jazz drummer takes over. It starts live before locking into a fuzzy drum roll. It pauses and locks into a rolling groove, masquerading as a digitized drum loop. We can almost sense Ellison grinning at us when the groove breaks and the drummer starts a new run. Soft piano and jazz saxophone weave their way in, but digital bleeps still sneak in at unexpected times-- it sounds like a meditative score for a neo-noir/sci-fi hybrid.
His artistry shines on tracks like these. The pieces he combines are jarring on first listen, but as listeners get accustomed to Ellison's dream-logic, the music settles into a profound, almost spiritual groove. Sure, most DJs are virtuosos when it comes to sound manipulation (although Ellison may be in a league of his own), but few have the soul that he does here. After a while, any rapid sonic shifts in his songs feel completely natural. These once-jarring twists eventually feel like the listless ebbs of static across a radio, with Ellison twisting the dial, searching for clarity.
On "...And the World Laughs With You," Thom Yorke's voice makes an appearance, chopped up over an uneasy electronic soundscape not entirely dissimilar from Radiohead's own Kid A (2000) or Amnesiac (2001). Yorke finds himself at home here. "I need to know you're out there," he moans. "I need to know you're out there, somewhere." There are very few words on the album, but these are on point. In a digitized age where everyone and everything is increasingly connected and plugged-in, we also feel more and more alone. Ellison seems to stretch towards this paradox on every track.
The humanity to be found on Cosmogramma is what sets it apart. Ellison wanders deep into the realm of the abstract and experimental here, but manages to evade the outright pretentious. The very persona of Flying Lotus was born out of mercurial times, and with the music on Cosmogramma, Ellison dives right back into that pensive, swirling pool. The result is a twisted romp through musical influence, fluctuating between the intensely personal and the bleakly alien. This balance he achieves, along with his ironic sculpting of disparate sounds, makes this album a resounding success.
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