Flying Lotus
Flamagra

Given the methods of consuming musical products in the contemporary age, an entire five-year absence from the scene could translate into something sinisterly similar to artistic suicide. This is a point that seems to not concern Flying Lotus at all, who has always mocked the order of things, both from a purely compositional/production standpoint and in terms of image and promotion. Just consider that to anticipate the release of his new work, he relied on a bizarre text narrated by none other than David Lynch.

Although there's not much to listen to, "Fire Is Coming" would seem at least a statement of intent. Despite the proclamations and an unusually high number of guests, "Flamagra" ends up revealing itself as a lukewarm listen: the initial trio only vaguely returns the uniqueness of a touch that many of us have learned to appreciate over the years, revealing a shift from oblique and constantly evolving trajectories to decidedly more square rhythms and rather ordinary arrangements. A change placed at the beginning of a work by someone who has made schizoid unpredictability their cornerstone cannot help but raise brows.

The numerous collaborations do not seem to particularly benefit a sound structure so inexplicably devoid of creative sparks. If the fact that the tokens for Anderson .Paak and Shabazz Palaces could have been better spent can only be an impression, the necessity for George Clinton to abandon what increasingly appears to be a sad imitation of himself, I'm afraid, is something more. "Spontaneous" is effectively a piece by the Little Dragon; presumably, if you are their fans, you will like it, but in the album's economy, it fits a bit like a square peg in a round hole. However, the chemistry between the main artist and Thundercat being almost perfect is certainly not something we discover today.

Thumbs fully raised then only for Denzel Curry, who commendably proposes a total rewrite of his Black Balloons instead of a simple remix, and for Thierra Whack, even if "Yellow Belly" could be accused of resembling "Dead Man's Tetris" heard on "You’re Dead!" in 2014 a bit too much. Solange is called upon to reprise what seems to have become her stylistic hallmark: repeating the same ten words for over three minutes as if they could suddenly acquire a new meaning. It's a pity because the trip-hop-scented backing track sewn for her by FlyLo is one of the best productions on the album. An intense chorus at the edge of the listenable and the winds hidden under the synths remind us of how much class this gentleman has in daring combinations. Unfortunately, it is precisely he who deserves the most vigorous earful.

"Capillaries" seems to be assembled by lazily pressing keys on an afternoon when there was nothing better to do, "Takashi" tries to liven things up a bit but is so bland that at times it seems like a midi base used for karaoke, the block of pieces ranging from "Andromeda" to "Debbie Is Depressed" constitutes an unusually soft variant from our artist, resulting overall in being not very impactful.

What is missing is that obsessive attention to detail, the upheavals in the progression of tracks when you least expect them but above all, that feeling of exploring the most remote corners of the cosmos, searching for an illumination that gives logical sense to that beautiful chaos that is (was?) the music of Flying Lotus. Change is possible and necessary, but please, not like this.