Until the Quiet Comes

Until The Quiet Comes is another excellent album by one of the most interesting producers out there.

Quite literally, a dream album. [Nov 2012, p.88]

Ellison's reliably single-minded approach will appease seasoned Flying Lotus followers, but Until The Quiet Comes might just attract new followers. [Nov 2012, p.95]

It's a masterpiece.

On this trippier, more scattered collection, it emerges in the looming calm, the open moments that peek through pneumatic melodies, beatific, druggy vocals and that throbbing, omnipresent kick.

Languid and sometimes lagging, [a] sensual 47-minute set. [No. 92, p.52]

Pleasant is the word. But not simple. Quiet has just as many corners worth peeking down.

It's flawed, but unlike the vast majority of Ellison's current contemporaries, its flaws and contradictions remain as intriguing as its positive points, and lend themselves to repeat listens.

Although there aren't any obvious standout hits here, that's not what FlyLo intended to create. Instead, Until The Quiet Comes blends together into a lush electronic soundscape you can daydream to.

With points rewarded for originality and innovation the composer's greatest strengths are also his faults, as this effort lacks cohesion and sensible sequencing making for an exercise in patience that only biased fans would process as a sign of genius.

Fly Lo manages to create an unusually sophiticated and well-produced album with mostly a laptop.

It all adds up to something so captivating that vocal guests like Erykah Badu ("See Thru to U") can get a little lost.

Steven Ellison (aka Flying Lotus) manages to ensnare 18 night visions on his latest psych-bass masterwork, Until the Quiet Comes.

Fully formed songs suggest themselves, but too often prematurely dissolve, with vagaries always favored over the tangible.

FlyLo's Until The Quiet Comes is an exercise in dense rhythmic layers and melodic dissonance.

For an album that, at times, is beautiful, it doesn't hypnotise you, it doesn't entrance you, and even its best moments fail to stay in your head.

Ellison excels everywhere else, keeping the beats brisk and the instrumentation organic and lively.

The more you listen to Until the Quiet Comes, the more you get the sense that you're only scratching the surface of how much is really going on with it. It's a tribute to what FlyLo has accomplished here that no matter how and how much you enjoy it now, Until the Quiet Comes only promises to keep on revealing more and more of itself.

This is one of the most rewarding and beautiful albums of the year.

After multiple listens, the album reveals itself to be as nuanced, as subtle, and a lot more digestible than its predecessor, a sidestep into sonic territory that's no less admirable for its comparative somnolence.

Every track and sound feels new and experimental; much of Until the Quiet is so wonderfully weird, there's no way for it to be boring.

Until The Quiet Comes is an album that is celebratory and desolate, dense and sparse, dark and colourful--a trippy, fantastical ride that only he could create a path for.

The surface is a gorgeous invitation to return and see if you can figure out what it all means.

His slight adjustments and increased restraint make this his most accessible and creative release yet.

Ultimately, this album is the sound of the future.

It would be a stretch to call Until the Quiet Comes' disjointed tracklist and middling retreads the low point of Ellison's discography, but suffice it to say that the LA cornerstone has produced far more challenging and consistent records than this.

It is often reminiscent of auntie's work, but with a solid beat underpinning. [Nov 2012, p.73]

Until the Quiet Comes further catapults Ellison into the cosmos and away from all things terrestrial. He's the king of his domain, and there is no runner-up.

He is, however, a radiant example of an artist with the ability at his fingertips to close the schism between the true avant-garde and the leftfield mainstream, and in this respect Until the Quiet Comes is the record to date we'll most likely crown his masterpiece.

It's not as gratifyingly raw as 1983 or as paradigm-shifting as Los Angeles or as self-important as Cosmogramma, but it's more expansive and refined taken in one sitting.

No one's asking bigger questions of himself or more from himself in music than Flying Lotus is. These records are the only appropriate answers and Until The Quiet Comes is his most accomplished yet.