On Can’t Fly Without Gravity, k-os seems to respond to this quandary by doubling down on his eclecticism, with incredibly jarring results. Billed as a single album, Can’t Fly… plays more like two very disparate EPs: the initial 2/3 stand as a collection of ecstatic rap music (an exception being “Dance in Yo Car”), while the final four tracks are comprised of bombastic, anthemic pop-rock. Unlike k-os’s previous efforts (particularly 2006’s Atlantis: Hymns for Disco), this choice in sequencing feels haphazard and sloppy. It’s a shame, as Can’t Fly…‘s initial nine tracks cultivate a strong sonic aesthetic, only to be undone by such a drastic shift in sound.

Uncharacteristically, Can’t Fly… finds k-os at his best when he takes a more straightforward route, such as on the ghostly “Crucify,” the Dilla homage “Vous Deux,” or the delightfully punishing, guest-laden “Boyz II Men” (arguably the record’s strongest cut). It’s somewhat ironic to hear an artist find his sweet spot in traditional structure when he’s built his career on experimentation, though frequent tributes to classic rap deep cuts (listen for the reference to Wu-Tang’s relatively obscure “Careful (Click Click)”) provide context. Even still, the artist finds ways to twist and subvert old sounds, particularly with the drum ‘n’ bass throwback “Get Up,” its manic drums and horns sounding like a harder, darker cousin to “Superstarr.”

As with his previous records, Can’t Fly…’s conceptual heart is anchored in the afrofuturist positivity first established by composer Sun Ra, and expanded upon by contemporaries like Janelle Monae, Shabazz Palaces, and Black Whole Clique. k-os’s cadence rarely fails to dazzle, and while his lyrics aren’t always particularly compelling, he has a penchant for pulling out brainy, madcap bars such as “I’m like Magellan when I measure stars by parallax / I’m not a hologram / So baby holler back” (“Rap Zealot,” whose beat sports a re-sampled and compressed loop of Timbaland’s “Indian Flute”).

Then, as if from nowhere: rising, overwrought “Eleanor Rigby”-by-way-of-Owl-City synth-strings usher the end of the rap portion of Can’t Fly Without Gravity. Thankfully, “Spaceship” is the weakest of the final “rock” tracks, and is quickly followed by the catchy (if derivative) “Turn Me Loose.” “Steel Sharpens Steel” is all stomping, Billy Idol cheese—though not unlikeable—while closer “Another Shot” resurrects some of “Spaceship’s” bombast with improved results. But ultimately, this decision to backload Can’t Fly… with music so different in tone from what came before feels more confusing than adventurous.

Perhaps this unusual act of sequencing is just a subtle acknowledgement of how albums are no longer a static product. Unlike k-os’s heyday, music fans typically don’t listen to full works through; they pick and choose from their favs, dumping them into iTunes playlists. In this age, and with only a few clicks, anyone can have their own version of Can’t Fly Without Gravity—maybe one entirely hip-hop, maybe one entirely rock; maybe one that’s only the highlights, or another featuring the whole thing in a new order. Maybe that’s why k-os sounds his best when he keeps it simple—for him, he’s already reached what he once saw as the future.