When Kendrick Lamar popped up on two tracks from Baby Keem’s *The Melodic Blue* (“range brothers” and “family ties”), it felt like one of hip-hop’s prophets had descended a mountain to deliver scripture. His verses were stellar, to be sure, but it also just felt like way too much time had passed since we’d heard his voice. He’d helmed 2018’s *Black Panther* compilation/soundtrack, but his last proper release was 2017’s *DAMN.* That kind of scarcity in hip-hop can only serve to deify an artist as beloved as Lamar. But if the Compton MC is broadcasting anything across his fifth proper album *Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers*, it’s that he’s only human. The project is split into two parts, each comprising nine songs, all of which serve to illuminate Lamar’s continually evolving worldview. Central to Lamar’s thesis is accountability. The MC has painstakingly itemized his shortcomings, assessing his relationships with money (“United in Grief”), white women (“Worldwide Steppers”), his father (“Father Time”), the limits of his loyalty (“Rich Spirit”), love in the context of heteronormative relationships (“We Cry Together,” “Purple Hearts”), motivation (“Count Me Out”), responsibility (“Crown”), gender (“Auntie Diaries”), and generational trauma (“Mother I Sober”). It’s a dense and heavy listen. But just as sure as Kendrick Lamar is human like the rest of us, he’s also a Pulitzer Prize winner, one of the most thoughtful MCs alive, and someone whose honesty across *Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers* could help us understand why any of us are the way we are.
Listening to Atlanta MC JID’s third studio album *The Forever Story*, it’s hard to imagine the Dreamville signee pursuing a career in anything other than rap, but according to the man born Destin Choice Route, establishing himself as one of his generation’s most clever wordsmiths was plan B. “I ain\'t always want to be a rapper, artist, or nothing like this,” he told Apple Music’s Ebro Darden ahead of the album’s release. “This wasn\'t my dream. This was just like, ‘I’m really fire at this. I\'m really gifted at this.’ I always wanted to be a football player, you feel me? That was my whole shit.” Though he’s long ago moved on from any delusions of playing the sport professionally, the voicemail tacked on to the end of album intro “Galaxy” reveals a closeness to the sport, and more specifically those who helped him learn it. “That\'s my old football coach,” JID says of the voice we hear chewing him out for not answering the phone. “He was just giving me shit. That was his whole demeanor, but it was always for the better. He was my father away from home. He was just a big part of the whole story.” *The Forever Story*, to be specific, is a deep dive into the MC’s family lore and an exploration of what growing up the youngest of seven meant for his outlook. If JID’s last proper album, *The Never Story*, was an introduction to his lyrical prowess and a declaration that he had a story to tell, *The Forever Story* is an expansion of that universe. “*Never* came from a very humble mindset,” he says. “It was coming from, I *never* had shit. *The Forever Story*\'s just the evolved origin story, really just giving you more of who I am—more family stories, where I\'m from, why I am kind of how I am.” He tells these stories in grave detail on songs like “Raydar,” “Can’t Punk Me,” “Kody Blu 31,” and “Can’t Make U Change” and then includes collaborations with heroes-turned-peers (“Stars” featuring Yasiin Bey, “Just in Time” with Lil Wayne) that acknowledge a reverence for his craft. He raps about his siblings on songs like “Bruddanem” and “Sistanem,” but it’s “Crack Sandwich,” a song where the MC details an encounter in which his family fought together, that seems the most like a story JID will enjoy telling forever. “We were all together like Avengers and shit,” he says. “Back-to-back brawling in New Orleans. It was crazy.”
From his formative days associating with Raider Klan through his revealing solo projects *TA13OO* and *ZUU*, Denzel Curry has never been shy about speaking his mind. For *Melt My Eyez See Your Future*, the Florida native tackles some of the toughest topics of his MC career, sharing his existential notes on being Black and male in these volatile times. The album opens on a bold note with “Melt Session #1,” a vulnerable and emotional cut given further weight by jazz giant Robert Glasper’s plaintive piano. That hefty tone leads into a series of deeply personal and mindfully radical songs that explore modern crises and mental health with both thematic gravity and lyrical dexterity, including “Worst Comes to Worst” and the trap subversion “X-Wing.” Systemic violence leaves him reeling and righteous on “John Wayne,” while “The Smell of Death” skillfully mixes metaphors over a phenomenally fat funk groove. He draws overt and subtle parallels to jazz’s sociopolitical history, imagining himself in Freddie Hubbard’s hard-bop era on “Mental” and tapping into boom bap’s affinity for the genre on “The Ills.” Guests like T-Pain, Rico Nasty, and 6LACK help to fill out his vision, yielding some of the album’s highest highs.
Melt My Eyez See Your Future arrives as Denzel Curry’s most mature and ambitious album to date. Recorded over the course of the pandemic, Denzel shows his growth as both an artist and person. Born from a wealth of influences, the tracks highlight his versatility and broad tastes, taking in everything from drum’n’bass to trap. To support this vision and show the breadth of his artistry, Denzel has enlisted a wide range of collaborators and firmly plants his flag in the ground as one of the most groundbreaking rappers in the game.
“You can’t come get this work until it’s dry. I made this album while the streets were closed during the pandemic. Made entirely with the greatest producers of all time—Pharrell and Ye. ONLY I can get the best out of these guys. ENJOY!!” —Pusha T, in an exclusive message provided to Apple Music
Drake and 21 Savage’s *Her Loss* is the culmination of a relationship that dates at least as far back as 2016, when the pair linked up for “Sneakin’.” Back then, 21 was a burgeoning Atlanta rapper with a lot of promise (and an association with producer of the moment Metro Boomin), while Drake was arguably the most impactful singer and MC in the world and the guy whose co-sign could be counted on to usher bubbling talents into proper rap stardom. Some eight years and three additional collaborations later, 21 Savage is most assuredly a bona fide rap star and Drake is still arguably the most impactful singer and MC in the world, but the 16 tracks that make up *Her Loss* reveal the pairing as somehow larger than the sum of its parts. It was likely *Honestly, Nevermind* standout “Jimmy Cooks” that inspired, or at the very least prioritized, *Her Loss*. The song was a stylistic outlier from that album’s house and techno-adjacent dance music thread, allowing Drake and Savage the chance to do what they’ve always enjoyed doing together: rail against entitled love interests, revel in the lifestyle they’ve earned, and, for 21 Savage specifically, remind listeners that his guns still do go off. *Her Loss* is much of the same, with the pair leaning into a shared disdain for less-accomplished artists (“On BS,” “Privileged Rappers,” “Broke Boys”), sharing their views on contemporary courtship (“Spin Bout U,” “Hours in Silence”), detailing what life as a superstar rapper entails (“Circo Loco,” “Pussy & Millions”), and, in one instance, rapping about how much they appreciate one another (“Treacherous Twins”). The love they profess for one another might at first play as eyebrow-raising, but to question it would be to willfully ignore the notion that laying down raps, like nearly anything else, is just that much more fun with your bestie in tow.
*“You are now listening to 103.5 Dawn FM. You’ve been in the dark for way too long. It’s time to walk into the light and accept your fate with open arms. Scared? Don’t worry. We’ll be there to hold your hand and guide you through this painless transition. But what’s the rush? Just relax and enjoy another hour of commercial ‘free yourself’ music on 103.5 Dawn FM. Tune in.”* The Weeknd\'s previous album *After Hours* was released right as the world was falling into the throes of the pandemic; after scrapping material that he felt was wallowing in the depression he was feeling at the time, *Dawn FM* arrives as a by-product of—and answer to—that turmoil. Here, he replaces woeful introspection with a bit of upbeat fantasy—the result of creatively searching for a way out of the claustrophobic reality of the previous two years. With the experience of hosting and curating music for his very own MEMENTO MORI radio show on Apple Music as his guiding light, *Dawn FM* is crafted in a similar fashion, complete with a DJ to set the tone for the segments within. “It’s time to walk into the light and accept your fate with open arms,” the host, voiced by Jim Carrey, declares on the opening track. “Scared? Don\'t worry.” Indeed, there is nothing to fear. The Weeknd packs the first half with euphoric bursts that include the Swedish House Mafia-assisted “How Do I Make You Love Me?” and “Sacrifice.” On the back half, he moves into the more serene waters of “Is There Someone Else?” and “Starry Eyes.” Despite the somewhat morose album cover, which reflects what many feel like as they wade through the seemingly endless purgatory of a life dictated by a virus, he’s aiming for something akin to hope in all of this gloom.
“Money made me numb,” Vince Staples repeats over and over again on “THE BLUES,” from his fifth full-length studio album. It’s not the song’s chorus and you can picture him saying it in the mirror, attempting to reckon with a truth he clearly understands but also maybe doesn’t quite know what to do with. At the time of *RAMONA PARK BROKE MY HEART*’s release, the Long Beach, California, MC was more popular and financially successful than he’s ever been. So, he chose—beginning with 2021’s *Vince Staples*—to release some of the most affecting and autobiographical music of his career. The decision sounds, across the album, much less a professional risk than a personal one, Staples utilizing production from Mustard, Cardo, and Coop the Truth, among others, to expose his innermost thoughts about turf politics, romantic relationships, and the ways money may or may not be changing him. More than anything else, he aims to honor those who have in some way contributed to his survival, often calling them out by name, holding especially close the memories of those no longer in his orbit. “Tryna make it to the top, we can’t take everybody with us,” he sings on “THE BEACH.” There are few artists who come off as comfortable as Staples does regarding their contributions to music culture at large, but what *RAMONA PARK BROKE MY HEART* makes abundantly clear is that few things mean as much to Staples’ art as the neighborhood that made him.
Thebe Kgositsile emerged in 2010 as the most mysterious member of rap’s weirdest new collective, Odd Future—a gifted teen turned anarchist, spitting shock-rap provocations from his exile in a Samoan reform school. In the 12 years since, he’s repaired his famously fraught relationship with his mother, lost his father, and become a father himself, all the while carving out a solo lane as a serious MC, a student of the game. Earl’s fourth album finds the guy who once titled an album *I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside*, well, going outside, and kinda liking it; on opener “Old Friend,” he’s hacking through thickets, camping out in Catskills rainstorms. There’s a sonic clarity here that stands apart from the obscure, sludgy sounds of his recent records, executed in part by Young Guru, JAY-Z’s longtime engineer. Beats from The Alchemist and Black Noi$e snap, crackle, and bounce, buoying Earl’s slippery, open-ended thoughts on family, writing, religion, the pandemic. Is he happy now, the kid we’ve watched become a man? It’s hard to say, but in any case, as he raps on “Fire in the Hole”: “It’s no rewinding/For the umpteenth time, it’s only forward.”
The thing about Freddie Gibbs’ music is that you know it when you hear it but can imagine him almost anywhere: alongside DJ Paul on some throwback Southern trap (“PYS”) or over a lounge-y Alchemist beat (“Blackest in the Room”), next to newcomers like Moneybagg Yo (“Too Much”) or pioneers like Raekwon (“Feel No Pain”). Were his voice weaker or his writing less sharp, his workingman’s kingpin persona might get washed out, but they aren’t. And over the course of 45 minutes, he confirms that his stylistic flexibility isn’t creative indecision so much as proof of his gift for bridging hip-hop’s past with its ever-evolving present. After 2019’s underground-leaning Madlib collaboration *Bandana* and the self-consciously classic sound of 2020’s Alchemist-produced *Alfredo*, *$oul $old $eparately* sounds like Gibbs locking in his niche: the rapper’s rapper that a general audience can understand.
Throughout a handful of interludes across Joey Bada\$$’s *2000*—two of which feature words from Diddy and Nas—it’s not hard to picture Bada\$$ holding court in a smoky jazz lounge, an untied bow tie hanging against the lapels of his tuxedo and a drink occupying whichever hand isn’t clutching the mic. Between songs that draw influence from the catalogs of celebrated Big Willie-style philosophers like Nas, JAY-Z, and The Notorious B.I.G., Bada\$$ positions himself as a performer from a bygone era—someone happy to tell the stories of his life, just as long as there are people around to listen. As talented an MC as he is, there’ll likely always be butts in the seats, but *2000*, specifically, speaks to Bada\$$’s legacy. The MC calls on beatsmiths like Statik Selektah, Mike WiLL Made-It, Sean C & LV, and then also his Pro Era brethren Kirk Knight and Chuck Strangers, who deliver contemporary takes on the late-’90s boom bap and R&B that inspired his career-making 2012 mixtape *1999*, while Bada\$$ himself raps about making good on his potential, women in his life, and maybe most surprisingly, the heart-wrenching loss of friend and Pro Era MC Capital Steez. *2000* is no sequel to *1999*, to be clear. It’s a body of work that further solidifies Bada\$$ as both curator and MC, an artist who would’ve carved himself a place in music history regardless of era.
For as good as he is at making singles (“Bad and Boujee,” “Mask Off,” Post Malone’s “Congratulations,” and The Weeknd’s “Heartless”), Metro Boomin also knows how to put together an album. 21 Savage’s *Savage Mode* and *SAVAGE MODE II*, the Savage and Offset project *Without Warning*, 2018’s *NOT ALL HEROES WEAR CAPES* and its sequel—and the second installment in a planned trilogy—*HEROES & VILLAINS*: They’re all proof that rap in long form is still as dynamic as its bite-sized counterparts. “I didn\'t want to be doing those things where it\'s like, \'Okay, I just called every artist on my phone,\' or \'Let me just show you and flex everybody I could get on the song,\'” he tells Apple Music. “It’s like a movie, you know what I’m saying? Maybe in this scene we got these two characters, and you might not see this character until two scenes later. And now he’s in here with this guy again. And now all three of them are together. Just mixing up the bags.” Easy enough, or at least sounds it. But the shape of *HEROES & VILLAINS* is a seductive and addictive thing, flowing from punishing to reflective and sleek to classic-sounding with a grace that feels both commanding and natural. And the “characters” he alludes to aren’t just some of the most iconic voices in modern rap, they’re juxtaposed in ways that bring out their essences: the boom of Future (“Superhero”) and deadpan menace of 21 Savage (“Walk Em Down”), the alien croon of Don Toliver (“Too Many Nights”) and the mania of Young Thug (“Metro Spider”). “I mean, no one can really say or guess what\'s in Thug\'s head,” Metro says. “He\'s one in a trillion, man.” And if you think he can only work with rap, listen to the dance-adjacent “Around Me” or The Weeknd feature “Creepin’,” which turns the airy heartache of Mario Winans’ 2004 track “I Don’t Wanna Know” into something haunted and new. And for anyone who already knows *NOT ALL HEROES* and was wondering: Yes, Morgan Freeman’s here, too. “It was like, ‘What\'s the craziest thing we could think of?’ Morgan, he had really liked the script, and what it was saying, and the values, and certain things in it, and he felt like it was important for young people to hear those things.”
“Wanna know why I retired?” Logic asks on “BLACKWHITEBOY.” “’Cause I was uninspired.” Fair enough. But if it was inspiration that brought the Gaithersburg MC back to the booth after a nearly year-long pause to record his seventh and self-proclaimed “final” studio album for Def Jam, it likely came from some outside help. *Vinyl Days* features guest verses from Action Bronson, Curren$y, Russ, Wiz Khalifa, Royce da 5’9, RZA, AZ, and The Game (among others), along with voice notes from Aaron Judge, JJ Abrams, Michael Rapaport, Tony Revolori, NEMS, Earl Sweatshirt, Rainn Wilson, and Lena Waithe. The bars are here—it is a Logic album, after all—along with heaps of gratitude (“Decades”), stories about his life pre-fame (“Bleed It”), a deep exploration of his relationship with music critic Anthony Fantano (“LaDonda”), showcases for lesser-known MCs (“Kickstyle,” “Introducing Nezi”), and even a heartfelt plea for Madlib to return to rapping (“Quasi”). But the biggest takeaway from *Vinyl Days* is that Logic is friends with a lot of talented people. And it was important to have them all by his side when he came back to rap.
*I NEVER LIKED YOU*, the first Future project since his and Lil Uzi Vert’s *Pluto x Baby Pluto* and his first solo outing since 2020’s *High Off Life*, was likely titled to cause a stir. Future has been a poster boy for the kind of toxic romantic engagements that turn well-intentioned social media users into self-certified relationship experts since about the time of his split with one-time fiancée Ciara. But rather than defend his lifestyle choices in earnest or make a case for himself as misunderstood, he drops an album whose title posits him as either a vindictive lover or a victim of a betrayal. But Future is nobody’s victim. With *I NEVER LIKED YOU*, he\'s more likely a master of marketing. The album has far less to do with the rhetoric that surrounds his dating life than it does the MC’s lifestyle, drawing open the blinds within a single bar of “HOLY GHOST”: “I was in my big truck, my wrist up, getting my dick sucked.” The MC sounds as happy as ever across *I NEVER LIKED YOU*, lamenting only—in the rare instance that he laments—a perceived lack of credit for his stylistic influence (“I\'M DAT N\*\*\*A,” “PUFFIN ON ZOOTIEZ”). There are two instances, however, wherein his influence is wholly undeniable: “I’M ON ONE” and “KEEP IT BURNIN,” where Drake and Kanye West each take a turn paying tribute to one of their most cherished collaborators, rattling off volatile non sequiturs in classic Future style.
**100 Best Albums** In 2017, *Ctrl*—a 14-track project rife with songs about love, sex, self-doubt, and heartbreak—became one of the most influential albums in R&B. *Ctrl* was the soundtrack for many people in their twenties, highlighting the growing pains of young adulthood. SZA’s vulnerability and raw honesty, coupled with ultra-relatable lyrics full of diary-like ruminations and conversations from friend group chats, are what made her debut so impactful. Where *Ctrl* reflected SZA’s journey towards finding self-love and acceptance, her long-awaited sophomore LP *SOS* finds the St. Louis-born singer-songwriter dealing with some of the same topics of love and relationships from a more self-assured place. She ditches the uncertainties of her romantic entanglements to save herself—most of the time. On the soulful and gritty album opener “SOS,” SZA reintroduces herself and says precisely what’s on her mind after a night of crying over a lost relationship: “I talk bullshit a lot/No more fuck shit, I’m done,” she swaggers. This isn’t the only song that shows her weariness towards relationships that no longer serve her; see also “Smoking on My Ex Pack” and “Far.” She finds the confidence to know that she doesn’t need to depend on a man to find happiness on “Conceited” and “Forgiveless.” However, not every song on the project is about moving on and leaving her past relationships behind her; SZA still has a penchant for making wrong decisions that may not end well for her (“Too Late,” “F2F”) and questions her worth in some instances (“Special”). The album sketches the ebbs and flows of emotions, with strength in one moment but deep regret and sadness the next. There’s growth between her debut and sophomore album, not just lyrically but sonically as well, blending a mix of her beloved lo-fi beats and sharing space with grunge- and punk-inspired songs without any of it sounding out of place. On the Phoebe Bridgers collaboration “Ghost in the Machine,” the duo take a deeper look at the realities of stardom, looking for a bit of humanity within their day-to-day interactions. The track is not only progressive in its use of strings and acoustic guitars but haunting in its vocal performance. Throughout the journey of *SOS*, there are moments of clarity and tenderness where SZA goes through the discomfort of healing while trying to find the deeper meaning within the trials and tribulations she endures. She embraces this new level of confidence in her life, where she isn’t looking for anyone to save her from the depth of her emotions but instead is at peace with where she’s at in life.
I let my humbleness turn to numbness at times letting time go by knowing I got the endurance to catch it another time I work with every breath in my body cause it’s the work not air that makes me feel alive That’s some real detrimental shit but that’s that shit my perfectionist mind doesn’t really mind because no one knows whats on my mind when I go to sleep at 9 & wake up at 5 - unless I say it in rhyme I can’t remember the last time someone put they phone down, looked me in the eyes and asked my current insight on the times But I remember every single time someone shined a light in my eyes I purposely try to forget what went on between some ppl and I because I know I’m not a forgiving guy even when I try My urge for revenge wins the game against my good guy inside every single fckn time I got plans I can’t talk about with more than like 4 guys because the last time I shared em with someone on the outside…well that’s another story for another night I was tryna get thru that statement to get to saying I’m not @ a time in my life where pats on the shoulder help get me by I’ll take loyalty over an oh my & emoji fire I know if it was a dark night where all the odds were against my side & my skill went to whoever took my life they’d done me off with a big smile & maybe evn post it for some likes I know everyone that tells me they love me doesn’t love me all the time especially when im doing better than alright & they have to watch it from whatever point they at in their life I got here being realistic I didn’t get here being blind I know whats what and especially what and who is by my side Honestly…Nevermind. DEDICATED TO OUR BROTHER V —Drake
Black Thought may be best-known as part of The Roots, performing night after late night for Jimmy Fallon’s TV audience, yet the Philadelphia native concurrently boasts a staggering reputation as a stand-alone rapper. Though he’s earned GOAT nods from listeners for earth-shaking features alongside Big Pun, Eminem, and Rapsody, his solo catalog long remained relatively modest in size. Meanwhile, Danger Mouse had a short yet monumental run in the 2000s that made him one of that decade’s most beloved and respected producers. His discography from that period contains no shortage of microphone dynamos, most notably MF DOOM (as DANGERDOOM) and Goodie Mob’s CeeLo Green (as Gnarls Barkley). Uniting these low-key hip-hop powerhouses is the stuff of hip-hop dreams, the kind of fantasy-league-style draft you’d encounter on rap message boards. Yet *Cheat Codes* is real—perhaps realer than real. Danger Mouse’s penchant for quirkily cinematic, subtly soulful soundscapes remains from the old days, but the growth from his 2010s work with the likes of composer Daniele Luppi gives “Aquamarine” and “Sometimes” undeniable big-screen energy. Black Thought luxuriates over these luxurious beats, his lyrical lexicon put to excellent use over the feverish funk of “No Gold Teeth” and the rollicking blues of “Close to Famous.” As if their team-up wasn’t enough, an intergenerational cabal of rapper guests bless the proceedings. From living legend Raekwon to A$AP Rocky to Conway the Machine, New York artists play a pivotal role here. A lost DOOM verse, apparently from *The Mouse and the Mask* sessions, makes its way onto the sauntering and sunny “Belize,” another gift for the fans.
In the six long years since Ab-Soul last released an album, he\'s been through a lot. He lost two of his best friends—rappers Mac Miller and Doeburger—and started to climb out of what he describes as a “rabbit hole” of misinformation and conspiracy theories that impacted his relationships with loved ones and critics alike. (This included things like seeing an image of Hitler in photos of the 9/11 attacks.) So this time around, the cerebral, heart-baring lyricist sheds the veneer of his rap moniker and exposes fans to his real name, Herbert. It makes for his most grounded record yet: His boastful rhymes teem with gratitude, his nostalgic verses produce sharply distinct memories, and voicemails from family members and loved ones hold the album together. He revisits his younger days of memorizing Kris Kross lyrics (“Hollandaise”) and dealing with shady promoters during his journey to rap stardom (“Moonshooter”); taps into the street culture of his hometown of Carson, California (“Gang’nem”); and spits like his life is on the line on the DJ Premier-produced “Gotta Rap.” But the centerpieces of the album are “Do Better” and the title track, “Herbert.” On the former, Soul grapples with depression and substance abuse while motivating himself to strive for his personal best. (The music video bravely recreates the conditions of his suicide attempt, while a separate lyrics video shows comments from fans sharing how the song impacted them.) “Herbert,” meanwhile, details the relentless string of struggles that he’s fought all his life: being diagnosed at 10 years old with the rare disease Stevens-Johnson syndrome, which impacts his skin and his vision; losing his father to gun violence and his former partner Alori Joh to suicide; and more. But what’s notably missing from *Herbert* is those conspiracy theories that electrified older albums like *Control System*; he’d rather mine his own life experiences for deeper meaning instead of digging through the annals of YouTube and message boards. “You can’t fuck with Herbert. Ab-Soul can’t even fuck with Herbert,” one of his longtime friends, King Richard, says at the end of “No Report Card.” The Black Lip Bastard has set high standards, but his homie may have a point.
Chicago rapper/producer Saba’s first full-length since 2018’s critically acclaimed *CARE FOR ME* looks existentially inward instead of projecting outward. Whereas its predecessor was often perceived through the lens of grief, with his cousin John Walt’s tragic death weighing considerably on the proceedings, his third album explodes such listener myopia with a thoughtful and thought-provoking expression of American Blackness. Though its title might suggest scarcity on a surface level, these 14 songs exude richness in their textures and complexity in their themes. “Stop That” imbues its gauzy trap beat with self-motivating logic, while “Come My Way” gets to reminiscing over a laidback R&B groove. His choice of collaborators demonstrates a carefully curated approach, with 6LACK and Smino bringing a sense of community to the funk-infused “Still” and fellow Chicago native G Herbo helping to unravel multigenerational programming on the gripping “Survivor’s Guilt.” The presence of hip-hop elder statesman Black Thought on the title track only serves to further validate Saba’s experiences, the connection implicitly showing solidarity with sentiments and values of the preceding songs.
Each installment of Benny the Butcher’s celebrated *Tana Talk* mixtape series lifted his star just a little bit higher, and the Buffalo-hailing MC went into the release of *Tana Talk 4* expecting nothing less. “*Tana Talk* 1, I took over the hood,” he told Apple Music’s Ebro Darden. “I was on some mixtape, neighborhood…*Tana Talk 2*, I was still in the hood. I took over the city, though. *Tana Talk 3*, I took over the underground. *Tana Talk 4*, I feel like I\'m taking over the world, honestly.” The Butcher’s profile has never been higher (and his jewelry never brighter), as the MC has spent the past half decade helping to build the Griselda Records brand—alongside cohorts Westside Gunn and Conway the Machine—into the industry standard for streetwise lyricism. *Tana Talk 4*, which fulfills any and all contractual obligations with the Griselda label, sets the table for the MC’s forthcoming Def Jam debut in a way that only the 2022 version of Benny the Butcher could have done. “I\'ve been rapping since I was 16, professionally,” Benny says. “So I had war stories, but I don\'t got the stories I got now. Who knew I\'d be on songs, naming them after my girl, India? Who knew I\'d be on songs talking about going through a divorce, talking about a daughter, or saying I got a stepdaughter? Just grown-people shit. That just comes with age. And I feel my listeners make me feel comfortable to talk like that.” But if there’s anything Benny does, it’s keep it real, and he does that continuously over production provided by Daringer and The Alchemist, comparing himself in one instance to the movie character Scarface, Death Row Records cofounder and cocaine kingpin Harry-O, and Joe Pesci (“Guerrero”); lamenting the time he spent in a wheelchair after being shot (“Bust a Brick Nick”); and then also claiming on the J. Cole collaboration “Johnny P’s Caddy” that he “can never leave the scene without checkin\' \[his\] mirrors visually.” “I got three felonies, I\'ve been to state prison, been to federal prison—this is my life,” Benny says. “My daughter spent her first birthday when I was in the feds. My brother passed away. I\'m one of them guys! So the most I could do—or the least I could do—is just, in my music, let them know both sides to this.”
There was a time, not long ago, when a DJ Drama-helmed *Gangsta Grillz* mixtape was maybe the most official declaration of a hip-hop artist’s arrival. Though Drama would exit the mixtape game to develop stars like Lil Uzi Vert and Jack Harlow—the *Gangsta Grillz* brand fully intact—contemporary rap has yet to find a replacement for “Mr. Thanksgiving” popping his shit at the beginning (and end) of the whole of a mixtape’s tracks. Someone with the star power of Dreamville label head J. Cole needn’t have called on Drama—in this day and age or any other—to affirm his standing in hip-hop, but their collaborative *D-Day: A Gangsta Grillz Mixtape* is a victory for fans of either era. To be clear, Cole’s Dreamville team knows how to put a mixtape together. Look no further than 2019’s *Revenge of the Dreamers III*, a project whose recording process became the talk of the industry before it’d even come out. But with *D-Day*, the crew pays tribute to an institution while realizing the mission of every hip-hop mixtape ever released: reaffirming that the MCs therein are skilled enough to hold your attention even when outside of “album mode.” *D-Day* is an undiluted showcase for Dreamville’s very dynamic roster, providing plenty of space for under-heralded MCs like Bas, Lute, Cozz, Omen, and EARTHGANG to bar up, making time for Ari Lennox to cosplay as young Mary J. Blige (“Coming Down”), and then allowing the big boss man J. Cole to go straight savage on the gleefully nihilistic “Freedom of Speech.” The guest verses here are just as rewarding as they are surprising, and include sets from A$AP Ferg, 2 Chainz, Young Nudy, and long under-regarded LA gangsta rap traditionalist G Perico. If this differs from previous *Gangsta Grillz* tapes, it’s because the agenda here is not to anoint the collective as a force to be reckoned with. The reality is that they’ve been a force, and also that they’ve already managed to leap the contemporary version of that marker, in having their very own Dreamville music festival.
When Jack Harlow settled in to record “Movie Star,” something had been weighing on his heart: “I’m done faking humble, actin’ like I ain’t conceited/’Cause, bitch, I am conceited, you know you can’t defeat it,” he rapped. It’s a wonder he held out as long as he did. By the time of *Come Home the Kids Miss You*’s release, he’d been a performing guest on *SNL*, been called “Top 5 out right now” by one Kanye West, and released his Fergie-sampling, TikTok-conquering “First Class.” But as he remarks on that very song, life has been moving maybe quicker than he can comprehend. “They say, \'You a superstar now,\' damn, I guess I am,” he raps. “You might be the man, well, that\'s unless I am/Okay, I\'ll confess I am.” *Come Home the Kids Miss You* is Harlow coming to terms with his still-ascending star, reflections on his position sandwiched between meticulous wordplay and appeals for affection (“I’d Do Anything to Make You Smile,” “Side Piece,” “Lil Secret,” “Like a Blade of Grass”). It’s a series of diary entries authored by the coolest kid in school, and, as such, is not without moments of self-doubt. “Am I fancy enough?/Am I dancing enough?/Am I handsome enough?/Tell me right now so I can be enough,” he raps on “Young Harleezy.” But don’t think for a minute that Harlow isn’t also having heaps of fun. He’s called on people he likely once considered musical heroes for guest slots (Pharrell, Drake, Justin Timberlake, Lil Wayne), and if album closer “State Fair” is to be believed, Harlow’s been working so hard for so long that he’s finally ready to celebrate.
When he wasn’t flying around the world, selling out arenas and headlining music festivals, Post Malone had spent the past several years cooking up a stream of blockbuster hits from his tight-knit, dimly lit studio in the middle of Hollywood. Then, when the pandemic hit, claustrophobia—and a bad case of writer\'s block—set in. “I felt so cramped,” the singer-songwriter born Austin Post tells Apple Music. Restless and eager for a change of pace, he and his team moved into a house in Malibu right on the water. “It was just so freeing,” he says. “I was like, ‘I\'m not scared to express myself or make music or write songs.’” It was during these laidback, free-form sessions—enhanced by magic mushrooms and fresh salt air—that the genre-defying artist wrote most of his fourth album *Twelve Carat Toothache*. The somber, reflective project closes out what seems to have been a difficult chapter of Post’s life: Several songs reference his struggles with fame (“Reputation”), drugs (“Wasting Angels” featuring The Kid LAROI), and booze (“Love/Hate Letter to Alcohol” featuring Fleet Foxes), painting the portrait of an addict stuck in a dark cycle of destructive benders and frustrated apologies. “I’m 26,” he says. “There’s been some kick-ass times—and not in a good way. I was not normal. My brain was not operating at its normal frequency. I just wasn’t…Austin. I was so fucking lost. For a long time I didn’t know how to \[cope with success\].” But there’s light at the end of this tunnel. The album arrives as Post enters a new phase of his life, one less defined by partying and more defined by family (he’s expecting his first child). “I realized that there\'s real fucking true positivity and love out there,” he says. “Now, I’m the happiest dude in the universe. I’m so fucking excited. Ready to rock and roll.” As he shifts his focus to his new role as a father, more change—and potentially relocation—is on the horizon. The East Coast native, who grew up in Syracuse, New York, says it’s hard for him to imagine raising kids in Los Angeles. “Now I’m prepping to take care of my family... Move a little bit out, have a spot where I’m able to go,” he says. “I’m so ready to go home. It’s time to go home.”
Toronto-hailing MC NAV is hurting on *Demons Protected By Angels*. “My heart been filled with pain/I just cover it up in Dior,” he raps on “Wrong Decisions.” One might have assumed that a wealth of hit singles, world tours, superstar artist collaborations, and a continually increasing number of streams would have made the self-proclaimed “hottest brown boy in the game” a little more comfortable with his life than he sounded on the altogether groundbreaking “Myself,” but one would have been wrong. And on *Demons Protected By Angels*, he’s coming clean about what’s eating at him. The album opens with “Count on Me (Intro),” a song that would work as a cry for help if it weren’t also a declaration of his own mettle. (If there’s one person NAV can count on, it’s himself.) It’s not long thereafter that we get the kind of Robin Leach-chronicled lifestyle flexes and I’ve-already-beaten-the-odds rhetoric we’ve become accustomed to hearing from the MC. Helping to sow that legend here are Lil Uzi Vert, Travis Scott, Lil Baby, Future, and Lil Durk, among others. But NAV balances this suffering from success with a heap of love songs, reflecting throughout on what a good woman should bring to the table (“Baby”), how it feels to genuinely miss someone special (“Don’t Compare”), the pain that lingers after someone you want doesn’t want you (“Lost Me”), and what it’s like to want to give a failed relationship another shot (“Reset”). He’s not without responsibility for his melancholy (“I live the wrong way and I know it,” he raps on “Loaded”), but look no further than “Demons in My Cup” for confirmation that the NAV of 2022 is still very much the NAV of 2017’s “Myself”: imperfect person and undeniable hitmaker.
Fans of Brent Faiyaz love him for his shamelessness, and on his second album, he leans all the way into that. Opening with a collage of clips that address his reputation (aptly called “VILLAIN\'S THEME”), he sets out on a quest in search of honesty—an answer to the question “What purpose do your vices serve in your life?” That tension between vice and intent—between love and a lifestyle that actively discourages it—is immediately introduced on “LOOSE CHANGE” and snakes its way through the album. Three skits at the beginning, middle, and end provide an underlying narrative of baby-mama drama and betrayal that culminates in a devastating turn of events; it\'s all fun and games until people get hurt. But the cost can\'t be known until it\'s known, and so Faiyaz barrels towards romantic oblivion. All of his sweet talk comes affixed with disclaimers. On “ALL MINE,” he tries to get his girl back—despite the fact that she may not even be available. (“You told me your new man don\'t make you nut, that\'s a damn shame,” he coos at one point.) “WASTING TIME,” which features fellow toxic king Drake, doesn\'t even try to hide its here-for-a-good-time-not-a-long-time attitude, while the album\'s centerpiece, an apologetic ballad titled “ROLLING STONE,” could also double as its mission statement: “First I\'m exciting, then I\'m gaslighting, make up your mind/I\'m rich as fuck and I ain\'t nothing at the same time/People hate me and they love me at the same time/I guess I\'m everything and nothing at the same time.” But to only appreciate the persona of the music is to miss the atmospheric details that give it shape. His production choices—the expansive creep of “PRICE OF FAME” or the anthemic swirl of “GRAVITY” or the plodding drama of “ROLE MODEL”—help to keep listeners off balance and cultivate an air of mystery that furthers the impact of his lyrics and brings the lothario to life. It becomes difficult to tell where the line between fantasy and reality exists, whether this is a character or Faiyaz himself. One thing is certain, though: It\'s impossible to turn away, repulsive and alluring at once, like the best toxic relationships are.
Control is an illusion, but as SZA\'s mother suggests at the open and close of *Ctrl*, there\'s power in holding on to the illusion, even while acknowledging it as such. The singer\'s debut examines what it looks like to own the narrative of your life and regain control simply by giving it up. It\'s at once deeply personal and profoundly universal, like an unlocked Tumblr with thousands of reposts spilling out in music form. Until a late flurry of percussion arrives, doleful guitar and bass are SZA’s only accompaniment on opener “Supermodel,” a stinging kiss-off to an adulterous ex. It doesn’t prepare you for the inventively abstract production that follows—disembodied voices haunting the airy trap-soul of “Broken Clocks,” the stuttering video-game sonics of “Anything”—but it instantly establishes the emotive power of her rasping, percussive vocal. Whether she’s feeling empowered by her physicality on the Kendrick Lamar-assisted “Doves in the Wind” or wrestling with insecurity on “Drew Barrymore,” SZA’s songs impact quickly and deeply. The deluxe version, released on the fifth anniversary of the original, adds seven more, all packing an equal emotional punch. On songs like “2AM,” “Tread Carefully,” and “Awkward,” as throughout the album, she duels with herself as often as she does her partners; sometimes she\'s at peace with the mess of it all and then the tables turn and then turn again. The idea of control is reconciled through acceptance—of her barefaced self, of others, of the love she\'s offering and the love they can\'t—rather than attempts to manipulate reality. Through *Ctrl*, SZA sets herself free having realized that surrendering isn\'t always settling, that the demons and skeletons in the closet were, in fact, remarkably human all along.
To call Conway the Machine’s raps gritty is akin to calling summer in Arizona hot. Take this passage from “Piano Love,” off *God Don’t Make Mistakes*: “We don\'t play fair, drive-bys right in front of the daycare/We spray hairpin triggers, that FN on the waist here/Yeah, garbage bags wrapped around the Ks here/Told you it\'s spooky, my n\*\*\*a, it\'s Camp Crystal Lake here.” He’s long had a way with words, but in 2022, with well over 20 projects to his name, the Buffalo-hailing MC is opening up in a way hasn’t before. Too many lines on *God Don’t Make Mistakes* were likely painful to record. “Not too long after my cousin hung his self/I never told nobody, but I lost a son myself/Imagine bein\' in the hospital, holdin\' your dead baby/And he look just like you, you tryna keep from goin\' crazy,” he raps on “Stressed.” “You don\'t know the feeling of never seein\' your kid again/And it\'s a Russell Wilson-type n\*\*\*a raisin\' your lil\' man/Real shit, I know the feeling, ain\'t seen my son in a minute/BM don\'t answer for me, so fuck her, I\'m in my feelings,” he says on “Tear Gas.” A single like the Daringer- and Kill-produced “John Woo Flick,” with its claims of Conway having “enough shooters on my team to embarrass the Pistons” and a “door on my bedroom thick as a vault,” likely delivered plenty of new ears when it was released in advance of the album. But if it succeeded in bringing listeners all the way through *God Don’t Make Mistakes*, they’ll be leaving knowing as much about the Machine’s life—if not more—as those who’ve heard everything before it.
EARTHGANG are proud, boundary-pushing Atlantans, celebrating the city’s rap legacy with eclectic hybrids of soul, funk, trap percussion, and alien electronic textures that bump beneath their often-melodic delivery and idiosyncratic cadences. Backed by that modernized Southern sound, the Dreamville duo continue to exist as insightful yet laidback stoners, the affable and cloud-shrouded deep thinkers who see through the smoke blown by politicians, police, and the like while trying to find their joy. Olu and WowGr8 will show up for a protest and show out for a pool party, their verses juggling incisive social commentary with comedy and the pursuit of physical pleasures. On *GHETTO GODS*, their second major-label effort, they dissect trauma (on the title track), mental health (“STRONG FRIENDS”), the ills of capitalism (“LIE TO ME”), and the lingering ramifications of slavery (“AMERICAN HORROR STORY”) with assists from Dreamville compatriots JID and J.Cole and fellow Atlantans like Future. Throughout, EARTHGANG maintain their impressive gift for addressing heavy subjects on bouncing songs that don\'t kill the vibe.
We only hear acclaimed hip-hop producer Kenny Beats’ voice one time—that we can be sure of—on *LOUIE*. On “The Perch,” a young Beats can be heard interacting with his father, Kenneth Blume II, as co-host of a fictional radio show his father conjured up to give personality to the mixtapes he would make for friends and family. *LOUIE* is likewise a gift, from Beats (Kenneth Blume III) to his father, created in December 2020 after finding out his dad had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Though *LOUIE* contains a heap of vocalist features—including contributions from Vince Staples, Mac DeMarco, slowthai, JPEGMAFIA, Thundercat, Omar Apollo, and Fousheé, among others—there is very little in the way of formal verses. The project is much closer to an audio collage, with Beats curating moods across the project’s 17 tracks through a combination of sampling and live musical arrangement. None of the directions he takes things in are particularly obvious for the man who’s produced entire albums for artists like Vince Staples, 03 Greedo, KEY!, and Denzel Curry, to name but a few. Here, he’s spotlighting some of his favorite musical factors, exalting bright guitar licks on “Hold My Head,” a pacing akin to lovers rock reggae on “Hooper,” and on “Rotten,” a neo-soul aura so true it would make the Soulquarians proud. The beat for “Still,” which features contributions from JPEGMAFIA, is maybe the single thing a classically operating MC might rush to rap over. Without speaking directly to Beats, or even Kenneth Blume II, it’d be impossible to decipher the musical connections and/or messages *LOUIE* carries for Beats’ father. Most of the speech is distorted, and few samples therein are anywhere near as recognizable as the usage of Foster Sylvers’ “Misdemeanor” on “Drop 10.” But the fact that we’ve been granted access to what is essentially a love letter from a son to his ailing father—Beats’ original plan for *LOUIE* did not include releasing it publicly—is proof that no matter how far the producer goes, he’ll never forget where he got his rhythm.
070 Shake sounds like she’s in pain across *You Can’t Kill Me*. If love was an inspiration for the Jersey-hailing G.O.O.D. Music signee\'s follow-up to 2020’s *Modus Vivendi*, it is only to the extent that it has wounded her, caused her to wound someone else, or forced her to treat wounds of her own. The project is heavy and operatic (production credits list Dave Sitek, johan lenox, and Dave Hamelin, among others), and Shake sings frequently about relationships past (“Web,” “Stay,” “Medicine,” “Se Fue La Luz”), present (“Blue Velvet,” “Cocoon,” “Wine & Spirits”), and, in one instance—hopefully—future (“Invited”). What’s clearer than anything else across *You Can’t Kill Me* is that 070 Shake knows how to turn her pain into art. Or maybe it’s more like she tells us on “Wine & Spirits,” that “Life is about balance, war and harmony/Can’t have one without the other.”
Calvin Harris has never shied from making sharp turns. Just as artistic restlessness helped transform him from an indie-disco tyro to a dance-pop titan in time for his third and fourth albums, *18 Months* (2012) and *Motion* (2014), it also urged him to slip away from the main room for vibrant but unhurried explorations of funk and disco on 2017’s *Funk Wav Bounces, Vol. 1*. There are no such creative pivots on *Vol. 2*. That’s not simply because the lush, summery atmospheres of *Vol. 1* offer a lovely place to rest awhile, but because Harris knew there was still work to be done. His tempos slowed on *Vol. 1*, but he’d approached a lot of that album as a dance producer—making electronic beats. “With this one, I was like, ‘I wanna have live drums and I wanna have guitar,’” he tells Apple Music’s Zane Lowe. “I want the layers and the grit and the dirt. And I don\'t want everything to be mixed perfectly. I want things to be like Sly & The Family Stone when it’s just mixed on the fly and it’s like, ‘Oh, he\'s gonna do a solo now!’ And you’ve got to turn him up and he’s too loud. I just want to feel it in my chest—in a good way.” On *Vol. 2*, the bass bobs, squelches, and throbs, always in the pursuit of a deep, languid groove. Keys glimmer like sunlight on the waters of a tax-haven harbor, while guitars chuck and chop to disco rhythms. Tapping through his contacts, Harris brings artists together in intriguing combinations. Jorja Smith and Lil Durk open up two distinct lanes of heartbreak on “Somebody Else,” the Brit singer-songwriter delivering self-respecting frustration, the Chicago rapper bristling with disbelieving indignation. Pharrell, Halsey, and Justin Timberlake, meanwhile, stir longing, abandon, and anticipation together for a night of adventure on “Stay With Me.” Harris doesn’t call on these names just to gild his music; he’s interested in artists who can bring new, unexpected textures to the songs. Take Young Thug’s capricious flow, circling around Dua Lipa on “Potion”: “Like, how does he think of these things and these flows and the way that he weaves around the beat in a way that I could never, ever even imagine?” says Harris. “Being in the studio with him when he is recording and hearing the process and where he ends up is just like the brain is somewhere else. His mind is that of a genius. It’s amazing to witness it.” The mood is largely balmy and upbeat. 21 Savage audits the trappings of his success on “New Money,” while Stefflon Don, Chlöe, and Coi Leray celebrate resilience and independence with “Woman of the Year.” Busta Rhymes tries to hurry along the smooth funk of “Ready or Not” with rat-a-tat playfulness, and even a lovelorn Charlie Puth—suddenly sounding a lot like Michael McDonald—is lifted by buoyant yacht rock and Shenseea’s island spice on “Obsessed.” It all reflects the joy Harris finds in collaborating. “It gets me excited about making music,” he says. “I can work with artists and they can express themselves in a way that they can’t do on their own music—whether it be \[because of\] record label politics or what their fans expect of them. It’s like, ‘No pressure. I’ll give you a platform to go and have a laugh. I can promise you it’ll sound good. Might not be a hit, but you\'ll have a good time. And you might just end up on a tune with someone that you would never dream of.’ If I can convey that, then usually people are up for it.” These days, an extra layer of fun in listening to a Calvin Harris album comes from trying to spot the exit ramp—the clues about where his next sudden turn might take him. Here, that might be found in “Lean on Me,” where Swae Lee wistfully mourns the end of summer against a gauze of dream-pop guitars that’s pierced by a soft-rock solo. Even as he’s inviting you to bask in the warmth and celebration a little longer, Harris is already thinking about where to head when the party’s over.
Unique, strong, and sexy—that’s how Beyoncé wants you to feel while listening to *RENAISSANCE*. Crafted during the grips of the pandemic, her seventh solo album is a celebration of freedom and a complete immersion into house and dance that serves as the perfect sound bed for themes of liberation, release, self-assuredness, and unfiltered confidence across its 16 tracks. *RENAISSANCE* is playful and energetic in a way that captures that Friday-night, just-got-paid, anything-can-happen feeling, underscored by reiterated appeals to unyoke yourself from the weight of others’ expectations and revel in the totality of who you are. From the classic four-on-the-floor house moods of the Robin S.- and Big Freedia-sampling lead single “BREAK MY SOUL” to the Afro-tech of the Grace Jones- and Tems-assisted “MOVE” and the funky, rollerskating disco feeling of “CUFF IT,” this is a massive yet elegantly composed buffet of sound, richly packed with anthemic morsels that pull you in. There are soft moments here, too: “I know you can’t help but to be yourself around me,” she coos on “PLASTIC OFF THE SOFA,” the kind of warm, whispers-in-the-ear love song you’d expect to hear at a summer cookout—complete with an intricate interplay between vocals and guitar that gives Beyoncé a chance to showcase some incredible vocal dexterity. “CHURCH GIRL” fuses R&B, gospel, and hip-hop to tell a survivor’s story: “I\'m finally on the other side/I finally found the extra smiles/Swimming through the oceans of tears we cried.” An explicit celebration of Blackness, “COZY” is the mantra of a woman who has nothing to prove to anyone—“Comfortable in my skin/Cozy with who I am,” ” Beyoncé muses on the chorus. And on “PURE/HONEY,” Beyoncé immerses herself in ballroom culture, incorporating drag performance chants and a Kevin Aviance sample on the first half that give way to the disco-drenched second half, cementing the song as an immediate dance-floor favorite. It’s the perfect lead-in to the album closer “SUMMER RENAISSANCE,” which propels the dreamy escapist disco of Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” even further into the future.
Maryland-hailing MC Cordae brags different. “Last year I made $7 million, didn’t have to do a single fucking show,” he raps on sophomore album *From a Birds Eye View*’s “Super.” It’s a rare chin-check for the haters, whereas the large majority of this project’s boasts are rooted in what that money has allowed Cordae to do for others. On “Super,” he’s bought a Birkin bag for his Aunt Regina and introduced his younger cousin to badminton. On “Momma’s Hood,” he’s bought his father—who he confesses to having a contentious relationship with later in the album—a “power-washing van.” On “Chronicles,” he admits that missteps in the context of a romantic relationship come with a $50,000 remorse fee. Being the object of Cordae’s affection pays. This kind of spending is hardly uncommon for rap superstars, but what separates Cordae from your average chart-topping MC is his choice to center an album around it. He’s worked his whole life to get here, a story he tells across songs like “Today,” “C Carter,” and “Westlake High,” and the biggest reward is what success allows him to do for others. Depending on who you are, that might mean receiving something he’ll proudly tell the world about on record. For the rest of us, though, he’s got ultra-personal, high-level raps about his life and a handful of collaborations with rap icons like Lil Wayne (“Sinister”), Nas (“Champagne Glasses”), and Eminem (“Parables \[Remix\]”).
Broken glass, revving engines, barking dogs, burnt rubber, and roaring guitar riffs open Action Bronson’s seventh album, *Cocodrillo Turbo*, making it feel like the listener’s been plopped in the middle of some ‘70s B-movie chase scene rather than a rap album. The grindhouse vibe fits the NYC rapper’s preposterous action sequences and punchlines; one imagines he finds equal inspiration in Chuck Norris and Steven Seagal as in oft-cited influence Ghostface Killah. Case in point: On the opening “Hound Dog,” Bronson runs 100 miles in a downpour with six giraffes on his back. Elsewhere on the album—over colorful loops from Daringer, The Alchemist, and Roc Marciano—he somersaults out of a jet plane (“Jaguar”), tosses someone off a bridge in the style of wrestler Razor Ramon (“Estaciones”), and tear-gasses a room while rocking a Jheri curl (“Subzero”). As always, Bronson balances the comic violence and luxury with hilarious humility: On “Storm Of The Century,” he admits that driving his speedboat gives him tendinitis. Over a decade into his career, he remains one of hip-hop’s most entertaining lyricists.
Cocodrillo Turbo Tracklisting 1. Hound Dog 2. Tongpo ft. Conway the Machine 3. Estaciones ft. Hologram 4. Jaws 5. Subzero 6. Turkish ft. Meyhem Lauren 7. Jaguar prod by Roc Marciano 8. Zambezi ft. Roc Marciano 9. Ninety One 10. Storm of the Century
On his third LP *SMITHEREENS*, Joji tries to pick up the pieces after heartbreak. Split into two sides—Side A deals with wanting to reconcile with a past love, while B is the aftermath of the failed reconciliation—the project follows its narrative over a mix of trap, electronic, and lo-fi beats. The album opens with the haunting piano ballad \"Glimpse of Us,\" in which Joji can\'t help but think of his past partner, even though he has a new one. \"Why, then, if she is so perfect/Do I still wish that it was you?/Perfect don\'t mean that it\'s working/So what can I do?\" he sorrowfully croons. This raw honesty becomes a common theme throughout Side A, with Joji longing to be reunited with his partner and refusing to let go of them (\"Feeling Like the End,\" \"Before the Day Is Over\"). Joji embraces the uncertainties in the fast-paced ballad \"YUKON (INTERLUDE),\" deciding to move on from the past love that he\'s fixated on at the beginning of the album. The outcome of that appears on the closer \"1AM FREESTYLE,\" where Joji mourns the finality of his failed relationship. \"I\'ve been playing memories in my mind/Wishing you were there, like all the time/So I\'m not alone,\" he sings. \"And I\'m tired of this madness/Tired of being stranded/I don\'t wanna be alone.\"
Meechy Darko, an artist who has achieved both critical acclaim and commercial success as one-third of Brooklyn hip-hop group Flatbush Zombies, is well aware that the “crazy shit, crazy-colored hair and psychedelics” of his group are imprinted in the brains of many fans, but on his solo debut album Gothic Luxury (executive produced by Dot Da Genius) there is a through line of brutal honesty and catharsis which prove him to be one of the rawest and most candid rappers in the game.
